tom hoke was my chocolate dealer - naughty boy, tom - what would your mother say, besides "Share that chocolate with me, Thomas!"

I am so wide awake. It is a quarter after five in the morning, I have just finished writing a paper that was due a quarter after twelve hours ago. I am rocking out in Drew Geer's room to "Here Comes Your Man" on repeat, and am contemplating what to do with myself right now, what to do with myself in general, with this life. My life.

We are all going to make it, goddamnit. That's what I know. That's what I tell myself, sort of hope, thinking that if I tell it to myself then it is going to be true, that everything will work out, just say it three times and that motherfucking blue genie will come out of that little lamp and so will our life, unfolding like a beach blanket, ours, and it'll be so fucking lovely. Your friends from high school won't believe you when you e-mail them about it, they'll keep on sending you silly forwards, and never know that it is so fucking on.

So fucking right on.

I ate four candy bars tonight. They were so good. I am a chocolate monster. Grrr. I will eat up your Snickers and your Almond Joys indiscriminately, you sucker. Yum yum yum. I offered some chococlate to LOB, Leigh, and Dustin when they were taping me, asking me if I thought homosexuality was genetic. I told them I didn't know. I should have said who cares, my love of chocolate is genetic - you guys are freaks for not taking any - it is heaven - do you feel that sensation, the yum yum yum thing when you eat it? Are you not fucking human? Or are you vegan? Is that the same question?

Whatever, more chocolate for me.

PS- My man is coming. So is yours. Let's have a chocolate eating date and talk about arrivals, anticipation, and big things.

Right on?