Hold on, I'm coming home

Here I am in the Columbus airport! I'm ready to go home, and I couldn't be more excited. I finally get to see Austin after so long, and Allie and Sonia, and my family, of course. And I get to shower in a nice shower, and use a nice bathroom, and sleep in a nice bed, and eat nice food, and lots of it, and sleep a lot, and hide from people if I want, and be in the same place as my love, and man, this is the best day ever. I am so happy right now.
There's this really annoying girl next to me having a tearful conversation with her mom about how she's attracted to douchebags, and her standards are too high. Honestly, if she's not getting any guys, I don't think high standards are her problem. She is so whiny and irritating and oh my goodness, I don't even know anymore. I'm being a bit of an asshole, I know, but I'm on my period, so I'm allowed to be in a little snit now and then. Also, I'm extremely hungry, but I don't have any money, so I can't get any food. There are people all around me eating though, which only serves to increase my irritation. They're all so happy and well-fed and rich, and I'm so not. But I am happy though. Because I'm going home! I'm going home, I'm going home, tell the world I'm going home, etc. I wonder if my fellow passengers would mind if I burst into a rousing chorus of I'll Fly Away in honor of the occasion, or if they would take umbrage at the morbid undertones. I guess there's only one way to find out! Ready?
No, just kidding. I wouldn't do that. Although it would be rather lovely if I got everyone else in the terminal to sing the I'll-fly-away part while I waxed lyrical on the rest, in a proper call and response style. We could all join in on the chorus, and I could even assign some harmonies to the better musicians in the group. Wouldn't that be something now? I'm sure it would end up on the internet in no time, and then the Supreme Court would have to accept me.
There are two OSU students sitting over by the window, and they're talking about their GPAs. Now, I do hate to be pretentious and egotistical, but sometimes it is easy to look down on people, especially if they think that a 3.6 is unattainable. I suppose if they're engineers or something, it would make sense, but judging from their delightfully simple diction, I would hazard that this is not the case. Oh, well, I shouldn't judge. Perhaps they are brilliant souls in spite of it all.
There is a darling blond family sitting in front of me having their little dinner, and it's making me nostalgic. They have three children, all of whom look to be under the age of twelve, and the dad and mom are young and attractive, and they're all so happy and agreeable, and I just can't. Oh, now their grandparents have shown up, and a man who looks to be the uncle. This is straight out of a Thomas Kincaid painting. How are they even so happy and idyllic? I feel like Oliver Twist. Fortunately, the girl beside me has left, so I'm spared the unwelcome gossip, but now the middle-aged man on my other side has taken up the strain. People are so chatty these days, the good souls. It's like being in a Puritan village (though I'd venture to say slightly less salacious). I think we're going to board soon, so I should get ready to go. I'm so excited!

Another compendium of days

College is supposed to be the time for experimenting in life, and although I'm a pretty straight-shooting girl (as was kindly pointed out to me by one rather intoxicated gentleman who attempted to hit on me and Melissa when we went out one evening), I can't deny that the call of experimentation was too strong for me to resist. I'm a little bit nervous about this, because I know people will judge me, and really, it's not easy for me to say this, but there's no other way. So, I have to say it:
I think I'm a Libertarian.
I know, it's quite a shocking revelation. I was stunned at first too, but then I realized how liberated I felt (zing), and I knew that all was well. Maybe it's just a phase, but it's an important phase for me, and it's one that I will go through with strength and determination. However, I'm still a little nervous about telling my family. They'll belittle me so much, oh dear. Well, everyone but my dad will belittle me. Dad will be proud of me, since technically that's his party as well (although lately, he has been leaning more towards the Bill Deagol Party and less towards anything vaguely resembling sense). Still, no matter what cold winds of judgement and denigration and possible cries of "naiveté" I might hear, I must accept the burden, and let the world see me as I really am. I am a Libertarian, and no one can change this fact unless it is me.
I took my final for political science today. Since it's an online course, as long as I completed the lectures and assignments within the given time frames, I had complete discretion as to where everything went. I think that was quite nice for a course on politics; it really highlighted my freedom of choice, and made it clear that liberty is a right of the people (although to be fair, that last point might depend on whom you ask). Anyway, despite inordinate panic and what felt like a grade-A anxiety attack, I finished it right up and got a 94 and all was well (I missed two questions, which were probably both on environmental policy). Man, that was a relief. Now my final grade is an A, and I have shown beyond a shadow of a doubt that freshmen really can handle the rigor of the course. Speaking of finals, I took my Language and Formal Reasoning one on Thursday (that is, I turned it in on Thursday; it was another take-home affair), and I got a perfect score on that one. So my final grade in that class is an A as well. That was my favorite class, man. It was truly the balm in the Gilead of my schedule. It made me realize that I'm not bad at math, just numbers, and that syntax is truly the field for me (I'd sort of thought so already, but this clinched it). I want to take another logic course! Do you think it would be deplorable to make my way over to the philosophy department some rainy day? I don't think it would be bad. Even if people decided to Socra-tease me about it, I would have found a Hume there, and I could cast aside the unpleasantness and Liebniz all behind. I Kant allow things like that to get in my way, so I will go out on that field and Plato to my heart's content. I will be the Overman (to my own mind at least), and nothing will bring me down! Where was I now? Oh yes. So also, I finally got my grade back for my English paper, and it was another A. After that, I really did go all noodly with relief, because really, who wouldn't? The TA, who is an extremely hard grader, told me that it was an excellent and well-written paper, with lots of complex points and interesting thoughts, and that she was impressed by my ability to synthesize Douglass and Stowe. Well, gee, I don't know what to say! I could have done a better job, really, only I had to write it all in a few hours because of my terrible procrastination, and I didn't have time to revise it. Patriot that I am, I'm not about to complain about Frederick Douglass, but Uncle Tom's Cabin, now that's a book that really twists my knickers! Of all the ridiculous trash ever produced in literature, I think that's gotta be way up there at the top of the Avoid or Die list. I mean, the darn thing practically drips with slavering sentimentality, and the only thing worth honorable mention is the sheer number of synonyms Stowe found for "crying." There are so many other things worth more salt as abolitionist narratives, and I seriously don't think we should glorify this one gratuitously just because it was written by a woman. Contrary to popular belief, women mess stuff up just as often as men, and blindly elevating every piece of drivel ever produced by a woman only serves to undermine the feminist ideology. This kind of thing in general makes me really mad, okay, like sure, Berthe Morissot was a woman painter when women weren't supposed to be doing that sort of thing, how cool, let's appreciate that, but let's not try to pretend she was better than the other Impressionists just because of her gender. That's an insult to women, really, if you think about it. Women should have to try just as hard as men for everything, and their mediocrity shouldn't be rewarded just to match some deluded social justice warrior's version of affirmative action. We can never achieve gender equality if we keep pushing for disparity. Come on now. It's just common sense.
It snowed yesterday! I can't get over how beautiful and amazing it is; I mean, it's like tangible poetry. It got pretty deep too, like a couple of inches (I don't know if that's actually "deep" or not), and it's so nice to look at it from the quasi-comfort of my dorm. I'm pretty sure that if I tried to spend the night out there, for whatever reason, I would actually freeze to death, and if that ain't the most hardcore thing you've ever heard, then you must be some kind of crazy goat-wrestling Laistrygonian, because I mean, all that's keeping me from death is an inadequately heated dorm building and five blankets (I got cold one day and decided to supplement my comforter). Seriously, though! Why do people live here? It's like the Egdon Heath of the Midwest. I guess that means I'm Eustacia, so that's not a total loss, but still! Even though I love the snow, I dislike the cold, I really can't wait to go home and live in sense and sensibility once again.
I've been working on this post for three days now (or is it four?), and I just can't seem to finish it. It's quite a problem. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself. Anyway, this is my last night in Ohio for three blessed weeks, because tomorrow, I'm going home! I'm so excited. No one knows my excitement but me (and possibly Austin). It's like Godot has finally arrived. This is momentous! If the plane crashes, I won't even die; I'll be borne on the wings of my delight back to my home, where my love will be waiting for me with open arms (well, metaphorically speaking; he still has another final to take on Thursday). What a poetic image. I'm glad I came up with it. I still quite hope the plane doesn't crash, though.
Tomorrow is my last final, and it's English. If I fail this one, oh gurl, it's going down. I calculated it: I can get a B, and my grade won't move. I really don't want a B, though. The last time I got a B in English was in 9th grade, and that was because we had a reading comprehension test on a book I hadn't read. Anyway! I'm going to study a bit and make sure I know everything, and then I'll be ready to sparkle and shine. I'm the one who got the highest grade on the midterm, after all. I mustn't lose my reputation (it was a 99). But if I get a B instead, I guess that's fine, because my final grade will still glow with the heat of a thousand nuclear reactors. Man, I love English. Oh! For next semester, one of my advanced level courses got cancelled because no one else wanted to take it (dumb butts), so I had to pick another one. So I get to take grammar! I'm really excited, actually. In the description of the class, the teacher made it sound like more linguistics and syntax and English grammar, and you just know that's a combination made in humanities nerd heaven. Next semester is going to be beautiful. I have 18 credits again, but this time, none of them are university-mandated, so you know they're going to be fun. My only problem is that the only day that doesn't start at 9:30 AM is Monday, and Mondays are bad enough already. But if I can do four hours of physics lab whilst my brain tries to escape through my eyes, I'm confident that I can do anything on this planet. This will be a lesson in discipline for me, and maybe I'll even raise the GDP by sole virtue of my inordinate caffeine consumption along the way. Every cloud has a silver lining after all!
Now I really am going to study for English, so I will be off. The next time I write, I'll probably be home, or en route to home! Wish me luck!

