i made the bed you're in.

highways: why is this the focus of your story
highways: maybe it should be
highways: something
highways: nay, someone!
highways: else
thor: i should make the whole paper a montage of you getting hit in the face
thor: god, i could imagine it now
highways: ...

Los Angeles was an adventure—the train ride went more or less fine, except I didn't get any sleep, really, thanks to people waking me up. I made it to the job site fine, until I passed out in the car, then got woken up about fifteen minutes later ... but not really. Delirious and still effectively unconscious, I shambled across the parking lot carrying equipment back and forth, blocking traffic and staring blankly into space, and at some point became convinced becoming a zombie had had no discernable effect on my life and oh god, I continued this train of thought, why am I no different from a zombie?! And then about half an hour later I woke up sitting on a sidewalk going, wait, what?

(The next day, my brother whined about me making him work when his feet hurt. Me: "You made me work when I was sleepwalking yesterday." Him: "But that was funny!")

Our trip required us to stuff three adult six-foot-ish people into the cab of a two person pickup, and visit some of the worst neighborhoods in Los Angeles. We surveyed a bunch of Hollywood stars—like, the ones in the ground, they were on our job so we had to measure them—and got detoured by the Oscars. We got lost about four times, mostly due to me and my brother forgetting we were supposed to be watching the GPS, and told each other horrible gross out stories for entertainment because due to our proximity nobody could fuck around on their laptops or sleep. We were there from Friday until today, and I basically came crawling home, because god, I am so tired.

I've actually been writing, which is excited! But yeah I think I'm going to spend the rest of my night in bed reading comics or something else that doesn't require any brain power whatsoever.