So I am pooped but I'm glad I went--I'm usually tired by the end of practice, but it's a generalized, head-tight sort of tired, but today was the sort of bad-posture back-hurts out-of-breath chest-tight, back-of-head-throbbing tired, worse probably than when I first starting wearing men. This is the product of having missed all but one class a week for two weeks. Consistency does count for a lot, but it probably didn't help that I couldn't sleep until almost 3am last night, for no better reason than my persistent half-sickness, and I was lulled to sleep only by reading some complex analysis, I'm ashamed to say--so much close and familiar, but so far from what it needs to be, and from my mathematical youth. I've probably retold this story before--I roll into my last final with two minutes to spare before the uniform admission deadline and then I scritch and scratch away the test with my feather dip pen and my best acrylic ink. Ah, for my days as a demi-warrior-king of mathematics.