Ugh part 3

Am I depressed? I don't think I am. What earthly reason would I have to be? I don't have a hard life. I'm pretty, I'm smart, I'm fairly likable, I have a good family, I'm attending college, I have friends, a boyfriend, even pets, I have talent I suppose– So why the hell should I feel so sad? I don't know what's the matter with me. I'm so privileged, and I don't deserve to feel anything but happy. But I don't feel happy. It's all I can do to go out and buy food for myself and get up in the morning and just live with some modicum of normalcy. I cringe every time someone tries to talk to me, and every time someone wants to Skype or text or anything, I feel my heart sink. If my babe talks to me, I'm happy, and I'm fine with talking to my family too, but why do I want to avoid everyone else? I don't understand. This isn't normal, I'm pretty sure. I feel so horribly out of control. Yes, I'm going about my life as usual, so far, but who's to say I'm going to keep doing so? I can't even make myself finish my assignments until minutes before they're due, and I can't get the energy to eat more than once a day. And then there's the safety pin. I know it's not really self harm, since all I'm doing is scratching, but it's so easy to do it, and I tell myself I'll stop, but then I do it again. It's almost like I want to maintain a scarred body. No, it is like that. Some twisted part of my brain likes the scars, and when they start to fade, I pick right up and do it again. I thought that when I stopped doing that years ago, I'd stopped for good. No matter how shitty I felt, I was sure I could handle it without resorting to scratching. But that didn't pan out, did it? I don't even know why I'm doing this; most people have good reasons, but I honestly am unable to articulate why I do. It's terrible. What if I'm just making up my turmoil for attention? What if I'm just a big fat fake, like in every other area of my life? That would make sense. That would make a lot of sense. But if I'm such a fake, shouldn't I feel fine inside? I shouldn't feel like I'm slowly being sucked into a bottomless pit, should I? Because I do. Every day, I feel like part of me is being consumed, never to return, and I'm so scared. I'm losing myself, and I'm going to lose everyone and everything I care about. I want someone to help, but I don't think anyone can, and besides, if they tried, I'm pretty sure I would push them away. That's how I was wired, I guess, and I'm going to destroy myself, all alone. Part of me wants to actively do that. Destroy myself, I mean. I want to carve deep into my skin, and burn myself all over, and drink until I pass out, and smoke until I cough up my lungs. I want to stop taking care of myself (the little that I do) and die. And then the other part of me wants to keep pushing on, and studying, and eating, and sleeping, and maintaing at least an outwards semblance of sanity. And then there's a little part that wants to stop with the facade and ask someone to take care of me, since I can't seem to do it adequately myself. None of these parts fit with each other, so you can see my dilemma. I can't think of anything that will make me better, so I'm going to keep doing the silly little things that keep me from falling apart at the seams, no matter how unhealthy they are. If watching bad TV shows on Netflix and eating ice cream can get me through another day, hell yes I'm going to do that. If looking forward to trying another flavor of syrup in my coffee gives me the strength to get out of bed, I'm going to try it without shame. Maybe there's no grand, dramatic, fix for anything. Maybe all we can do is keep the chaos back with little gestures until the end. But if I can keep it back with these little things, it must not be real. If my problems were real, would I be able to keep them at bay just by telling myself that there's a new season of Supernatural out, and I need to get through so I can watch it? I'm so pathetic. I can't believe people have put up with me so long. Well, okay, I guess I can believe that, since as far as they know, there's absolutely nothing wrong with me. Which there's really not. Why am I making this all up? Is it for attention? It can't be, if I don't tell anyone. Is it so that I feel important to myself? No, I'm rational enough to see that that will never happen, fake problems or not. Then why? It would be so nice if I could just flip a switch and be better. Then I could focus completely on everyone else, since there's an awful lot of people in my life who could use the care. Let's be real– I don't matter. And it's ridiculous for me to think I do. Maybe if I pretend long enough, I'll turn out fine after all. It's worth a shot, isn't it? I won't crack. I'll act like I'm not picturing blowing my brains out, and the only thought in my head has to do with coordinating my shoes with my skirt. And eventually, I'll start believing that myself. I won't think about death anymore, I'll stop composing suicide notes, and I'll be okay. It's going to happen. Maybe not soon, maybe not for years, maybe not until I'm on my deathbed, but I will find peace someday. And then I'll really and truly be happy, and nothing, not pseudo-depression, not self-loathing, not death, nothing, can ever take that away.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of everything. Physically, emotionally, the whole bit. I really just want to be out of the world for a bit. Like, I would like to die temporarily and come back after awhile and carry on with life, just as alive as ever, but hopefully more ready to meet challenges head-on. Why can't we have that? I could get all the sleep I need, and I could run away from my problems in true hedonist fashion, and all would be well. I don't know what would happen to my body in the interim, though. Would someone agree to house it, if it didn't decompose or anything? I know I wouldn't want to have a dead body kicking about my living room. Kind of gives a suspicious air to the place. Maybe I could be frozen, and just take a really long, hot, shower when I woke up (in this parallel universe, there would be actual hot water in the dorms). Oh yes, and I suppose there would have to be something funny going on with time so that I wouldn't miss any of my important classes. Man. Who knew being dead was so riddled with problems?
