at the end of the day, when it all comes out, gets talked about at bar counters between weepy beers and cigarettes, i will be in the wrong; so wrong that all my wiles will be useless. there will be people who don't talk to me anymore, and people who don't care. people who're surprised, and people who've thought it's been in the cards all along. but nobody is going to congratulate me on this one.

i'm doing a terrible job of being an adult at the moment. i've got bills to pay, papers to write, people to teach, a presentation about twelve hours away that i am not planning to give. i can't seem to keep my word, i can't seem to get invested in anything, to be awake when i am talking to people face to face; i expect congratulations for keeping myself alive, while anything more challenging than that seems to be too much for me, though i will get your beer to your table. unless i'm stoned.

i'll find out in three weeks whether or not i'm being deported, and if they send me home, i probably won't come back. it sounds like i'm doing really badly, but the thing is, i feel really really ok.