As I type, Nat King Cole's version of "The Little Drummer Boy" plays in my headphones. Not sure why, but it seems totally appropriate. The sounds of death and destruction which may be coming from my roommate's speakers are drowned out and I am at piece. As soon as I finish this entry, I will go to bed, taking advantage of my last night of not worrying about the alarm before the start of the second half of the first quarter.

Sitting here, I realize that I have not called my parents; nor have I IMed Darren. This tells me that perhaps for the first time in a long time I have successfully filled my day with activities that bring me contentment. Myst IV put me over the edge in regards to disc space, so I spent the afternoon transferring much of my multimedia files to other media. This process kept me very busy, and soon it was 6:30 and time for dinner.

I ate with the people from down the hall whom I'd avoided eating with a day or so ago because I was fairly certain that the offer was made mockingly. I'm am still fairly certain that was the case, but I decided that with a lack of pretense I should afford them the benefit of the doubt. I had a tuna sandwich on white with lettuce, a slice of pumpkin pie with whipped cream, and a plate of ziti pasta - no sauce. I also took a slice of pizza but never got around to eating it. So we sat. They talked of drinking parties. I just ate.

I'd hoped to save a meal option when I got up at 11:20 this morning, the incessant pounding of obnoxious floormates on my R.A.'s door - two down from my own - denying me any chance of returning to my slumber. And in any case I had the Outing Club picnic at noon. But first I showered for I decided if I didn't do it first thing I would go another night of sleeping in my own filth. The walk down the hall to the shower with the good faucet head revealed the reason behind the racket; apparently they were having a cereal party. I was invited but did not join in.

When I got there at ten after noon, only the co-presidents were there, with a grill and a pile of barbecue related supplies. One of the co-presidents left to get more carcoal and I, realizing that it would be a while before the food would be ready if at all, hit Gracie's, where I had a bowl of Corn Pops and a plain sugar donut.

When I returned the turnout was much more substantial. The whole shindig lasted until roughly three-ish, and I got a burger, a hot dog, and some decent conversations out of the whole breezy affair.

Sandwiched between the Outing Club barbecue and me playing Myst IV was a trip to the Field House where I biked for roughly forty minutes while watching Lair, Lair as Mike drifted among several machines. This was followed by hot tub, which I'm pleased to say was back up to its usual standards of high temperature. I managed to floor around the whole pool without moving a muscle, through the aid of water currents and two noodles. After showering and drying off, I hit RITchie's with the two Mikes. Everyone was watching Mean Girls. They stayed I didn't. Good night, Rochester and the world. A rough day follows slumber. And maybe a little Myst, too.