So the thing about coming to Marty's to do homework is that you're coming to Marty's, home of the world's best bacon cheeseburgers, to do homework. As if it's not bad enough that you can smell Ethiopian Roast being brewed at the coffeeshop next door, it's exponentially warmer in the basement of the Union than it is outside. And that's where I am. In the sweet, dreadful spot between awareness and sleep, I linger. My brain screams at me to make another content outline for paidea, while my body threatens to go on strike completely. So, creature of compromise that I am, I fulfill neither. I sit in Marty's, warm and drowsy, listening to Drake's melodious voice, fantasizing about fall break. I plan to spend the entire blessed thing doing two things, and two things alone: cramming homemade food into my face like it would reduce my student debt, and sleeping for truly terrifying amounts of time. Let us all have a moment of silence to remember the beauty that is one's bed at home, one's own bathtub, one's own kitchen, one's own puppy. Maybe I'm not just tired, or just stressed. Maybe I'm only tired of missing things. Like phantom limbs, each time I remember I can't go home and snuggle with my puppy when classes are over my brain gets alerts of pain from parts of my life that don't currently exist. And that's weird. If I'm not making much sense, forgive me. It's midterms, I'm tired, and Drake makes everyone emotional.