My summer class started two weeks ago. It's on post-modern American novels. The books are good. The class discussions seem aimless. My guess is no one understands the critical readings, and we've quickly figured out that it's easy to get off topic and stay off topic if we use words and phrases like "fragmented history" and "post-modernist ideals." I say "we" because I'm in the class, but it's aggravating.

The book review should be posted either today or Thursday. Yay, name in print.

I haven't been sleeping well the last two weeks. It's not without reason; I have a health issue at the moment. Exhaustion is a funny thing. Being chronically tired must be what a runner's high feels like--you don't realize you're not sleeping anymore, and you're just in this untouchable place. I organize things. I think about my exes and how we've reached the point where if one of us dies, it's irrelevant to the other. The other perhaps wouldn't even know. Isn't that ultimately where we've always wanted to be? Better places and all.

I'm not a runner.