Two hour and twenty minute torture chamber.

9-15-09 1612 This classroom is specifically designed to cause a student to lay their head back and pass the fuck out. The walls are a droll institutional white, all the blinds are drawn closed, the lights are dimmed, and the projector hums at just the right volume. It is my two-hour and twenty-minute torture chamber, this room on the fifth floor. I was doing wonderful until I got into this room. Now all I want to do is sleep for like a week. I know, though, as soon as the sun drops below the horizon, that I’ll be wide awake like a shot of ice water to the system. Insomnia has returned to my bed at night. It slipped between my sheets last night and remained there as the sun came up. The positive here is that the best sure for writer’s block is my good friend here. I’ve been writing more recently that I have in a while. It’s nice to have back. Classes have a lot to do with that too, they make me stop and slow down, which in turn gives me more time to write.

Holy shit. I just walked out into the hallway and it’s an entirely different world out there. There’s actually sun light coming through the windows and cool air making a bit of a breeze. It’s a totally different mood.

Oh hey, I made a friend in Sex and Gender. It’s always easier to suffer through a class when you have someone to bitch with at smoke time. I seem to make all my friends in the smoker’s corner.

I’ve started another blog. I’ve decided that I have opinions and I want somewhere to put them. This should be interesting and may end badly. Hah. There’ll be more on this later.

Part of me wants to go to the library after this class, just to keep the break between pen and paper shot. I won’t though. I’ll retire to the Bat Cave until time to hit the movie theater with Drake. The library might do something horrible to me anyway, like make me study or something. We can’t have that. No, we can’t have that.


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