Polar opposites don't push away. It's the same on the weekends as the rest of the days, and I know I should go but I'll probably stay. And that's all you can do about some things. Two one eyed dogs, they're looking at stereos. Hi-fi Gods try so hard to make their cars low to the ground. These vibrations; oil its teeth. Primer gray is the color when you're done dying
and I'm trying to drink away the part of the day that I cannot sleep away.

I didn't write that. Issac Brock did. He does tons more drugs than me, and writes way crazier songs than I ever hope to. But the guy knows how it feels to have your head cave in, and the guy knows how it feels to get so fed up with everything that you move to a remote logging town in the pacific northwest. And boy would I like to do that.

Today is the first day of Finals Week, I'm halfway through my tests for the day and a quarter of the way through the finals overall. I'm sitting in a computer lab, trying for the thousandth time to understand why Hour of the Bewilderbeast is a better record than Parachutes. I don't think I'll ever understand that one. I feel tired and like I ate perkins for breakfast five hours ago (it's a very distinct feeling. A heaviness, a desire to expunge yourself and maybe eat something wholesome like an apple.)

I haven't blogged in a week because, well, I haven't wanted to. Nothing to share. Just a ton of headaches, a lack of sleep and some confusion. I'm missing people by the truckload now, too. But it's like the Beatle song says: It's getting better. I'll be home soon.