Erotic Ball is this weekend. I'm wearing the same thing I wore on Halloween minus the leggings. Julia is coming up for it. I think I'm going to send the rats back to New Bedford with her, because I am tired of them. They are smelly and not fun and the longer I keep them, the more of a chance there is that I will get caught and get in trouble.

Unfortunately, Rachael's the one who wanted them, and she's in North Carolina for two months, so I'm going to have to ask Julia or Mom to tend to the rats.

I'm just complaining about them now because they're really stinky and I don't have time to change the cage yet. I have to do it after class this afternoon, along with reading for class tomorrow and studying for the Biopsych test tomorrow. I need more hours in the day.

On the bright side, angst is a wonderful fuel for writing poetry. Between lovesickness and heartbreak and generalized fear of declining into depression again, I've got fodder for dozens of these things. Tonight: villanelles. Because nothing combines obsessiveness with sadness like a villanelle. And they're way easier than fucking sestinas. I'm tired of trying to write a sestina, I always peter out around the fourth stanza. TL;DW: TOO LONG; DIDN'T WRITE