Ebb up, Ebb out.

It was colder than I have ever felt this morning. I swear. By the time I shuffled into my journalism class, my hands were nothing more than two conglomerates of air dried putty. In order to move the lead in my pencil my entire arms swung in a congruent, semi-fluid movement. Quite embarrassing, honestly. Though last nights sleep was nice, I still cannot grasp whether or not it was enough. The pang of exhaustion won't hit today, thank god, but may or may not creep up behind me in the following weekdays. Let's pray there's a semi-solid surface--equipped, preferably, with somewhat of a bounce or spring like contraption--around when I fall to my inherently fake death.

I've realized that it takes quite a bit of depressed nerves to write in this square box. In square box I mean this Internet based, masochistically charmed, blog of the muthafuckin' century. But honestly, I just cannot find where my mind is when things seem to be ebbing like the moon was on good terms with me. Maybe the weather? I don't know. But a slight, just slight, amount of despair crept upon the back of my brain for a majority of the latter part of this morning. It could be that my approach with some bitch of a receptionist--most likely a pre-med/resume whore/my competition to success/despair inciter/student worker--was an absolute unwelcoming sight after I took the right directions to the room wrong due to a misleading email which sent me a false room number for the right advising.

But listen to me! I guess as long as we live in a world based on Internet dating and online friends, a little bit--a lot of bit--of narcissism will scarf its way down our individualistic throats. If we brew the liquids, well, we better as hell drink that shit. Maybe I should change this blogs title, my "late" posts are not appearing anymore; I can't bear to stay up to the wee hours of the morning being emo and pushing my straight black hair aside from my eyes. It's pretty lame if you ask me.

But if you would pardon me, there is a half eaten, rotisserie style, once roasted piece of most of a chicken downstairs waiting for this hungry narc. If I'm satisfied with that, I probably won't be back for awhile, knowing my ebbs of happiness in relation to food and such.