I'm sitting in a friend's room, typing on his slow-ass but aesthetically perfect computer, and watching Mall Rats with a bunch of people I only sort of know.

I'm in the middle of a week of classes, looking at a bunch of homework, trying to get into the flow of things which includes fencing, swimming, classes, the aforementioned homework, Mario Kart double dash (which is ridiculously addictive), new friends, new enemies (this random jerk in philosophy who always manages to make my arguments or answers, relating to his latest question, relate to his previous argument and make me sound not intelligent, but merely argumentative), new people, in general, new abode, and laundry, and attempting to work up the motivation to lose some weight.

Oh, and I'm on publicity run-crew for the fall theater production.

But the thing is, I keep thinking about things that I should have left behind and forgotten. And I'm not really looking forward to going home. I think, perhaps, that I've ruined Eau Claire. For serious, I have very few memories of home that aren't tainted overmuch by worse ones or just plain experience.

So, moral is that I'm unhappy when I think, and a little lost when I'm not alone. Also, all my essays remind me of things. When was it when I stopped bullshitting and started knowing? I wanna go back to the bullshit; it was easier.