Truamatic Tuesday.

It's 9:56 ante meridiem and I am sitting in the cafe debating whether or not I want to start working on the paper due at 10:00pm tonight. Twelve hours and four minutes. Scratch that, three minutes. Kanye West is playing on the stereo and my motivation to do anything but sit and sip my double-shot-non-fat-two-splenda-packet mocha is absolutely minimal.

I haven't seen Nik yet, but maybe today he'll stop in and say hi, like he did last week when I apparently missed him. I don't know what happened to Gato Guy, but I kind of miss him. I never even got to make out with him.


Last night I went on a texting rampage. It was probably a horrible idea, but I couldn't help myself. I sent a text to Chuck, because I'm actually worried about Courtney. I'm worried


Elaboration to come.