hung his wild years on a nail he drove through his wife’s forehead

today i am a pale, washed out reflection of myself (an interesting aside, i just tried to spell that reflextion, that’s how out of it i am). it’s exhaustion though. i stayed up too late last night watching dawson’s creek and trying to talk my brain down from the ledge. see, it has gone into hyperdrive worrying about the absolute shittness of the story we handed in for class yesterday. i am sure we’ll do just fine with a little bit more sleep and a lot more nothingness to do.

which is exactly what we have planned for the weekend. a whole bunch of nothing. it should be absolutely delightful, because the next few weeks are going to be nothing but busyness and westerbergian goodness.

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