I could almost hear the rhythm section kick in as the drums began to blaze. Saw you walk across the plaza and figured I'd just play it like it lays. I think I'm gonna be sick again and I think it's gonna happen really soon, and I know I can't afford another night here in this place with this sixteenth floor view of the ocean and the dunes. It's just gonna be me and you today, waiting for the other shoe to drop in Tampa Bay.

I can hear the roar of the crowd from the stadium a couple blocks away. It's the kind of thing that used to get me all worked up, but I don't wanna talk about it now, okay? Okay. I just wanna get this whole thing over with. I don't wanna deal with it anymore. I hear the cogs all slipping at the same time, and then I see you walk through the door. And it's gonna be just you and me today, waiting for the other shoe to drop in Tampa Bay.

-the Mountain Goats. I'd write more if I felt like that didn't say it all.

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.