No, but really, I'm so sick of everything. Melissa has grown strangely attached to the room, so I don't want to eat anymore, and tell me what you please, I still think that it's hard to maintain a gung-ho attitude in the face of imminent starvation. I have a lot of papers to write, and I have no inclination to write them, which is fairly worrisome, because if there's anything I like, it's writing papers. I just don't want to get anything done. I try to bribe myself in hopes that I'll get it all done, but there's nothing I can do to reward myself, so that plan doesn't amount to much. I'm worried about my stupid survey class, the one the university made me take without asking, since it's terribly disorganized, and I don't think I've done the assignments, and it would be horrible beyond words to ruin my GPA with that class. I don't know what I'm going to do about my Humanities Scholars class either, because I haven't gone to a lot of the events, and they might fail me for that. And I'm so sick to death of the interminable numbers of people! I never feel comfortable doing anything, because they're always around me. Tomorrow, the guy from orchestra somehow got me to agree to practicing with him, and I REALLY don't want to. I'm dreading it so much. Why did I agree to this? He's one of those lovely touchy people too, so I can't back out without mortally offending him, and I suppose that shouldn't matter, but I'm me, and I'm pathetic, and I want to avoid as much unpleasantness as I can. I just really don't want to do this anymore. I want to die. No, I don't, that's not true. I don't know what I want. Just not this. Or anything. I want someone to take care of me for once. No one's ever done that. I suppose that's the danger of being the shiny balloon I am. It's easy to assume that I'm all right, since I'm so good at pretending that everything's perfect, and once I get into the role of the caretaker, I can't get out. And I don't want to show any weakness, so there's no one on whom I can rely, not really. I just want someone to love me, no strings attached, and see to my needs, no matter how trivial they are, or how whiny I seem. I want someone to hold me and pet my hair and tell me that it's going to be okay, and that I shouldn't worry. And I want to cry and not have to feel ashamed of it. Why can't I have that? Why am I always the one who has to take care of everyone, no matter how horrible I might feel? Am I selfish for wanting love? I only need a little bit. I'm not used to it, so it would go far. And I don't need it often, even once would be enough. I'm resilient, I'm strong, I'm brave– and I'm so pathetic. I'm sick of being everyone's rock. I want to break. Why is it okay for everyone else to be cared for, but not me? Oh, why am I so selfish? I need to be better. I don't know what to do anymore. Everything hurts. Maybe it would be better if I did just go out and die.

Ugh part 2

Oh dear, I don't feel good again. What's wrong with me? I can have a few days' respite from the problems, and just when I think they're gone, they come surging back with such intensity that it almost bowls me over and right out the door. I quite honestly feel no adverse emotion when I think of killing myself. I know it's not good for me to feel this way, but I don't see what I'm going to do about it. If I can distract myself one way or another the gloom goes away for a bit, but then it comes back full force as soon as my distraction goes away. I honestly don't know what I'm going to do. I almost want to die. Isn't there some way to get over this? I just want to be better. There's nothing even wrong with me; I should be perfectly happy, and that makes it even worse. I feel like an attention whore for feeling this way, when there are people with real problems, but I can't make it go away just by wishing. Hell, if that were the case, I'd have been better a long time ago. What is wrong with me? Melissa compliments me often on my strength of character, and everyone else tells me admiringly how sweet and even-tempered I am, and that's laughable. I cry more than would be strictly sensible (although, as established, it's more of a pathetic drizzle than anything else), and I walk around 70% of the time contemplating the least troublesome ways to kill myself. I feel so fake. I look like I have my act together, but I'm just a gross, pathetic, mess behind the polish. And I kind of want someone to see past that and help me out, but then I also don't, and I'd feel needy and whiny and selfish and weak and all that if he did. What could that someone do, anyway? I just need a good slap upside the head, really. Then, too, I don't want to be that vulnerable or dependent. Letting people into the innermost sanctum requires a level of trust I don't possess; I have enough problems of my own to worry about without having to think of new ones, courtesy of uncaring people. Because, although you might try to contest it for the reputation of human nature, no one really cares at all. No, it's better for me to stone-wall everyone and deal with my stupid issues on my own. I'll never let anyone see what's going on behind my hypocritical smile and my attentiveness to any and all problems that aren't my own. Why would anyone care, anyway? Sure, some kind soul might offer a few saccharine bromides about everything happening for a reason, or how everyone goes through rough patches, but those mean nothing. And how would I explain that there's no reason why I should feel so horrible, but that I do? I'm so stupid and pathetic. Why was I born this way? What earthly purpose do I serve? Maybe I should die, wouldn't that be better? Dammit, I hate this so much. I hate myself so much. Maybe I'm just a defective prototype, and once I'm gone, the real Jasmine will take my place. She'll be pretty and smart, but she won't have any of my problems. It'll be like Rembrandt– once you see her, you can't go back to the mediocrity that's me without feeling let down. Fortunately, no one will have to, because I'll be gone at that point. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill myself. It's just something I think about a lot. I'm going to shower, and then I'm going to bed. I'll be fine in the morning, for awhile anyway. We'll see. Goodnight, then.

