I don't know why I only write late at night. My sleep is all sorts of fucked from staying up late trying to have meaningful connections with friends. I work from 2-10, hang out from 10-2, sleep from 2-10. My day in 8 hour increments. I recently started getting those sleep headaches. Like the ones you get kind of above your eyebrows that make you squint and want to pass out everywhere. I miss my buds. My security blanket is getting on a plane tomorrow for another hemisphere.

What am I going to do in stupid fucking Boston.

Oh yeah, and I've been reading The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz. Not really sure what the point is yet. I'm almost half-way through the fucking thing and it's all back-story. Everything is happening in the super past tense just to give you a sense of what a character's deal is. But so far I don't think anything has actually happened. Maybe I'm missing something. It's like Sherman Alexie meets Jonathan Safran Foer, and I don't like Sherman Alexie AT ALL.

Please, someone understand what I mean.