From Beneath You It Devours

The thermometer at my bench yesterday only read 104 in Fahrenheit degrees, it's officially fall. I'm waiting anxiously for the day when it drops below 95. My assistant's flight was cancelled, so I worked by myself, which is similar in concept to masturbation, except not nearly as fun or satisfying. Speaking of which, I think the reason glassblowing terminology sounds so sexual is because the two acts are practically mutually exclusive, and you end up with a whole bunch of sweaty, exhausted, sexually-frustrated people coming up with terms like "jackline" and "glory hole."
On a marginally related subject, I am awash in turmoil of a different ilk. All cliches of the tortured artist aside, I seem to experience gross malfunction when things are going really well, and have become quite adept at throwing wrenches in my own plans. I suppose it keeps life interesting, or at the very least heightens my sense of accomplishment when I'm still standing at the end of every week. At some point, I think this self-destruction may have to come to a head, and I sometimes I lie awake at night, dreading that time may be sooner than I think.
Angst- it's not just for teenagers anymore...
Eh, qui sa? There can be no change without conflict. Change is supposedly good, right? So I'm doing alright.
My math professor said "Mmmm-kay" about 15 times today.