clean

fuchsia and lime.
wrap me up and take your time.
until morning, we walk the quad.
arm in arm, golden silence.
you won't ask me how i'm doing.
it's ingrained in your brain:
"okay."
our ghosts are with us everywhere we go.
we strangle them, fight with death.
we're not as weak as we thought.

Sleep is calling me

and I'm sitting awake, learning King of Anything on my ukulele that is far too out of tune. Just had a minor panic attack because I thought I left my laptop charger in the library and I am in no fit state to go and get it. But alas, it's in my bag. Okay. Anyway. It's hot. I've noticed that I get irrationally cold or hot depending on my mood. But most of the time I'm hot. If I'm not sweating, I'm about to. (Exhibit A that there's something wrong with Tianna.)

Classes have been stressing me out this past week. What jumps to mind first is my literary journalism assignment for Creative Nonfiction class. I usually enjoy going to this class but I'm honestly dreading going this Wednesday. This is going to sound horrible, but I'm really not that interested in most people. My topic is broad. My interviewees are nonexistent. My people skills are horrible. The fucks I give for this class are dwindling. I still haven't revised the piece I wrote to get published 3 weeks ago. I'm just kind of slacking and making up for it by making closer friendships. I need to find the healthy balance between the two again soon.

But now I need Katie's blanket that feels like a cloud, my Hogwarts blanket that feels like my cat Cheshire, and an empty mind. Okay, maybe thoughts of the cinnamon apple candle in my living room back home are welcome. It's gonna be okay, I'm registering for next semester, and I'm applying for more jobs. I'm gonna get better even if this one essay sucks Buckbeak balls. My excitement to let the bed swallow me whole is even more enticing than the anticipation to eat. Which, knowing me, is saying something, cause I really like food.