IF I COULD FOOL MYSELF, THEN BABY, I'D FOOL YOU
Some of the old magic is starting to come back. I would hate to think that my magic is directly tied to my consumption of black coffee, but that seems to be it, more or less. I love getting coffee. I mean, I love the act of getting it. I love sitting down with somebody in a coffee place with that whole overhanging feeling of everybody watching everybody else all the time. I could stand to hang out with somebody I don't like if we could be getting coffee whilst doing so. That's how much I love it. I could write a huge research paper as long as I could pull together three tables at the 61c to spread my shit out. I could write a book. I'm sure I will. Which one of you will come to get coffee with me?

(An annotation: this is post-cup two of coffee this morning. No fucking wonder. Give me NPR! Tofu! Large books! My academic ovaries are twitching!)

I think I'm going to welcome winter back again. I always remember the previous year when it gets colder like this, and I can remember buying my winter coat, visiting Ram's family over break, growing into my sweaters, getting down my scarf-tying technique, having a clear conscience and chapped lips. Nobody should forget their first winter away from home, the first time you make your own tea in your own house, and the ways that you decide to get by without your huge space heater. Static and people smoking in the snow.

INFINITE SPACES BETWEEN THE NOTES THAT HE PLAYS
So I took an indiepop cred quiz (although I'm not sure it's the same one Dave mentioned on his blog) and I got an 80%. Yow. I guess it's time to get the straightjacket, eh? I'm a "winner". Good thing one of the questions wasn't "Do you have a blog, and if so, do you title your entries with lines from songs?"

I just got back from a big orgy in Boss. It started out as pantsless o'clock and turned into lots of cuddling and songs like "Sexx Laws" and "Nobody Does it Better." I've had a great day, full of going to the library with Ram and taking naps and everything, but I feel like I didn't get anything done. I keep on feeling a little like I'm not really doing as well in any of my subjects as I could. Like, more than usual. (Maybe this is my expression of Lacanian lack? Hit me again, metaphysics, hit me again.) My playwriting teacher doesn't seem to think I'm the sharpest writer in the box of tacks (and with that metaphor I hope you don't wonder why), I'm kind of half getting and half not getting the point in my music classes, and I got a B+ in my political philosophy test. I know, it's the dumbest thing to complain about getting a B+ on a test. I feel kind of shitty for doing it. But I have so few pointers for evaluating my progress in any classes. In fact, this is the only one. My only grade is an "eh." Even more than that, I feel like I should be absolutely splitting in half with energy for writing and playing music, but I feel more and more like I'm just kind of getting by. I'm not used to feeling this way about things. It's so strange. Do I read enough? Do I work out enough? Do I spend enough time doing the things that matter? More importantly, where the fuck did this feeling come from? I think maybe I actually relaxed for a moment this weekend, but my mind didn't know what was going on.

Aid me by taking me to art museums and thrift stores and by buying me banana-chocolate chip pancakes. Let's get coffee and get down with the theorizing. I mean, light me up again. It's still in there someplace.