I have all these thoughts and ideas that have been flying around in my head, like bats attacking the lightpost at night. Maybe that's why I have these headaches. It's all these damn bats in my head.

Now if I'm clever that's funny, if I'm not, then I just sound, well, crazy.

I hate feeling hestitant. I hate waiting. I am the now or never type. Let's do this, or let me move on to something else! I'm busy!

But I'm really not. Not busy anymore. I still do stuff. Class. Ummm, homework? Sex. I sleep a lot.

I still feel busy. Totally stressed out. I have no idea why. I used to think that if I didn't have so many things to do, I would be relaxed and calm. But mostly, I'm still a mess.

So, maybe I really am just a mess. But I get along okay. I make it through. My head hurts a lot of the time. Badly. I talk too much. And about sex too often. I interrupt people. Shiny things amuse me. Little kids make me smile. Even the snot-nosed noisey ones. I drop things more often than not.

So what does it mean? What does it mean? This has to be in the top-ten most frequently used sentences by college professors.

Maybe this is just who I was meant to be. Not a mess, but a mosiac of moments blurring at the mortar that holds them together. The simple stumbling of events that string the moments of my life together, completing me. Like a pearl necklace. Beauty up out of pain. Not a mess, but a beautiful disaster.

-kln-