The more I think about it the closer I come to the

conclusion that I don't really belong here. I mean, stack my grades next to anyone else's and you might as well just start tossing me small metal monetary representations of all of my drug and alcohol habits. I fail to understand how the collegiate admission process works. I fail to understand how I work even: I mean, it seems as though once I lost sight of why I wanted to be here it was a foregone conclusion that I would be going here, resulting in a euphoric, numb and hazy vertigo that begged the question: ``What happened?"

So I arrive. I've successfully spent the first month of my
	Berkeley carrier wandering aimlessly hopelessly lost though the multitudes of classic, new and under-construction campus architecture, looking up at the Campanile thinking to myself: "Wow, I'm actually here. Wow, actually, I am here. I'm here, actually, wow. Wow, I'm late for class. What am I doing here,?" which was my question in the first place.

I didn't really do much else that first month, eventually

arriving at the inevitable realization that college requires something to the general definition of that work stuff. Resuming from that tailing and falling behind position that is so familiar to me, I began to pick up my newly sagging grades. Besides, there's a cute redhead in my next class whom I like to watch. She has this melodious voice, consistently using it to stump the professor, and tweaks her bangs all the time, so I might as well go to lecture. Not that I care or anythingjust thought I'd let you know.

___ _-'" | "`-_ \ | / \ | / \__|__/

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A.U.B.I.E.|Out of Order