Afternoon stream-of-barely-consciousness library tirades

I am trying to come up with more than two sentences' worth of feelings per day and it's very stressful. Ever since I started college I've become so emotionally flat and I don't know where it's coming from. Shit, I hope I didn't peak in high school, that's like climbing a sand dune on Rockaway Beach and expecting a medal for it. While I was reading "How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents" I began to question how life would have been different if I'd only had some siblings. Probably better-adjusted. Or at least adjusted in any form whatsoever. Although every time the protagonists complain about their parents yelling at them for dating and smoking weeedz in high school I want to send the boo-fuckiddy-hoo fairy over to fiction world to make them simmer down and take an AP class. Not that I resent literary figures. Nooo.


There is a guy who walks back and forth once in a while in front of the science desk reading a book. He hasn't been here for a little while so I hope everything is going ok for him. No plants yet on the balcony, although I like looking out at the fourth-floor view: it's like being suspended in a treetop canopy. All of the nature with none of the nasty dirt/bugs/scrapes from tree bark.


The idea of having an online temporary-friend-making service for New Yorkers that I think Stuart was talking about has got to be one of the best ideas since the D train. I am hoping to make friends at the Celebrate Brooklyn training that will let me sleep at their place on Saturday nights after shows; every relationship serves an ulterior motive.


In other news, I  have located the urban design and landscaping section of the fourth floor. This weekend's book will be a natural history of New York City, rawr.