It's been a day of meaningless writing -- the hasty scribble of Spanish words, answering silly questions in "full sentences." The writing progressively runs more carelessly. Perhaps letters will be dropped here and there, too slow to catch on. Sentences turn to a swollen stream of cursive words nearly linked as one. For crying out loud, I don't care anymore! But I will at 8am if this paper is examined by eyes less forgiving than my own were at this hour.

People holler and cheer outside. I write what humor I can to far away friends and boyfriend. No sadness, simply a bit tired. If I could, I would write creatively all day long. But I need those other things -- classes, assignments (regardless of language), practice, bed -- to make me value it more. To channel it effectively, if I can ever get time to let it run.