Changes are coming.

I think I know my answer and I am sure that I am afraid of failure.

Surreal

Surrealsurrealsurrealsurrealsurrealsurrealsurrealsurrealsurreal
surrealsurrealsurfsupsurrealsurrealsurrealsurrealsurrealsurreal
MOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVEMOVE
MOVE
and
post300
and
surreal
what is
go go go go

DONE

DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE.


no congratulations, please.
DONE.

Lunch Break

I can't do this.

a piece of something less

I've known myself to lose bits of time, minutes, hours, lapsed into centuries of forgotten moments and more. The episodes are increasingly frequent, unnoticed, or, unvoiced by others, and nevertheless, failing to exist. Such a moment has since occurred and includes a repeating of the events of earlier but in the context of now. And they said it couldn't be done. I need new clothes.

a piece of nothing more

and then when she turned, I saw the source of it all. Pinned to her back, the dreamcatcher trailed pools of darkness. Black beaded up, dripping down the sinew, she hadn't washed it in awhile. Or maybe...
It flowed out as she walked, rippling towards unsuspecting passersby, clinging to their clothes and hair, to go unnoticed until dusk. She had to have known. She had to. They never would.

Consistently and Consistently

I fear I've been misunderstood. Misconstrued. Misanalyzed. Mis-teried.

I need to research that...

I sit in the intersection watching people cross both ways. I imagine that I might be dreaming. Then I realize I'm not. They are.

And in the long run

will it all work?

Happiness Molecules

"I can feel everything." And the room wasn't the room but something else. Where are we. I am stretched. I am stretched out. Pulled apart. I'm being pulled. I feel stretched. And the form of everything melts away like wax. Everything but faces. Everything but faces but nothing else matters. You can feel everything.

I...

am sick. No, I'm not sick. Something is not right. My eyes are drying out. I am not right. There's something else. A knot. I thought I was hungry so I ate, but it turns out I was full. And worse, I have no water. I'm uncomfortable. I want to run to run to run. I want to invite someone to do something. I want to
I need to go. Something is not right and I need to go. There are 40,000 police officers outside and I want to go tell each of them that I appreciate what they do. But that's not the problem. That's not what is not right. That's something else. The air. Or possibly something else. Is not right. to. I gotta. run. If in fact it were the case, forget about the case. Just forget it. There are 365 days in a year.

Its funny...

American media has a love affair with Barack Obama. They applaud his brilliant public speaking, and its true...he does speak well...with a teleprompter. On St. Patrick's Day, Obama, thanks to a slip in the teleprompter, ended up thanking himself for throwing his own party. He thanked himself. What a brilliant man. Considering the fact that American media actually paid 0 attention to the blunder, I thought surely it was an isolated incident. Not so, my friends. A quick search on YouTube garnered dozens of videos of the excellent speaker in moments that either weren't scripted for him or when the teleprompter broke down. The result? Stumble, mumble, bumble. The man can't put together his own SENTENCE, let alone what could be interpreted as an answer to the questions asked.

If it were Bush, and it has been, the media would be all over him like sharks. But not Obama. He's here to save us. To bring us change. At least that's what his teleprompter says...

I'm freaking out man

You are freaking out...man...

Finals are coming. Am I ready? No. Am I overloaded? Yes.

Summer is coming. Am I ready? No. No word yet on the job I not only desperately want but feel that I need, in every fiber of my being. Everything in my daily life feels like its funneling me towards this opportunity and I love that, but the fact is, I don't know who's decision it is to make and I'm not entirely sure those people know me well enough to see it. Furthermore, my ability to find a second job (or rather a first job, should I not be accepted) is handcuffed by my knowing whether or not I can commit full time or only part time, thus restricting my ability to be interviewed for other jobs.
I have to sublet also.

Fall comes after that and our senior scheduling is so messed up, I couldn't make the schedule I wanted, which has forced me out of the glorious position at the music library. I have to find a new job and I really have no idea how I'll have time for it. Except weekends. I won't make enough money, I know it. Thanks to the scheduling process, my schedule is so spread out, and no, not all my first or second choices made it. I assume the advisers patted themselves on the back for giving me a less-stressful and compact schedule, but what they don't realize is that my schedule needs to be compact so I can WORK.

Now I can either search for a fall job or study. Or flounder in fear of further financial restriction.

Every semester, I become increasingly aware of the true potential behind the term "poor college student."

Charlotte, Charlotte My Love

These are the ingredients for the perfect break between shifts:
1. A stoop.
2. The sunshine.
3. Aviator sunglasses.
4. A glass of freshly brewed iced tea, no sugar, plenty of ice.
5. A bass guitar and pick.
6. One of those cheap white plastic chairs that break every time you sit on one, making for great repurchase value.

Directions: Combine ingredients appropriately and stir for two hours.