Fast Pace

I went to spanish= made an ass of myself. Walked from Mezes to Moore Hill; took a fifteen minute nap; began my journey to Painter Hall. Attended molecules to organisms and listened to the Texan lady wih the mullet, and didn't fall asleep! That class is ridiculously easy. Maybe it's because were at the beginning of the semester, but im like protons? neutrons? eLECTRONS? what?!?!?! So anyways, I go back to my dorm because I want to eat before spending the rest of the day at my try-out. I cook some vegetables and roll an outline of my day through my head. "I'm going to walk to the Daily Texan; the're going to give me a stupid story that I don't know shit about; they are going to be curt with me; they're going to look at me as if to say 'isn't this obvious?'; I'm going to have to call people who don't want to be bothered; I'm going to wish I never went; I'm going to miss out on an opportunity:" my thought process. At this point I don't want to go. I left my phone charger in my friend's car who went to San Antonio; so, I'm on my own. The decision to go to The Daily Texan is my own. Solely. Alone. Without. I have no support. WAIT! technology. The answer is ICHAT! So Lynda made me go. This is what I'm talking about. My drive has receded. I need someone else to motivate me. That's stupid. I want to cuss. I don't have the extra push. I don't have the confidence I used to be so in control of. What is happening to me? I used to walk really fast.