I went to sleep at around 2AM, which is roughly normal fro me since moving back to New York. I woke up at 11:30 feeling exhausted, and my innards still feel, well, like somebody fucked them up with a rubber tube. And i'd really rather be somewhere else than sitting in front of my computer screen trying to assure myself that the pangs in my chest are only hunger and trying not to think about what to wear to or say at this meeting tonight or about grad school or about my frustration with being 23 years old and living in a room i haven't lived in since i was 19. (Not including the months i spent here when i was working with local 100 the summer i turned 21.) Or why my credit card didn't go through at the music store yesterday. Or where i go to look for work if this thing falls through.



Fuck Rick Santorum. Or actually, don't fuck Rick Santorum. But you get my drift.