A book of hours (and days)

I feel much better today, probably because my complete solitude and my ten hours of sleep. I'm ready to take on anyone, so if someone wants to argue about politics or the economy, or literature, or anything like that, I'm all yours. Now, I feel quite the misanthrope saying this (Moliere should write a sequel play  about me), but I'm very pleased with my splendid isolation so far. It's so rejuvenating, and it's an immense relief to not have to worry about people judging me in everything I do. The only eyes on me are Big Brother's, and that's something about which I'm not too worried, because I'm far from convinced that the government gives a single bother about my life. Melissa is a lovely person, and I'm glad that she's my roommate, but even her company palls before the joy of solitude. I feel a bit Byronic now, wasn't his schtick (one of them) that he doesn't love man any less but he loves nature (and solitude) more? That sounds Emersonian too, now that I think about it. Well, that would make sense, them belonging to the same movement and all. Speaking of Emerson, I went to the library yesterday (quite a surprise, I know), and I was reading philosophy, and I found a book comparing Nietzsche and Emerson, and it was really interesting! I hadn't thought about the juxtaposition before, but it kind of makes sense. Emerson's a little more socially acceptable, though. But yeah, there you have it. I really like philosophy, it's so interesting, but I don't think I have much of a natural aptitude for it at all.
Okay, it's a few days later (I left this sitting on my computer and forgot about it), and now I'm at the library with Melissa. She came back depressed after her weekend at home, and unwilling to be back, and, though it sounds terrible, I was also unwilling for her to be back. It was so lovely to have the room to myself, and no one can deny the fact. I've never thought about it much before, but I really value my solitude. It gives me a chance to recharge. Which is funny, because I've always thought I was an extrovert, albeit a shy one, but now that I've gotten a chance to see myself in action, I've realized that in actuality, I'm not one. Yes, I like talking to people, and if they're people I like, I can go a long way before getting tired (and then even if I'm tired, I sometimes want to talk more), but in the end, too much social contact tires me out and I have to go sit by myself for awhile and recharge my batteries. I didn't notice this in high school, because I got to go home at the end of the school day and spend my evenings in seclusion, if I pleased, or out and about, if that struck my fancy, and then I could be alone at night as well. So I always got recharged, and I didn't realize that talking to people emptied me. But now I realize it does! So I guess I'm an introvert after all, just like every single other person in my family. It gets so quiet in our house sometimes, especially after we've all been out, because we all want to rest up and get back to normal. I miss it.
It's the next day now! I wonder if this post will ever get published. I'll probably just work on it every day for a bit and it will become an ongoing tale of the pitfalls of my life. Maybe I can publish it; I know captivity narratives are very popular in the American tradition, and I am definitely being held captive here by nothing but my own pride. Wow, that sounded really melodramatic, and it wasn't even supposed to. I only meant that if I weren't so filled with hubris, I would have sucked it up and gone to CSULB and not worried about the shame or the less-than-perfect linguistics department. I kind of wish I had now, because I wouldn't have to deal with the horrible weather, and I could be near my friends, and Austin, of course, and I could see my family sometimes, and it would be cheaper, and I would be in LA, but even now, I don't regret my decision. I'd choose this school again, and I don't care who knows it. I'm proud and stubborn, and I'm stickin to my guns! But if I were to transfer, that would be acceptable. I wonder... Maybe I'll look into that a bit.
You know, I was saying a long time ago that OSU was going to be my clean slate, and since I'm not currently having a fit of depression and/or anxiety, I can verify that this is still true. I got perfect scores on two of my midterms (poly sci and opera) and decent grades on the others (99 in English– highest in the whole class– and 97 in Linguistics, probably also highest in the class), and I've been getting at least 95 on all my other assignments (knock on wood). I don't have to study much, and I do my homework on time. Academically, I'm doing really well, and I'm quite proud! Otherwise, I'm not as excellent, but let's ignore that for the moment. After next semester, I'll be done with my GE classes, thanks to the 50-something hours of AP credit I brought in with me, and I can jump into my major requirements without a fuss. If I can graduate in three years, that would be splendid, and if I can do it with an English minor (and I suppose that music minor, sigh), that would be even better. I feel kind of pathetic not double-majoring, but I don't know what else I'd major in. I like a lot of things, and I'm not half-bad at a lot of things (stupid humanities things, but still), but I feel like it might take too long. Not a lot of things overlap with linguistics, see, so even though I've knocked my GE classes out of the way, I'd still have to take care of two sets of major requirements. What would I choose? I'd love, love, love, to major in English, of course, but that's out, and I shouldn't even raise my hopes thinking about it. Political science would go well with my future ambitions of lawyer-hood, and I like it, and I'm pretty good at it, if I do say so myself. I was considering majoring in it, actually, if linguistics didn't pan out (only I was too ashamed to express such a plebeian plan to anyone else). Something like economics or business would be fun and would stimulate my brain a lot, but it's not what I'm best at, and I think I should stick with what comes easily to me (for my major, anyway). A lot of the things I'm best at are really impractical, though. Like, what would you do with a degree in art history, for instance?
Okay, I'm back at my dorm. I have to write an essay for my horrible Humanities scholars group about my strengths. What is this. Why must we do these terrible things? Give me a nice prompt about the economy or something, and I'm ready to go, but this, man, this is cruel and unusual punishment and is by all rights unconstitutional. Well, here we go. I'm a live wire!

