we have nothing to talk about except our work. i am exhausted during the day. i leaned over and whispered to him, when she called i explained to her, i want to wave my arms in the air and scream pathetically to the man who is the sane-conscience in my head, "i am surrounded by creatures that seem to be freshly beamed down from outer space! what do they eat? why are they here?" he looks at me and laughs and i realize the violence of the outburst was all i needed to find firm ground again.

the weather is just that sort of dreary where it has spent all day threatening to uncover the sun, but never managed to follow through. in the evening, my roommate sits on the balcony and plays some blues on his guitar, a cigarette dangling from his lips. i am drinking licorice tea and memorizing violin parts. our brains are heavy. i feel like i'm pushing through the thick, rubbery foliage of a primitivism painting. i'm all out of green vegetables.

keep trucking, keep trucking, all night long.