I don’t write because I am afraid to write because I am not happy, and I will inevitably come off as a feverish, selfish clot of ailments and grievances, in the words of Bernard Shaw. I feel, at regular intervals, completely bleak. Probably it is some asanine, inopportune chemical thing. Crises should not occur when APs are imminent — it’s bad form.

But there have been good things: Arman and Bilal sent me stuff like chocolate and photographs and a CD, all of which are things that I like. One of my favorite photos is of a church billboard (with Arman looking aesthetic nearby) on which is spelled out: “1 CROSS PLUS 3 NAILS EQUALS 4 GIVEN.” I think this is so brilliant. In general, tactlessness in advertising is terrific.

The other thing that happened that was good: Frontage Roads went to press. We rock hard. This is the cover, and this is the title bit of last year’s cover. I think the constructed letters are clever, so I overuse them, like the photograph above. Anyway, note the hidden anti-establishment messages in the letters.

I am trying, awkwardly, to vary my sentence structure. Meursault doesn’t care.

Lots of things have been nonexistant lately — my work ethic, for one. The junior year is indeed hellish. The only recent victory was going to prom, which was really a good thing for me, surprisingly. I have killed insecurity with a large stick! I fully expect it to zombify, but nonetheless, prom was a good idea. There was, however, an unfortunate side effect. I am now inexplicably attracted to the awful music of the day: Usher, Beyonce, and their ilk. I am ashamed. It’s just that downloading is so easy! It’s true: instant gratification is in fact the death of virtue.

I bet if I wrote more I’d feel less pressured to write well. This is not a new conclusion, but apparently not one I can internalize.

In two days I debate about the relative merits of Janet Jackson, Britney Spears, etc. And to think — last week it was tradable fishing quotas. It’s some downward spiral.

Arman tells me bits of my brain get smaller when I don’t sleep. This is believable, especially since I tend to listen to awful pop music to keep myself awake. Right now it’s Soul Decision.

I’m up because I’m working on the cover for Frontage Roads (our literary magazine), and I always procrastinate on things I want to do well. I also procrastinate on difficult or unpleasant things, so usually the only work that gets done is pleasant and shoddy.

Integral and Marx seem fairly happy with their lot. I have transferred them to a more roomy butter cookie tin, about the size of an aquarium. Integral and I get along splendidly. Marx is more complacent — not much of a revolutionary. Possibly he is lying low. Fortunately, my dog, Simka, does not seem to want to maul the mice. He snuffled peacefully when introduced. He also drooled, though. This was disturbing.

I have good news! It was Arvind’s birthday, and so Eamon and I decided to get him some mice in a lunchbox (for stealth). The mice were cheap feeding mice from PetCo, so we were effectively giving him good karma. Otherwise they would have been fed to boa constrictors! Anyway, the plan was to let the mice go, but it was kind of cold, the mice were shivering, and my bleeding liberal heart couldn’t take it, so I took them home instead. Now they are living in a jar temporarily. I am happy. I shall name the manlier one Marx and the niftier one Integral. Marx and Engels might be better, I know, but Integral is a great name for a mouse.

Hello again! Let it be known that I rule the universe, which I am told is expanding!

I made some leaves: 404 and 403. Pretty useless, kind of pretty. Also I have this new Opium for you. The layout is not very good, but the music is.