Asinine
I unset my alarm while packing and missed my last final. Whoops.

Pencils and pens, pencils and pens
For all the expediency of the computer, there’s something about pencils that I just can’t let go of. Maybe it’s the smoothness – you can’t really run your fingers lovingly, sexually, along a keyboard. And if you could, I wouldn’t want to see it. Keyboards don’t smell fresh and smoky whenever you sharpen them, they don’t leave indentations in your index finger and thumb there and there, which hurt but are symbols of pride in work hard done. Keyboards don’t chip and splinter when you get too intense about the work, they don’t shatter and remind you that you’re not engraving. Keyboards just sit on the desk.

Fictionalize a conversation, for real this time, and have it.-How long will it be until he gets here?
-I don’t know, when did we call him?
-Maybe like five minutes ago.
-Okay.
-People are looking at us funny.
-No, they’re not.
-Yeah – didn’t you see that car that just went by?
-no, they were looking at something else. They definitely were.
-If you say so.
-I do. It’s not like we stand out a lot or anything.
-Ha! At least it’s daylight out.
-Yeah.
Not that it matters. I’m sure he’ll be here soon, anyway. Don’t worry about it.
-I’m not.
-Good.
-I’m not.
-There’s really nothing to worry about at all.