[:helluva good. read: helluva long:] I've played "Sexual Healing" by Marvin Gaye four times every night since this past Friday. I've done some crazy things to scare the bejezus out of my roommates, but i think this ranks high up there. Especially since it's 3 in the morning and poor EE will think I'm randy enough to barrage in her room and take her. Sorry, hon, we play on the same team, remember?
Er, okay, enough with that. As far as everything else, I'm good. You know, aside from papers to write and a final to study for. And packing. Ooh, how I hate packing up. I wish I had paid the lousy $500,000 to store my stuff here in the apartment. It doesn't really cost that much, of course, it just feels like it.
I'm also incredibly sad. As much as I've kvetched about classes and other shit, I really did enjoy my second year here. It was touch-and-go, grades-wise, hell, it still is, but for the most part, I don't care about that. Or I don't try to focus on that. Mostly, I've changed. I know I'm old now because I can remember those days back in childhood when I'd imagine myself doing grown-up things and looking forward to it. I even wrote a letter to myself from back then, one to the fifteen-year-old me, and another to the twenty-one year old. The previous one consisted of wishes like "Grow your hair out" and "Get a boyfriend" and the second one, well, I think it's somewhere at home and I have yet to open it. It'll be completely puerile but I do miss being that way and not even realizing it. I think that's called innocence?
Oh and another thing that didn't quite help: I stayed up last night, not to study for finals, but to watch Scola. Don't scoff, they had a Filipino news show on. I amazed myself by being able to listen and understand those rapid words that were flowing out of their mouths, because, come to think of it, I only have a sixth-grade vocabulary in Tagalog. Bottom line is, it did put a lump in my throat and it made me remember those days, you know, those cliched childhood days when you'd run amok in the park or you'd go jogging with your dad without a shirt on because he did too. Last part, of course, might only be applicable to the six-year-old me.
Alright, time to snap out of this daze. Didn't mean to dump on ya, honest. We still cool? Aight. Night.