Gross feelings and nothing more

Every time I come on here, I feel terrible. The NSA is going to visit me to see if I need cheering up or something. What even is wrong with me? There's nothing wrong with me at all! I just feel bad for no reason. Ugh, I'm such a gross excuse for a human being. I have to get over this, because it's getting ridiculous and out of hand. Three separate people want to meet up with me today, and I can't bring myself to get in contact with any of them to turn them down. Well, actually, I can't turn one of them down, because I said I'd help him with his writing (unfortunately, it's my clingy Korean friend, whom I've named Opera Boy) (though he's not really a boy, technically speaking, since he's 28 years old). But the other two, man. I just need to send a quick text, and I'll be okay, but I can't make myself do it! I don't want to do anything, I really don't. I just want to sit quietly in my room and maybe eat some real food for once, and not have to feel like like this. Okay, I can do this though. I'm going to do this. All right, here we go. Come on.
Okay, that's one down. I texted her, and hopefully she won't reply. The other one's a little harder, cuz the guy doesn't have a phone, so it's all through Facebook, and being the nerds that we are, we communicate in really long Herman Melville-style messages, so in order to turn him down, I have to answer the whole message. I normally wouldn't mind doing this, because he's intelligent and fun to talk to, and I like to read and respond to long emails anyway, but at times like these, I can't bring myself to reply to anyone. This is such a problem! What's wrong with me? I am quite possibly the worst person on earth. Ugh. Okay, I'm going to do this though. I can't just leave him hanging. That's even ruder than turning him down (which is what I'm planning on doing). Should I go, though? He wants to see the symphony concert, and I really do too, and he would be a perfect person with whom to see it, but I'm getting that anxiety feeling in my chest just thinking about it, and I feel like it's not good to do anything when I'm in this state. But then again, I don't want my stupid problems to start getting in the way of my life either! That would just be sad. I'm sad. I'm a pathetic little person. Darn it, this is why I'm not a success at anything (not really). Okay, I'm going to reply. Here we go.
All right, that took awhile, but I did it. I turned him down and I was nice about it, and now I don't have to worry about going out this evening. I'm more proud of myself than I should be; I didn't even do anything worth merit. In fact, I kind of did the opposite. But oh well. What's wrong with me? I have to keep telling myself to breathe, otherwise I start hyperventilating, and it's really bad. I have one of those stress headaches, and I feel like crying, except, as we've already established, I can't cry. And then there's that nasty anxiety feeling in my chest, like there's a constricting pile of heavy coldness (I don't know how else to describe it). This happens to me at least once per day, although sometimes I can stave it off for awhile, and often it's not debilitatingly bad. I've had these attacks of the blues all my life, but they've never been so frequent as they are now. I feel like I'm breaking down, and it's really bad. What if I never get over this? Nothing's even wrong with me! I don't know why this is happening, but I just want it to stop. I want to be normal, oh my goodness.
Okay, so Variations on a Theme by Corelli just came on shuffle, and I just sat here for the entire three minutes and fifty-eight seconds with tears streaming down my face, not even knowing how they got there. It was my favorite thing to listen to when I was at home, and I guess the emotional ties are too strong or something, cuz now every time I hear it, I cry. It's terrible, I love the piece so much, and I want to be able to listen to it, but I don't know if I can. Part of me doesn't want to get over the memories it brings either, because they're so important to me, and even if I can't have that happier time, I want to be reminded of it sometimes (or do I?), and it's nice just to know that it's there. Now Tchaikovsky's violin concerto came on. I think I've expressed my love for this piece before. It stirs some deep pits of emotion in me, even at the best of times, but now it's just making me cry more. Well, not cry, really, I think I'd feel a lot better if I did. I'm just sort of sitting here pathetically sniffling and occasionally wiping my eyes. I'm such a sad specimen. It's really good that no one else is in here with me.
I went to a Bible study with Melissa yesterday, and it was a terrible experience, start to finish. First of all, I had a paper to write for political science (and I still do, but it's due on Sunday, and I can't make myself do anything right now), and a bunch of other stuff to do, and it was cold and rainy, so that didn't endear me to the cause at all. And then there's the whole issue of my inability to function like a normal human being. But I have to live with Melissa, and this is such a little thing, it wouldn't do to tick her off over it, so off I went. The moment I got there, I knew it had been a bad idea. There were hordes of identical-looking blonde football queen types running around, and one brunette, who, strange to say, looked exactly like the rest, and none of them were at all sympathetic. Melissa's been harping on about how nice and how accepting they all are, but of course, they're only nice and accepting to people who are like them (like she is). None of them knew what to do with me. I'm about half a foot shorter than most of them, and I'm Asian (partially), and I was actually shaking (let's just say it was from the cold), and every inch of me just screams "outsider." Of course they wouldn't want to have me in their little enclave! I knew all this, of course, but it didn't stop the anxiety feeling from coming back, and sitting there like a rock, daring me to go out and socialize. Well, you don't mess with Mr. Anxiety Feeling, so there was nothing I could do but sit in one of the uncomfortable chairs they had, trying to make myself smaller, and hope I didn't get some fatal disease from the unhygienic room. Finally, after much deliberation, the study itself started. It was like Chicken Soup for the Prospectively Theological. I mean, I don't know what I expected, really, but I'd been hoping the lesson would make it worth going. I've missed church and Bible studies and all, and I thought it might be nice to go to this one. (Yes, I know, I haven't been making much of an effort to go to church recently, but try to see it from Mr. Anxiety Feeling's perspective, would you, it's stupid, but it's almost impossible to put myself out there). I guess the idea of the lesson was interesting, but I don't think they executed it well. We discussed the very last few verses of Second Timothy, where Paul is basically giving his final peroration, and I know it's important, so that was good to see, but I dunno. The leader kept on talking about how our situations will sometimes be difficult, but unless we respond properly, we'll be bad Christians for not presenting God well. And I guess that's a point, but I don't think the way they presented it to us was very salient. If I'm swamped in work and my family member's sick in the hospital, I'm not going to want to do even more work just to prove that, well, I don't even know what it's supposed to prove, really, just that it's good to do, and it has to be done happily and with a smile, or it means nothing. They also spent a long time discussing why other people slip in their faith, and why that's a problem. This wasn't great to hear for me, because I really feel like I've been slipping, and I want help, not condemnation. Everything's really difficult, I don't know. I'm just having a hard time overall, and I thought, maybe, possibly, this group could be a support system. But that's obviously not going to happen. There's nothing someone like me can depend on, and no one can help me feel better. I know this. It just seems unfair sometimes, that some people can have all the support they want just because of the happy accident of their circumstances, while I'm completely self-reliant. I really want to fall back on someone sometime, you know? But then again, even if someone were willing to be there for me, I wouldn't want to bother them, or be needy or whiny, so I wouldn't say anything anyway. So I guess this is all a bit of a moot point. What on earth is wrong with me? Oh, I am pathetic. I need to get it together.
I need to get food too. I think I feel worse if I'm hungry. But it seems like such an ordeal. Maybe I can get some real food at that cute little cafe. I go there like every week, it's terrible. But it's really nice to be able to eat normal food, and get enough of it, and not have to see anyone! You don't understand. I always look forward to getting nice food at the end of the week, and it's really pretty stupid and ridiculous, but it helps me get through to have some sort of reward for myself. My logic class, going to the library, getting to talk to Austin, and eating food while watching Netflix – that's pretty much all that gives me happiness nowadays. Which is sad. But these things get through, and that's something, isn't it? All righty, I'm going to get food. I'm going to the cafe. I'm getting curry and dumplings and fried rice and I don't know what all. I haven't really eaten since two days ago, since I had dinner with Melissa yesterday, and I can't eat anything of substance with her. I guess I'm feeling a little better, cuz I don't feel sick at the thought of eating, so off I go now. I can do this, it's okay. I'll just get food and then I can watch Supernatural. Melissa's out, so I have the room to myself. Sometimes, the small things in life are the most important.

