Punctuality is the virtue of the bored. - Evelyn Waugh

I hate to get all materialistic or whatever, but my things are my own. My food is not your food. My extra bed is not where you can crash whenever you want. I don't appreciate when people come into my room and use my things without my permission or knowledge, and then make a mess. Just because I offered you a cup of tea once does not mean you can come into my room, use the kettle and the teapot and then not wash it. Especially if you used looseleaf. If you spill, fucking wipe it up. I have towels for a reason. If the window is open, deal with it. My room is not a hotel, and I am not an innkeeper.

Use some fucking regard.

It is an Earl Grey sort of day.

I've made half a pair of fingerless gloves. Love knitting.

Some conversations are better than coffee.

Mountain Goats next week.

Don't you just hate that sick feeling when you're waiting for an something and it just won't come?

Also, I need to go to bed. But this workbook won't finish itself.

For a day that mostly involved cleaning and laundry, this one has been absolutely bizarre.
This morning I woke up entirely too early and drank a liter of water in five minutes.
Then I was haunted.
Then while I was doing laundry, an ex took a pair of pajama pants out of my dryer. He also took one (just one) of my new socks.

Fucker.

Campus is fucking flooding.
I need rainboots. Stat.

So very very very good at wasting time.
It's raining and all I want to do is watch High Fidelity and be warm. Instead, I'm procrastinating and stressing myself out.
This could be the week my whole semester goes down the shitter.
Hopefully that won't happen.

It is high time for a shower.
The sleep was a good idea, too.

In retrospect I probably should have gone for the five for twenty deal.

This day has been useless.

Never, ever
do I want to feel
that trapped.