There's all sorts of scary things hiding in my under-the-bed boxes, but no checkbooks. I can't find a single check, so I'm not going to be able to pay my tuition until Monday, when staff is back in the office and I can do it over the phone, except last time it didn't work over the phone, so I may well be slapped with a $150 (is it more?) overdue fee. Because I continue to be a financial dumbass.

But oh, the unsorted madness that is my bedroom. I couldn't help reading a few notes from Misti in which we addressed each other with invented Star Trek names, lamenting the sad state of television and the fact that we have no lives. Movie stubs and undergraduate acceptance letters and old cards — there are some folders and notebooks I do not open, some memories that are too unbearable or mortifying. I didn't go there today.

There are rooms in this house
that I don't open anymore,
dusty books and pictures on the floor
that she will never see
She'll never see that part of me
I want to be for her
what I could never be for you

But I don't believe in God
so I can't be saved
All alone as I've learned to be
in this mess I have made

Ben Folds Five