Ugh

Here I am! I'm doing my homework very well, as you can see. I'm being productive and getting things done because I am a do-gooder and a go-getter and a ne'er-do-well, and the world is mine for the taking. I have to study for my linguistics midterm tomorrow, and I have to work on my opera exam (two essays) due Friday, and I have to listen to my political science lectures (did I tell you I got a perfect score on the midterm, no, well I did, okay), but I'm so tired that I can't make myself do anything for very long. I feel terrible, actually. I have period cramps and my head hurts and I think I'm hungry, but I can't really tell, because my uterus is having a hissy fit, and I just want to sleep for about fifteen hours. I keep popping around to different things on here, sometimes Facebook, sometimes Tumblr, sometimes my actual schoolwork, and I'm acting as the poster child for anti-productivity right here. I should stop procrastinating, I suppose.
I'm back! I was so tired, and my head hurt so much, that I decided it wouldn't hurt to take a little nap. So I climbed into my bed and slept for about half an hour. It was so nice. I really, really, didn't want to get up after that, but my roommate is here, and I didn't want her to judge me, and what's more, I have too much to do to worry about being rested, so here I am now. I can't wait to go home at Christmas so I can sleep as much as I want to without having to worry about anything. I'm going to be a new kind of Rip Van Winkle, man. I'll get out of bed only long enough to eat and go to performances. It will be great. If anyone wants to see me, he or she can come over and sit in bed with me and we can talk about life together. Although, now that I think of it, if I advertised that method of visiting, I might become suddenly popular among the men in my life, and that's something I don't want at all. So I guess I'll have to get up and shake a leg and make an effort for people. Oh dear. Well, nothing to be done about that, I can't live my life in loneliness, after all, and maybe there will be some fun things I can do with people, like eat. I'm so excited for this break, y'all don't even know. 56 days, guys!
I'm hungry now, but I don't want to eat while Melissa is in here. Would it be so bad to skip dinner today? I could do it. But then I wouldn't get to eat my cinnamon bun! I was saving it to heat up and eat for a sort of dessert tonight, and I was legit thinking about it during the day. I love cinnamon buns so much, especially when they're heated up. It would be even better if I had something hot to drink too, but that would be a waste of blocks. Although, it wouldn't be that bad to get a nice hot chocolate at the cafe while I'm getting dinner tonight, would it? I guess that's assuming I do get dinner tonight. I might not. Ugh, I'm a victim of indecision here! I know the sensible thing would be to eat anyway and not worry about Melissa, but I'm not sensible, as we all know.
Okay, now I'm at the library (it's the next day) and my stupid clingy "best friend" is here with me. I feel completely horrible today, and this whole ordeal is making me want to jump in front of one of the conveniently careless buses that careen around campus so freely. He's printing now, which is why I'm here. Ugh. I just want to crawl into a hole somewhere and never come out again. Why am I so depressed all the time? Is it too much to ask to want to be happy, or failing that, at least neutral? I walk around campus everyday thinking about death, and surely that's not normal or healthful.
Now I'm back at my dorm, but I'm not feeling much better. I hate everything so much. Life is dry, flavorless, bland, and unsatisfactory. I always tell myself that tomorrow will be better, but really, will it? It's just going to be the same as today, and the day after that will too, and so will the day after that, on into eternity (or at least graduation, whichever comes first). I'm never going to make something of myself, let's just face it, and I'm never going to be happy. Yes, I'll have moments of contentment and moments of joy, but I'll never have that enduring happiness of which so many people love to boast. I'm going to be a useless wreck of a person until I die. And that's the sad truth. What happened to make me turn out like this? Was it a chemical imbalance? Did I bring it on myself? I don't know. I suppose, philosophically, the question is, why was I not made normal. That's a very good question. I'd like to believe that I was born strange and unsuited for success for a reason, and that someday I'll leave my mark on the world after all, but it's kind of hard to make a positive mark on the world when all you do is fail. I hope the mark I make isn't bad, like what if I kick over a lantern in a garage and kick-start the second edition of the Great Chicago Fire? That would be terrible! I'd rather live a meaningless life than impact the world in a negative way, and that's the honest truth. I think I understand those stereotypical wannabe philosophers who constantly question the meaning of life; I know it sounds ridiculous and hackneyed, but it's an important question. What am I meant to be doing, and if I'm not meant to be doing anything, why am I here? I wish I knew. Maybe I'll find out someday.
I need to get food, but I'm never hungry when I'm upset, and the thought of eating anything is like anathema to me right now. I don't understand how people can eat away their feelings. I get a ball of depression in my stomach, and one in my chest as well, and with those two working against me, there's no way I can fit food in there too. It's very stressful, and it helps make it well-nigh impossible to eat in public, since the more anxious I get, the less I can choke down. I feel like I'm going to starve soon, because I've been feeling terrible all week, and therefore not willing to eat much of anything. I hope it's just my period, and it'll pass soon, but I have the horrible presentiment that it won't, and I'll die before I can go home and all the money we've spent on me will be wasted. I can see my ribs again, which seems like it would be something I should be happy about (at least according to this shallow mockery of a culture), but it's frightening, really, because I don't think ribs are supposed to be visible. So I'm going to go get some dinner, and maybe by the time I get back, I'll feel better and will be able to eat again. Okay. I really don't feel like doing this, but it's for the greater good, so here we go. Ugh.

