density. drag.

i might be asleep. right now. my eyes might be closed. my fingers might be typing out of self-deprecating habit. i might be dreaming. that's what i thought last night when i walked in and saw my roommate not wearing pajammaz. well, i thought, that might be her bare back, but then again, the room is tilting pretty severely and i'd rather just lie down. i might never finish my homework. this might be all one long day, as the light of the sky has no bearing on when i'm awake. i'm sleeping less than 25% of each day, at least five days a week. usually six. thursday night (when a whole lot of rather illogical partying happens), i can usually get eight hours. this morning i woke up, admittedly in a possibly altered state of mind, and stepped straight into the shower. and then i cleaned my room and completely forgot about my morning until later erin, who'd been leaving for church when i was washing my hair, said she was surprised to hear me up and cleaning myself no less (i like to get good and scuzzy before showering, so i can better appreciate clean. however, erin enjoys reminding me that i shower maybe one or two times weekly, passing only mild judgment) so early. i stared at her. what? i had forgotten that i'd showered this morning. or yesterday morning, as we are now in monday. today is one of my suite-mate's birthdays. tomorrow is my birthday. which i have also been forgetting. my mother told me to stop by the post office on tuesday. why? i asked. because it's not just tuesday, she responded. huh?ohyeahright. i hate how much time i spend on my computer. i'm looking forward to not having it over thanksgiving break. so looking forward to that. i hate itunes. i hate itunes. to listen to most of my music means i have to have my computer on and open and then i think of this thing or that thing to look up online and everyone knows that vicious horrible cycle of mouse click after mouse click until all hope and time has been lost, and it's your own fault and not the computer's or the fault of the capitalists who dreamt up the internet. it's your own lack of self-control, like the kind that comes out when you eat half a pint of ice cream like some fucking girl cliche, some chick all ripped up after her boyfriend broke up with her, only for you, for me, there is no break up, there is mutual agreement, and there is ice cream and the two are independent of each other.

in other news: i really like my bangs.

in other news: i would like somebody to love here at college.

in other news: there is a coffee table outside my window, on the roof of the parking lot, which is also my apartment's fire escape. i found the table weeks ago, and washed it and then put it out (which was difficult - getting it out the window) because it smelled. i brought it in today and now it is full of water from the rain over the weeks and it still smells. so i put it back on the roof. i will take it back to where i found it sometime in the next couple days. and i liked this table. everything goes wrong.