Dead Week

Sitting alone. In my stale dorm cave. Eating tropical Starbursts and jalapeno chips, and drinking off brand ginger ale. Listening to surf guitar and sewing the crotches back into my jeans, there's little reason to watch the clock. I don't eat the purple Starbursts and I don't study political science. Last night, instead of practicing Conditional proofs, I made a magazine collage called "Signs of the Zeitgeist". If I were a boy I would no doubt have more salacious ways of spending my free time. The truth is that I never have to do laundry again if I choose not to. I know that it is Thursday because it is my mother's birthday. I know that I shouldn't touch my face with my jalapeno powered fingers, but it feels good to massage my temples. I go to class because it's easier than figureing out what to do instead of not going to class. It's sort of like what W.E.B. DuBoise said,"......". I didn't read the chapter assigned on W.E.B. DuBoise. Needless to say, I was not what he envisioned when he wrote about the "Talented Tenth". I don't need makeup when I get enough sleep, but I can never get enough sleep. I know it is Thursday because they served pancakes in the dining hall. I rise and fall from my bed, as punctual as the tide. There will be final exams someday, and someday there won't be. Presently, I am unwrapping Starbursts and that seems to be enough for now.