Curr Few

I got backaches and ordering 3 outta 4 on the Vientiene spice scale has resulted in bowlegged affectations. Tomorrow my hair gets trimmed. After farming it for about a year and a half I cut it all off in August. Since then it has been given ample opportunity to grow to even length... sideburn hairz as long as on top. And don't mention what's in the back there. This ain't gonna fly in San Jose a week from now, so I bit the bullet and submit to a professional tomorrow. "Don't mock me" my eyes will timidly beg as I cross the threshold, "I just ain't got time to care about appearance." I am shoddy craftsmanship. My desk full of old bank statements, watermarked assignments, and broken jewel cases attests to this.

I polished off midterms tonight with a belly full of capsasin and a mind full of novocaine. It. Is. Just. Too. Much. I'm not that smart. Or something. Somebody just drove by listening to Blood on the Tracks loud enough to pipe through our second story window. Omen. Amen. Ominous.

Bottom line is my life is at some kinda hungry hungry hippos stage and for every marble I chomp down on a couple big ol' cats eyes roll off into the sunset, or so it feels. My bank account dwindles, my classes stagger on, I don't even buy obscene amounts of records to make me feel special. I bought a long sleeve t-shirt, though, to keep my new tattoo covered up when I go it to work. Not that they'll care there, but I dunno and I don't wanna.

I never wanna.