All hell is breaking loose at the junction of the West Wing and its perpendicular: it's Karan's birthday and the by-now-traditional cake and shower are being administered. I was about to eagerly drop my backpack to aid in the drenching, but then realized upon second thought that I didn't really want to. Anyway, full participation in a showering demands no small amount of soaking from the showerers, and I was already gratuitously drenched last night for Tory's birthday. It was funny and I was in the right mood for it at the time, but having just come back from a very late dinner at the Cyber Cafe across the street (not enough time between architecture class and calc midterm), I was still free of the contagion of hysteria that usually pervades our home.

Hysteria isn't even a possibility, actually. I'm fairly devoid of opinion right now; if I take too much time to think, I am overwhemled by the questions of ethics and future and morals and responsibility and goals. While the bubble of this huge private university prevents much of the real world from reaching me, I do have real responsibilities like filing applications and petitions and proposals in time for the bureaucracies of this world and that to process.

Instead I am barely eking out one day's worth of activity at a time, burying myself in the small things like the reincarnation of my floor plan as blueprint. Really, it makes my pencil-on-vellum draft look exponentially more professional. It's almost as good a high as a full carload of fresh-off-the-press Hawkeye issues. Almost, but not quite. I'm burying myself really well. In fact, I've had a slight disinclination to human interaction for the past few days: communication with others requires me to be at least mildly entertainng and I don't particularly want to live up to that goal at all. So I've been eschewing interaction with all but those who make me unqualifiably happy. Selfishness at its prime: "How much can you cheer me up?"

I'm so exhausted and want to go to bed, but am sort of dreading entering that room because Sex and the City is being rerun for the billionth time. It's funny in small doses, but I can only take so many impossible women in impossible clothing seducing too many men for their own good.