onemorepanic

someone fucked up the order.
it was supposed to be work, school, sleep, work, school.
marked across the calendar forever in a spiral.
what do I see in this age old optical illusion?
beside the dirt under my nails, and the empty beer bottles
around me. the quiet hum of computer fans, and the bed behind me, calling out to me, in the early evening.

in my dreams record stores were playgrounds, and I wasn't trying to sleep with my neighbor's wife.

I should be going to class right now. Finishing up homework and reading Palahniuk on public transport.
Instead I'm here trying to convince myself to shower.
It's the grit on my teeth, and the ache of my head that's giving me strength.

"Guilt, like Tourette's tries again learns nothing."