All about amour

I am having the worst time with the weather. You don't even know. The humidity level is about 80% and it's horrible! I feel like I'm being bathed in ectoplasm every time I step outside. How do people manage it here? Maybe that's why everyone's so rude all the time; they just can't handle the horror of the weather. It's like that one movie, "The Day After Tomorrow," where the weather goes crazy and kills everyone except the lucky protagonist and his doting girlfriend (actually, I don't know if they survive either; I never finished watching it). But man, is it going to be like this from now on? I don't know if I can handle this! It was bad enough durin, g the summer when the heat and humidity were worse than all the fury of the Falkan island crisis, but at least then I had the hope of a return to normalcy with the advent of autumn! Now I have not that hope. And man, that sure is a sad and depressing way to live! I always scoffed at people who were so easily affected by their environments, and I looked with withering scorn on the girl who had to transfer from MIT because of the depressing nature of her surroundings, but now I think I'm beginning to understand. Who could endure three more years of this? Or even two, if I get to graduate early? I'm bitterly miserable, and it hasn't even started snowing yet. Life is a vale of tears, and I won't let anyone tell me different.
Oh, here's another reason why life is a veritable misery to all who live it! Melissa has coerced me into agreeing to go to church with her this evening. Of course I don't mind going to church; I do it myself, but I really, really, really don't want to go with her. For one thing, these services take hours, and I don't want to be stuck away from campus on a weeknight until midnight. It's not safe, and what's more, I need to study. I have three midterms next week, and I need to do well so I can keep my good grades. These exams are worth a lot, you know? I already got a B on a political science quiz last week; I really can't keep going like this. I'll fail everything. So, I'm sorry, but I don't think it's sensible to ask me to sit there "enjoying" love and fellowship with people who likely don't want to enjoy these things with me while the clock to my future ticks away. I don't have a problem with just going to a church service, I think that would be nice, actually, but there's not going to be any way for me to get away afterwards. Unless I know someone really well, I never feel comfortable trying to bum a ride, and these people are all going to be strangers. Then, too, I don't want to put a cramp in Melissa's style. But what about me, though? Darn it! Why do I have to do this? I'm never going to go again.
I feel like it's going to be really awkward too. People are weird here. They might not mean to do it, but even if they're very nice, they have a sort of insider mentality, so that if you're not one of them, you can never hope to be. It's like white-think, I guess. And I'm not being ridiculous; the other non-white people or non-local people I've met feel that way too (to some extent; I'm worse than most). Ugh. I'm just going to have to sit there, smiling and nodding and acting like I'm not dying to leave, and not saying a word of my own. I hate situations like this! I feel like if I were replaced by a doll, like in Coppelia, it really wouldn't make a difference to the world. That's all I am, you know? I'm like a cute, nicely-dressed, placeholder. This is an issue for me, actually, I've built up quite a complex about it over the years. And it's not just friends or acquaintances or strangers who do it, either. It's everyone. Usually, when I date a guy, he acts like I'm a living sex doll, and puts me on display in front of his friends, and they all act like I'm an object. Now that I think of it, I think most of the guys I've dated have thought of me as an object. You could replace me with a sexy lamp, and it wouldn't make a difference. It's really very irritating, don't you know. That's one of the reasons I like Austin so much! He doesn't think of me that way; sure, he tells me I'm beautiful and cute and all that, but he treats me like a complete person, and he makes sure his friends do the same. It's so wonderful to know that he likes me not because I'm pretty (though I'm sure that helps), but because he likes me as a whole! I know I was going on about how I wasn't sure of this before, but now I'm convinced (at least mostly convinced) that it's the case. I'm so lucky to have him! I can't believe it sometimes, and I have to remind myself that my life is really happening this way, and it's so wonderful.
All righty, I know I talk about him way too much, but let's take a little detour and discuss my lovely boyfriend, shall we? Consider this fair warning: I'm about to go deep into pre-religious John Donne land, and it'll be a very unpleasant journey for everyone but me, I'm sure. So! On Monday, Melissa was staying the night at church (another reason for my trepidation tonight, but that's neither here nor there), and I had the room to myself. So I studied, and did homework, and watched Supernatural, and ate dinner (not very much, sadly), and sang a lot (to the undoubted distress of my neighbors), and then after I'd showered and brushed my teeth and all that, I talked to my baby on the phone for like three hours. It was the best. You know, I usually hate talking on the phone; I prefer texting or Skype or email or whatever, but I love talking to him. Just hearing his voice makes me feel all happy; I think I could listen to him talk for days and still get butterflies. And it's never awkward like it is with other people sometimes. I know we used to be really awkward together, but that's a thing of the past! I feel so comfortable and happy when I'm talking to him, I only wish we could talk in person. But so anyway, we talked about our various emotional problems, cuz that's what people do when they get close, I guess, and mind you, I'm not happy that we're both so messed up, but I am happy that we got to talk about it and find out more about each other. I half couldn't believe I was sharing so much personal stuff about myself, since I never talk about these things with anyone (I don't even put them on here or in my diary), but it felt okay to do so. I trust him, and that's saying quite a lot for me. I wanted to keep talking to him forever, but it was five in the morning and we both had class the next day, and we're sensible underneath our frivolous exteriors, so we eventually had to hang up. Right before we did, he asked me when it was appropriate to say "I love you," and I told him that I thought whenever it seemed right to say something, one should say it (or something of that nature). So he did. And I squeaked and blushed and couldn't say anything for a couple seconds, and then I said it back, and was so flustered that I hung up immediately after. But he didn't mind, so it's okay. But yeah! I can't believe it either– I actually love someone in a romantic way? I thought I would never do that! I know we've been dating and all, but I didn't know he actually loved me, and I didn't want to admit that I actually loved him. But I do, and he does, and it's the most wonderful feeling in the world. Don't get me wrong, I haven't become a sentimentalist (I hope), and I still maintain that love is transient and against natural laws and all that, but at the same time, I feel like there's a sort of golden glow in me, and no matter what I do, I can't ignore it. That was the weirdest way of putting things, I can't even. What is wrong with me? I still feel all tingly whenever he says it, and I can't say it (or even type it) myself without blushing and grinning like an idiot. I don't know, is that normal? Do normal people find it easy to talk about their feelings in this way? I kind of wish I did. But then again, if I don't, maybe it means it's more real! It really is real, though. I've never been in love with anyone I've dated, ever. I know that sounds terrible, and I suppose it is, really, but there it is. I suppose I did have genuine feelings for Justin, but they didn't compare in any way to what I'm feeling now. It was a crush and nothing more. Now, I do love Francisco (although we didn't really date, strictly speaking), but that's in a purely platonic way. I admit that I've always had a little crush on Roger too, but it's more that I respect and admire him and think of him as a good friend than anything else. I guess what I'm trying to say is that up till now, I've felt love in raindrops, when it's actually a hurricane. Do I sound like Moliere's Celimene? I suppose I do. That's okay. I like her. I really sympathize with her too. But yeah! So, Celimene-esque or not, I really think I'm in up to my eyes this time. I've never wanted to spend time with anyone so much, and I've never wanted to talk about anyone so frequently! It's weird being this in love with someone! I honestly thought I was going to spend my life alone, or in relationships with guys for whom I felt nothing, and now that's all gone. He's so different from all my other male companions (both my flings and my long-term ones). As I said before, he thinks of me as an actual person, not just a hot body, and he makes me feel loved, which no one's ever done (that sounds sad, but you know what I mean, so it's not). He's not ashamed of me, and he doesn't even hit on other girls, although they're always hitting on him because he's so gorgeous. He rebuffs their advances, but he does have female friends, and I actually like that he does. I feel like, if someone's not mature enough to have friends of another gender, he's not mature enough to date, because it means that he thinks of women (or etcetera) as objects, and nothing more. This proves that he knows girls are people, and syllogistically, it means he thinks I'm a person too. So there! That was a rather egotistical ending to the argument, but there it is. Even though we can't see each other in person, we talk every night, on Skype, or on the phone, and we text through the day. I don't want it to seem like we're co-dependent or anything; we both have lives, and if one of us doesn't text back for a few hours, that's perfectly fine and understandable. It's just amazing that we talk so much and don't get tired of it! I get bored easily, I admit it, and a lot of guys make me want to curl up in a corner and cry for awhile because they evince such rapid declination in the intelligence of the human race, but not Austin. I never get tired of talking to him. He's smart, he's actually smart, and what's more, he doesn't make everything about romance! Sure, he tells me sweet things often (which I actually really like), but he never gets lewd, and he never asks me for inappropriate pictures, which most other guys do. And he doesn't try to sext me or anything either. We talk about everything, and sometimes it comes to love, and sometimes it doesn't, and it's always perfect. He makes me so incredibly happy, and I can't wait to go home and see him again!
All righty, that was long and rambling and thoroughly unnecessary, but I had to get it out there. I'll probably return to the subject too. I'm the most annoying writer in the world, I know, it's like when you're watching a nice episode of Supernatural, and you just want them to take care of the problem already, but all you see is Sam getting busy with whichever doomed female lead is headlining at the time. I will never be a writer, though, so it's okay.
I wonder what time Melissa and I were supposed to go to church. I'm still in the library, see, and it's almost 7:30. I hope she'll text me with the details, but I'm not sure if she forgot or what. Should I text her? I really don't want to go! But then what if she thinks I hate her and gets depressed? Ugh. I'll just tell her I was cramming hard for my political science midterm, since that's the soonest, and I really am going to cram for it after I leave, and then she'll feel guilty about making me go, and won't invite me anymore. Yeah! That's the spirit! Okay, but I really am going to go study now. Bye!

