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So, it's the weekend... and that is more exciting than it perhaps should be even though it leads up into a week where (as a complete 180) I have NO ESSAYS DUE. And that's exciting.

My friends and I are starting a new blog. We're weirdos, so it's called "Hypothetical Happenings with Historical Figures." First up (probably), the asskicking of United States Senator Joe McCarthy. After that, likely some Cubans (shh, don't tell anybody), with the distinct possibility of some eminent figures of the American Civil War, after which somebody will talk shit about Andrew Jackson and Martin Van Buren. Marx will certainly make an appearance, and the axolotl forecast is looking pretty good. There will be pictures. There will hopefully be videos, although our limited technological knowledge may necessitate the enlistment of some talented compadres. There will always be geeking out. We see this as an excellent opportunity to actively engage ourselves in our studies. We are interacting with knowledge. Also, we want to dress up like historical figures and make dorky history jokes. Hah.

On a slightly related, yet much more serious note: knowledge is depressing. Between footage of people rioting as a little black girl climbs the steps to her first-grade classroom; to the metaphor of the penal system as a surgery that will not work with anasthesia; to 350 NLF peasant soldiers against 1400 opposing troops and three dead American helicopter pilots who shouldn't even have been there; to the Jacksonian democrat who said that all people should have an equal opportunity base - except for you, and you, and you, and you...

It's all just icky.

Brain. dead.

It's really interesting to be this tired. Running on the fumes of a few hours restless sleep, in combo with a sleep debt not fully repaid from last week... topped off with a severe case of academic ADD (AADD??), and I'm at the point where I can hear people talking, and I know they're talking to me, but for the life of me I can't string their words together with their appropriate connotations in my brain. Even writing... by the time I finish a sentence, I've all but forgotten where I started, grateful for the habits and instinct that seem to keep me reasonably coherent.

And don't get me started on reading. Rereading that essay through for the last time was painful. Word by slogging word I was able to guide my brain through the maze of historical facts. I felt like I was guiding a little kid through an I Can Read book. "And... then... to.. stay... safe... from... the... evil... Communists... ... the U.S.... kept... throwing... money... at... France."