Ugh

I still vividly remember the days of being in my dorm room, reading a Dickens or thriving on the pages of other classics, wishing I had something else, something more social and productive to do. Now, my plate has too much and I arrive at each destination in sweat, running after my breath and fearing a systemic collapse.

But I love doing a lot of things, I just don't like getting tired. Coffee. Or a Palahniuk will shock my system back to life.

Guts by Chuck Palahniuk

Inhale.
Take in as much air as you can.
This story should last about as long as you can hold your breath, and then just a little bit longer. So listen as fast as you can.

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I've been writing poems in secret for a few weeks already. You know the feeling when you're done with a test, especially the ones you are doomed to fail, and give it to your teacher then she goes through it in front of you? It is a bad feeling. You could feel every strand of your hair or every new pimple on your face.  That is why I write in secret -- but I'll be posting some soon.

I just got an impermanent tattoo on the back of my neck. It says "Ach du" which is something like "Oh, you" in German. I liked it the first time I read the line in Plath's iconic "Daddy".