Pale Smoke and Old Shoegaze. Here's to Mom. Dreading the Sunrise.

Head swimming in a cloud of pale smoke and old shoegaze. I can no longer tell what is the acrid leftovers of what I sucked in and what is my body heat escaping into the cold night air. I don't want to come out of this delicious fog and stumble back into the scholastic grave that I've dug so well and so deeply for myself.

After 11 pages of discussion, I still fucking hate the Great Horned Owl. And now I've got some 6 chapters of Geography reading to make up for... 4? weeks of nonattendance.

I'm at home-home right now. My mother brewed a pot of tea for me. She put this special dried seed stuff in it which is supposed to boost eyesight and... awareness? (You know I'm running on empty when:) I can't think of the word in English. Jin-seng. Wo zen de mei you, le.

Even she figured out how deeply I've gone and buried myself. Here's to mom; bottoms up.

Nose back to the grindstone. Dreading the sunrise, and the many trials that will accompany it.