Odd weekend. I suppose it's not over yet.

I think I've felt every sort of strange there is to feel, this week. At present I feel out of sorts — like I'm connected to the world by the thinnest of threads.

I live most of my life inside my head, so it'd be easy to say that I was merely ruminating, distracted, at the ORC party I left a few hours ago. Good party, good people, by the way. But I feel like I didn't even go there.

Our Bold Hero? No, I'm afraid that's someone else. I've been sorta half-watching this show that follows him around. He went to the V.R. tonight with Jonas and Frisbee Matt. Then to ORC.

Perhaps this disconnect is just typical post-hangover lightness. Jinx and Jagger, back and living together this term, had a housewarming-themed party in their new room Friday night.

I had maybe three screwdrivers and three glasses of poorly-guarded white boxed wine. Ten hours later I had three glasses of water and two aspirin. Kids: don't drink.

That was a fun party. I remember talking to a few friendly strangers, as good a clue as any that I was drunk.

(I even dropped my beloved camera at one point; thankfully there was no damage.)

I stayed there until the bitter end, though I missed watching campus security drag out the drunken freshman who spent most of the party staring into the host's garbage can.

Really, though, I've been feeling strange for most of the week, since at least Wednesday. Not a sustained strangeness, more like a collection of low-frequency moods. Which is in itself strange.

This is the part when I say something about reading or writing more. For the promotion of mental regularity. Prof. Goldgar recommended a book called Riddley Walker, which I suspect he heard of from my grad school application essay… sometimes it goes both ways. A professor asked me to barthle her, Friday.

Our room, more specifically Jubb and my side, smells strange. And we just cleaned and washed everything, earlier today. I told Representative Man that it reminded me of rotting oysters, a smell I can't associate with the only remaining potential source, Jubb's pile of dirty clothes.

We lit a candle, pine-scented, to cover it up. Just lemon-scent it, as they say. It's been burning for a few hours now, so I think I'll put it out and go to bed.