I finally have a bed now. Well, it's a futon, but it's better than the air mattress that I've spent almost nine months sleeping on. It's great. I can have a couch, or a bed... whatever's in the cards. But I know I won't pull it up into a couch unless I know I am having company. I'm just not that neat and tidy. Then again, I'm getting older. I could be wrong.

I just sent a story to my fiction class for workshop. I'm worried. I don't think this is anywhere near the best work that I've done. I've rewrote this story at least two full times and I just don't know if it's going on the right path. I guess I'll find out on Tuesday. It really is interesting, but I am afraid that I put too much delusional elements in it for the main character... if you can call it that. I don't know. I guess it works how it is, but there's always room for improvement.

And I've got to stop being a walking cliche. It doesn't suit me.