Diarrheic thoughts are callously spinning the worn brown table in front of me away from perpendicular vision. I'm afraid that if I try and set my drink down everything is going to spill out.
It's probably just this whole college thing though. It'll pass. Take up a cause, go on an adventure. I could pretend like my work is substantial, if only until it ends up on someone's desk.
I want everything faster and harder; I want things saner. I want to flow; weave exuberant life in and out of viscous self. I just want to flow.
Don't you?
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