...my shaving razor's cold, and it stings...

Once upon a time Farnam promised me ground troops and a military strike and angry East Coast froshers. I curtailed her at the time, tempered her with my diplomatic finesse, and the like. But tonight I'm calling congress into session and petitioning a full-scale operation, with me as chief commanding officer. Don't I look menacing in my pj's y'all?

My roommate is angry. She's generally a calm sort of girl, my Janet, but tonight she is angry on my behalf and that is nice because I'm not angry, really so much as, I don't know. Something else. And, actually, the timing is impeccably convenient because the house is full of liberal Americans tonight with enough pent-up anger over the election to fight battles in my honour, and yada, and yada. I should let them have at it. Mm hmm.

Also, it's the middle of the night and I'm losing coherence.

Also, this whole concept is ridiculous. There will be no military strike, no fallout. It's as completely asinine as Vanuatu taking offense at Survivor corrupting their island, getting angry and waging war on the USA. Like that's ever going to happen. Seriously now. First off, Vanuatu should have known better, and really has no one to blame. More likely, Vanuatu will sit around shouting rote angry words in pidgin English and not really doing anything about it, because really what could they do? See what I mean? The best I can do is eat a copious amount of chocolate covered raspberries and tally another mark, file under "mistakes made/things learned", and forget it long enough to get through a tomorrow filled with 600 grieving kids.

What are the chances of me getting any sleep tonight, do you think? With the noise and the cooking and the people and the lights and the thoughts in this place right now?

Ssshhhh... don't tell Lloyd it turns out he was right. I'll never be able to deal with the ego. You can only take so many "I told you so's" and I already have, let's see, three huge ones coming at me from Farnam, Janet and Rachel respectively. Lizzy won't say "I told you so". She knows better. She'll just get me drunk and let me run rampant with an as-yet-undetermined musician type. You know the kind - "use once, never call" just for kicks walker types. Much healthier, I think. 'Specially the drunk part.

Yeah, you're right. Sleep tonight is probably a not-happening. Might as well shower now and get pretty, get everything ready for tomorrow and finish "The Alchemist". Because when it comes down to it, shit still has to get done.

(ps: "shit has to get done" = the story of my life. burnout is going to hit me in the biggest way, good lord)