I can feel my high school reunion closing in all around me. It’s like a severe thunderstorm that rains ghosts of your past. It makes my arthritis act up. I feel very strange. It could be this rocking headache that I woke with. Or it could be my strange sleep schedule from last night. Somehow, in the midst of our trying to “get comfortable” (not code for sex), Pancake Land managed to scratch my forehead with her fingernail. I think Taco Planet is up and doing stuff. The world is filled with mysteries. Like why Eugene Hutz is so brilliant or insane. I was going to type something insightful and possibly profound, but I think that I will go poop instead. I can’t focus. Head swimming and spinning and twirling. Ooh, coffee (code for sex). Nice. Morse oon. ~SC