Blahblah. A week? Gosh. I don't know what has occured, I don't remember. I don't think this was really a good idea, I have nothing to say, I don't think real words actually fall out of my mouth anymore. Buzzbuzzbuzz, I can't concentrate, everything is attempting to swallow everything else up & envelope it in its' noise, being bigger & louder & stupider & more crass & I am sick of it. Weary, bleary-eyed. I'm scared of wednesday and relieved too. I put everything into it & believe that it will solve everything. That somehow I am going to do all of this, because it unfolds anyway, whether you are ready, or there, or infact conscious. Better to be alive & awake & see it unfold, I imagine. An empty thought slap the inside of an empty head, it'd make a sound but the air got sucked out too. Better in a laundromat, I am getting too fat. [Mike, mike, i'm sorry i covered over your appeal for president with such shit. mike, mike, is there really no other cause for it? mike, mike, i'm sorry about your hair]

Feeling: fat
Listening to: whirring, it's always whirring. everyone else is already oblivious.
Pretending: i will get this essay done

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