There's a goddamn spider that lives in my car.  Everytime I come to my car after being away for more than an hour, I must navigate a jungle of webs.  I cannot trace him.  I cannot find him.  I cannot squash him.   

It's hell.

I don't think I've ever been more tired and unhealthy.  I might be a Writing Concentration major.  I might die of a heart attack before age 25.  Ohhh, nooooose.   Tied myself to, Tied myself too tight.  Iyiyi.  I have 89 minutes to finish a paper.  I had to wake up early to finish it.  I watched Donnie Darko last night.  Again.  It's a good thing that I have a selectively short term memory.  Otherwise I'd be fucking depressed.  I had a good talk with my English teacher.  I can't remember what we talked about.  It was only a good talk because I didn't make an ass of myself.  I might be a writing tutor here if things work out and they accept my application.  It pays pretty well, and I wouldn't have to work too hard, (unless they've figured out a way to manage quality control for writing tutors.)  Even if they accept me though I have to take a 400 level Writing course.  Yikes.  May be I'll throw myself into it.  I usually totter on the edge.  Glancing in occasionally.  Just to see.  But never really considering going in.  I'm more lazy than intelligent.  Soy mas ...soemthing... que inteligente.  In other news Spanish is my easiest class, but i have the worst grade in it.  That's actually kind of encouraging.  May be it means, just may be, that I'm actually more devoted to my English classes.  I still haven't gotten that one paper back yet though.  All around me are familar faces I've never seen before.  And they are all either smarter, stupider, drunker, soberer, cooler, or loserer than myself.  I'm unique.  Or i'm just half assed at everything.  I'd go a bit more, but I've really gotta get back to writing my paper.  I don't love you all, but I love more of you than you may think.  May you all, vaya con Dios.

Chris.

PS    I now have 81 minutes to write my paper.

Last night, returning from the library in the pouring rain, wearing socks with my sandals, a book clenched between my chest and my free arm, I was startled by my own shadow.

I've realized that my life plays out in cycles of six years.  From birth to age 6 was a distinct cycle.  From age 7 to 12 was another very distinct cycle.  And 13 to 18 was the most recently ended, and most distinctivest cycle.  Every six years, everything changes.  And I struggle.  Until by year six, I feel like I'm on top.  Then a new cycle begins.  Meh.

******

Is the future here yet?