sick thoughts

I'd been coming down with something and never gave myself a chance to fight it off. So instead of salsa dancing, I am sitting here typing.

My ears feels clogged full of cotton wool.
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Last week I drew a bit differently. I liked the way they turned out.
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Books feel richer, bread tastes browner and rain looks prettier when my hair's a bit long and shaggy.
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You're right, Herman. I suppose hobo style scotch in the park is worthy of a mention in here. And the Sunnyvale was as awful as expected.
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The people on upper campus are helping us get real nice high resolution mass spectra from their instruments. The mass accuracy is better than 0.01 Dalton, and I'll have some pretty pictures to show people. I find that exciting.
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The fact that I find that exciting makes me feel special, which in turn makes me feel as though I need to do a better job of keeping an eye on myself. My ego is running around unchecked and needs a few good whacks in the teeth.
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I still don't know what I'm doing with the guitar. I'm just listening to songs and trying to pluck the strings in the same way that the people in the songs plucked strings. When it gets too hard I look up guitar tabs and find out that I should be using a capo and tuning the guitar differently, which makes me feel a bit better. The sounds are still pretty twangy, I can't read music and I don't know why people name chords D7 or E11. Maybe I should read up on it, but I've been having too much fun as a clueless amateur.