As the Coughing Souls say, "You know that but you go on... on."

I have three English papers to write by next Wednesday, and a bitch of a math final to study for. This is not a happy time, oh campers, not at all.

"Slenderness, slenderness, slenderness, fire..."

Apparently, despite my staunch Anti-Person Stance, the man at the top thinks I should keep my job. This is nice, but I wish he'd let me do it once in a while.

"Her body like soft serve, drippin down in the dew sun..."

This song makes me miss home. Springtime downtown in The Springs was just tops, man, and with my high school right next to the parks and shops and restaraunts I'd spend Monday mornings drinking inexpensive coffee and playing chess instead of living in Drafting 101, writing a deli review for the school rag, buying "Before These Crowded Streets" on the day it comes out without even realising it, kicking a hackeysak in Mythology class.

"And ever since then I got dissemminated..."

It seems awful to believe that at this early stage in my Known Existance, I would look more fondly upon my past than my present. But I suppose we do that anyway. Romanticising the past is a truly universal fetish, like mocking people by using British accents, or leaving $20 bills in our pants when we wash them.

"Everything is fine fine fine, fine fine fine..."

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