You know, this is an anomaly for me. Opening day is tonight. Yankees-Sox. I really should be watching it, if I'm to fit the mold I cast for myself so long ago. But, I'm not watching the game; I'm not watching "Boomer" Wells wear the Babe's number into the house that he built. I'm not cuddled up with Shannon, after her long day at her volleyball tournament. 1-7. At least her team won. That's all she cared about. Instead, I'm thinking, and somehow feeling spent. Totally spent. Like tomorrow will come and there will be nothing left for me. Like the ceiling and the air and the earth below my feet are mine, and I should lay on my bed and stare myself into a trance. But I can't. Tomorrow will come, the 7:00 alarm will ring, and fifteen militant, physics-hating freshmen will come to class hating my academic muse, misunderstanding her, abusing her, chastizing her. The 10:00 buzz on my cell phone will sound, and I'll be in class, watching my E 'n' M professor draw out the elegance of two centuries of false formulas and models phoenixed into a gorgeous definition of harmony. Yes, I'll teach bratty freshmen, non-science majors, and I'll sit for my lectures on Maxwell's Equations, but that's all I'll do. I'll walk back to my room, and feel like somehow it didn't stick; I'll hold Shannon for a while and I'll meet with my academic advisor about Salt Lake City and have new life, only to have it vacuumed straight out of me when making my eight-minute commute to work. I didn't use to break down my tomorrows like this. I never once thought I could act it out before it happened, but I suppose I never really saw the congruity. Robotic as it may be, I am set in my ways, and I've been trying desperately to break out of those set pathways. A friend told me that my own life is a fight, day in and day out. Well, she is right: my life is a consistent battle with monotony, with the trap that is everyday life for so many others. I need a sense of difference in my life; I lust for entropy and the catalytic thrust of blood, neurons, and soul. And the life I lead is desperately teetering on the edge of life, and desperately cries to be saved from the cold, bitter depths of enthalpy. There's only two things that keep me balanced; one is sleeping in the room across from mine, and the other is in books, fields, space, time. Entropy: energy in a physical system that cannot be used to do work; a measure of disorder in a system.