I have four weeks until I leave, and in some ways it feels like that’s all the time I have left to live. Every thing I do, every purchase I make, every moment I spend with anybody… I find myself evaluating everything in terms of “is this what I want to be doing with my last time here?”. It’s lame.

This whole thing wasn’t real until now, I don’t think. Now that there’s a definite date, and definite to-do’s that I have, it’s like it’s already started.

Blah… back to work.

Other than that… I am still alive, and my special lady-friend has been snowed in and can’t go back to her apartment until next week… oh damn…