Sleep-Deprived Stream of Consciousness

My friend and I did a couple of really fast SoC exercises today – three minutes each.  

Joy in the universe.  I wonder exactly which part of the universe we’re supposed to have joy in.  The seeable part or the part that we can’t see?  Which type of physics are we supposed to subscribe to, classical, quantum, string?  Did the person who wrote that quote even know about string theory?  Strings are one dimensional objects that we will never be able to see.  There are so many stars.  It’s impossible to even name them all.  It’s entirely possible that many of the stars we see have already died.  There aren’t many stars in Houston.  I remember sitting outside by the lake when I was little.  The smell of wooden floors and pine trees.  Were they pine trees?  Do pine trees grow in Maine?  Maybe not.  I remember stepping on fish eggs and the fish biting my ankles.  I tried to catch fish but they slipped through my net.  Where did I get the net?  Were there pine cones?  So many things I can’t remember.  I listened to an old CD from high school today.  How did I survive with that little sleep?  Why do I think about you so much?  I can’t even talk to you.  All I can do is write and sing and hope that my little presence will make some sort of ripple in the universe that ends up on your side of the room.

I haven’t taken math in a really long time.  Math teachers, well, calculus teachers at least, all use the same problems to teach the same concepts.  pV = nRT.  I don’t remember very much about integrals, only that there is always a concept of integration.  Constant.  I meant constant but I got distracted.  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.  I don’t know what is good and what’s not.  I don’t think the servery food is very good but my food isn’t much better.  It would be nice if I were really a moth and could only drink liquids or maybe not even eat at all.  Moths don’t live for very long.  Today a freshman told me that most Hispanics practice Catholicism.  As if I didn’t know that already.  Latin words I can’t remember.  When I am in mass, the few times I am, I can speak the words even if I can’t remember.  That’s one thing I am good at.  I miss the bright turquoise crosses of my childhood.  I miss stained glass.  I miss terra cotta tiles.  I tell people about Arizona a lot.  It’s like a dream, so different.  The glare.

Lab coats this time.  Too many colors on the once white fabric.  Coomassie Blue is blue, obviously, and very poisonous.  Is it poisonous or toxic?  Why am I shaking?  Am I tired or scared or just sick?  Or maybe my body is trying to tell me something.  I wish I could listen better.  It’s like Morse Code.  Using my feet to type a message to my mind.  Morse Code, I never learned that.  I know SOS and that’s about it.  At least I can call for help if I need it.  I dream about icebergs.  I’ve never seen one but I’ve seen ice on a fast flowing river.  It was a cold night in Colorado and the snow was three feet deep.  You can follow dogs and they will step on the strongest parts of the snow.  They rarely fall through.  I remember my jacket.  It said Harvard Medical School on it.  I once wanted to be a doctor but I’m not good with anger or sadness.  I pick it up and hold it like a jewel or a shadow.  A shadow?  You can hold those, I guess.  You can hold anything if you try hard enough.  I feel like my soul is like glue.  I go through life collecting bits and pieces of other people’s stories.  And now my mind circles back to you.  I try to imagine you in your room, terrified.