I am drowning in a sea of Luna Bar wrappers, old magazines and mugs of lukewarm tea (from where I'm lying, I can see four).

Being sick is like being underwater. Everything sounds muffled and you can't breathe.

Sunday mornings are spent in the lab with my favorite lab monitor, a brilliant guy whose sense of humor is about as circuitous as mine. He's constantly challenging me. My time with him is mind exercise, preventing seemingly inevitable atrophy. 

This week's topics of conversation included growing old, the natural history museum, and his man-crush on Paul Rudd.

He asked me:

"Do you ever just feel like giving up?"

I smiled as I neatly wrapped MIDI cables and ejected my flashdrive.

"All the time."

When I got all of my new software during the (fall) semester from hell, I tried to install it and didn't have enough space on my computer. I ended up with bits and pieces of what I needed.

Bits and pieces... Fuck me.

Now I'm trying to get my software/life back together (yeahhhh, there's the analogy). I started a song after work yesterday and haven't left my computer since.

I'm not sure what any of that actually means beyond the fact that I am:

a) playing with a pitch corrector and 

b) trying to worry about zilch

Note:

Really? "LOL"? Because I tried to picture you laughing just now, and I just don't believe it.

Sage advice for the masses:

Toke with your superiors and if you're more into his roommate, then be nice: stop returning his calls. 

Hypothesis:

If you are being awkward, then I am going to feel awkward.

Discuss.

...spring?

It's days like this that I wish I had a puffy vest.

But I do have:

Soy smoothies.

A library card.

A bright orange t-shirt with a tiger on the front.

No complaints. 

Sometimes, when I'm blasting tunes, I wonder if my neighbors judge me based on my taste in music. 

I hope they do.

Protocol.

I feel like this is a math equation, the hard kind.

2 people + 2 weeks(dating) - one family tragedy = ?

Or maybe a word problem. "Sally is dating a boy. Something bad happens in the boy's life. Sally hears about it from the boy's ex girlfriend. If Sally's heart is in the right place, how many apples does Sally have?"

Naturally I want to be there for him, but all I really know about him is what he does with his tongue when he kisses. And honestly, how good of a comforter am I anyway?

I show up to work no earlier than 9:05 now. My psychology professor would call that passive aggressive behavior.

I went to visit boy at his place of work.

We talked for three hours.

This is too easy.

I'm bored.

(Yum)