I am losing my mind. I have written so many papers this week...and I still have so many more to go that I feel like crying. Today I was talking to my mom on the phone and I said to her, "Mom, sometimes I feel like Morrissey is the only one who really understands me." I was driving to a study group for one of my finals today listening to the Smiths and it made me think of sweet Fran.

In case you don't remember, Franny and I were roommates in college. Not housemates, mind you, we lived in a single room together. Anyone who can put up with me like that deserves your love and support. Fran and I used to listen to the Smiths frequently--we also talked about ritual suicide frequently. At one point, we had a plan to hang giant signs out our window with one or two lines of Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire." We intended to divide it perfectly so it would last an entire semester. We had big plans, Fran and I, but of course, like all things that are important to me, they never came to fruition.

We did many other amusing things together, like driving to syracuse, drawing skulls on everything we owned, buying those 4oz. cans of Budwiser, calling security on dirty hippie drum circles, and eating sushi on the floor. Now that I look back on it, I guess it wasn't so fun. Fran, correct me if I am wrong. Maybe you can supplement this somehow. Make us sound cool, or something.

Today I was talking to Fran on the phone:

Me: I'm thinking about becoming a compulsive masturbator.
Fran: That's kind of like having a weblog.
Me: Damn you.

Anyway, I miss Fran and want her to come visit me so go tell her to come here or give her money or buy her things or something.

Once this week is over I might become sane again, but no promises. Did I ever link that paper I wrote a while ago? I dunno.