To: The one I love more than anything. I want to be with you forever. Thank you for always being there. Love, M.

Or something to that effect. I'm bad with direct quotes. Nevertheless, it's the most romantic thing I've read in quite some time, I only wish I hadn't read it in the bathroom, in the newest issue of Lawrence's own "Potty Personals".

I suspect it was one of the guys across the hall, they're all named Matt or Mike or something. They're 'drunk' this morning (I'm reverse blogging), which I don't believe. Sure, they were drinking "double jack and cokes" last night, but they've been sleeping for about nine hours now at least.

I overhear most of their shallow bravado, in fact I overhear prettymuch everything because they're really loud. It's funny how they become angsty little whiners around their girlfriends. Ok, that's enough. My anger is spent.

The Calculus gauntlet is indeed a difficult one. I spent two or three hours plodding through about half of the course material and almost fell asleep a few times.

I later told The Vain Man I hadn't studied at all. What was the point of lying to him? Do I just not respect him that much, that I feel he doesn't deserve the truth, no matter what the question?

I feel bad that I find math so boring. With some effort, Calc would be interesting and profitable. English, however, is already interesting, and my hetero-life-buddy Larson has promised me a spot on his couch. I took a break after a little bit to finish reading a great story about a Fireman in my short stories book, not thrilling, but well written.

So anyways, I took a ton of breaks, random socializing it up and all. On one I chatted with Mollie of Stillwater and Dungeon Master; restating my intentions to go climbing next term, sometime, maybe.

I left them to call an AWOL member of my Qur'an class, Aaron Carter, who spirited away with all my notes, but the phone was occupied by a flamboyant guy who was gesticulating wildly, and I didn't want to make him feel like someone was waiting.

I didn't want to bother Dungeon Master and Mollie again, because they were working and I'd just said I was leaving the library to meet Greg and Nick-From-Next-Door for dinner.

But I wanted to get my notebook, because it's got all my Qur'an notes and some of my Calc stuff in it, so I harassed the famous Ann of Stillwater, and Jamie, a girl from my Calc class I wrote about before I knew her a little better, mind you, expecting that flamboyant man would get off the phone shortly.

A conversation ensued, centering on Gnostic Redeemers, boys I don't really know, and other normal topics of scholarly conversation. I was invited to dinner after a little bit, and hung out until then, getting nothing done at all. As we left I tried to call Aaron Carter again, but no one was there.

Dinner was, though odd. The Idyllist's roomate has a lot of rage beneath a timid exterior (picture a Meghan Rahn who constantly spouted profanities) and I met, again, this guy whose name is Jonas. His name is Jonas. I don't think I'll ever get sick of that, even though I don't really like that song.

More random conversation. Tried vaguely to describe what watching Requiem for a Dream was like- but what other movie leaves you so wonderfully depressed, with not a single moment of hope? Left for the room, and tried to get work done, and failed.

I had someone else's dream Saturday night, now that I think back. A conversation I overheard on the way back to Colman reminded me; apparently it had happened to someone else that night too, but they didn't have my dream and I don't think I had their's.

It's pretty presumptious of my subconscious to think it can guess what other people's dreams are like, and it's really presumptious of me to think that's what's going on. My subconsious is a weird little creature in any case; a certain slacker-genius once claimed that it was cheating at cards for me.