All I did was cry and read Kurt Vonnegut. Then I was ok. Funny how that goes. For a few hours, the world is ending, there is no more purpose in your work, and then poof, wham, the problem still remains but it isn't crushing you anymore.

When I was reading Kurt Vonnegut, I was supposed to be listening to my teacher lecture about Kurt Vonnegut. I just read ahead and blocked her out. Chapter 6: "Schlachthof-fünf. Schlachthof meant slaughterhouse. Fünf was good old five."

When I walked out of the classroom door I came face to face with a guy I didn't know. That's normal, I guess at a university with thousands of students. For some reason I associated the smell of beer and cigarettes that attacked my senses just then with him. But then the smell followed me down the hallway, up the stairs. Beer and cigarettes. I love that smell, but only when the two are mixed. Apart, they disgust me. The smell didn't fade until I walked out of the building. Maybe I'm the one that smelled like beer and cigarettes. I don't know why I would.

Ladybugs have infested my home. Annoying, but cuter than the cockroach infestation of early October.