United States of Neurotica

I ride the elevator up to the 18th floor, clutching the bag with my hard drive in it. I hate elevators. I get in and out of different elevators three times just because I cannot bear to ride up 18 floors in one straight shot (and because an assortment of awkward strangers kept getting in with me).

The 18th floor is full of offices and cubicles. I immediately feel stifled. I quickly find the people I've been doing an internship for and get them the video they need from my hard drive. "Sorry it's not entirely edited," I say. "I was going to go to the lab and edit it this morning, but somebody spilled some chemicals in the science building and the whole campus was shut down." (And yes, that really happened.)

They are nice people. They like the work I've done, or at least they pretend to. It's a dreadfully boring video, but it's what they wanted. They help me finish it and get it exported and out of my hair. "Great work," they say. The man gives me a high five.

I take the elevator down 18 floors and spend several minutes attempting to locate my car in the parking garage. I do not relax until I am on the freeway.

I never, ever, ever want to work in a job that requires me to sit in a cubicle. I never want to have an office. I don't know if I ever want a proper desk. The idea of offices and cubicles and giant corporate buildings with over 18 floors terrifies me. It's enough to make me want to run away and make music.

Well, I guess I want to do that anyway. But you get the point.

Two weeks of school left. Two weeks, and then finals. After that - BAM! Graduation. The official launching into the universe. I am excited, but at the same time, I am totally stressed out and not even sure how I'm going to make it through the next two weeks. I know I will somehow, but it still throws me into anxiety land whenever I think about all the things that need to happen between now and then.

I tried to go to bed early tonight, but it didn't work out. Too much on my mind. I went into the kitchen and ate jello with a fork (the spoons were dirty). Then I puttered around the Internet for a bit, as I often do on nights like this.

Tonight, I found myself on Omegle. I hadn't been there in a long, long time and most of my conversations looked like this:

You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!

You: i dont want to have cybersex
Your conversational partner has disconnected.

I did manage to have a decent conversation with a polite, music-savvy teenager in Brooklyn. The convo ended with the girl adding Original Sound Trash as a friend and promising to come to a show if we play Brooklyn. I gave up on Omegle after that. The odds of having two good conversations in one evening are too slim.

I should probably go to bed. I am not going to want to get up in the morning. But I probably wouldn't want to get out of bed even if I fell asleep three hours ago.

Man, I can't wait until rock tour. It's quickly become something that I not only want to do, but that I need to do. I need to get the heck out of here for awhile. I need to travel and meet all kinds of interesting people and have crazy experiences and make loud music.

That's all.