I let my roommate choose my topics tonight.

Drugs are bad, kids.

Or are they really? I mean, come on, I have a shoebox full of drugs on the shelf above me now. I carry a small candy tin of drugs on bad days. My roommate has drugs that keep her focused. And I lost my ibuprofen purity at a young age.

Wait, what do you mean those don’t count? Just because the government says they’re ok… they’re ok? That strikes me as insanely illogical, but don’t ask me to explain why.

Well fine. If you want to keep this conversation entirely legal, maybe I shouldn’t mention getting high off nail polish fumes. High as a . . . skyscraper.  I mean, high like a skyscraper. All I did was visit a skyscraper! Really? Wait.

I still haven’t made it to any of the skyscrapers here since I moved here for school. Now that’s just sad.






I bought Ramen.

I thought you should know.


Sleep deprivation is  a funny thing in my life. It either renders me lethargic and unpardonably antisocial, or hyperactive, talkative, and ridiculously haphazard.

Guess where I’m at tonight?

“This must be what going mad feels like.”

Time for dinner, kids. And remember, don’t do illegal drugs, just cocktail the legal ones.

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