According to the dailyjolt, Rose Polenzani is performing outside of Davis at seven-thirty.

So I read while listening to "Omen".

Guess I should wander by, then. If that's not a sign then I don't know what is.

Goodbyes are never fun. But they never seem real. So they're painless, in a sense, until time wears reality in.

Sweaty-hot. I want October. I want this week to pass, so this will all settle down into comfortably numb routine. I'm having difficulty thinking right now, difficulty finding that center I spent four months seeking out and existing in. Thoughts don't stick well in my head, no matter how hard I try to hold on to them.

I am not unhappy, because I am not anything. I'd love to be less predictable, just once, just for laughs.

And the irony. I wanted the shell. I thought it would be better than what I was used to. Is it better, I wonder, this way, to feel nothing at all?

I was a wraith in the simmering heat today, walking alone down the streets of this endless carnival town. Is it natural to feel so invisible, so untouchable? Is it natural to like that feeling?

I think, if I stay very still, very quiet, I could grow a shell for the world to see. There is no word in my language for this, for this waiting to feel.