Whine, whine, whine

I feel so horrible today! I don't even know. It seems like I should be happy too! It's a lovely day, not humid at all, and it's that sort of golden late-summer afternoon that would be the dream of any aspiring Romantic poet. My classes were wonderful today, and I actually struggled for a minute or two in logic, and I got to talk to Delightful Devin again. We're doing romantic opera now, and romantic literature to boot, so that's another fabulous thing right there. I'm in the library, which as we all know is my favorite place in the whole state (except possibly the airport, when it's preparing me to go home), and no one's tried to talk to me. I don't even look completely hideous! It seems like everything should be sugar and roses, doesn't it? But it's not. I feel like crying, and I can't, and it's terrible. I don't really cry much, you know, only about things that don't matter, like Supernatural and poetry and music and an Ingres portrait one time when I was on my period and hadn't slept for a week (okay, that's a lot of stuff, isn't it), but even then, I don't know how to cry. My eyes get all wet, but I don't make any sound, and I just sit there sniffling to myself and looking gross. Even when I left for OSU and was bawling all the way to the airport, I didn't make noise; I just had tears streaming down my face (seemingly never-endingly), and everyone was looking at me pityingly, but I couldn't do anything to stop myself. I felt like a faucet. It was very stressful. But anyway, where was I going with this? Oh, yes. So, I really don't know how to cry, and I feel like I'm missing out on something very cathartic. I think it would be nice to throw myself dramatically onto the ground, or a chaise lounge or something, and just have a good ole tear-fest. And then afterwards, I could happily eat ice cream and go about my business. But actually, no, I would feel really stupid and self-indulgent if I did that, so it's probably better not to. I hate dealing with my feelings, you know? It's so much easier to be flippant and perky all the time and not acknowledge anything that goes on underneath. That makes me shallow, doesn't it. Well, okay, it's not that I don't have feelings, I get angry and embarrassed and sad and everything, just like everyone else, but I don't give voice to anything but my Daisy Buchanan-slash-Rococo attitude. Or when I'm in public or feeling awkward, it's my valley-girl-asshole attitude. But either way, it's pretty substance-less. I have problems, I know, but it's all right. I think if I ever expressed an emotion other than bubbly joy, it would create such a rift in time and space that everyone would hate me forever. Not that they don't already, probably, but you see what I'm saying, don't you? I can't bring myself to ask someone to take care of me, cuz that's for everyone else (although if I'm going to be honest with myself, that's all I want right now), and I can't take any dramatic measures to care for myself, because I feel stupid and lazy and hedonistic and even worse in the long run. So overall, it's a pretty terrible hole into which I've dug myself! Ugh. Even now, I feel whiny talking about this. But why do I always have to be the caretaker? Isn't it okay for me to ask for something once in a while? Or is that not what a virtuous life is about? I don't know, and I don't think I'll ever figure it out. I'm probably going to turn into an emotionally closed-off person with mountains of insecurities and anxiety and a despairing outlook on everything. Oh, wait a minute there...
I'm so sick of people, oh my goodness. I know I've been talking about the stress of being in the public eye ever since I got here, but I think it's really starting to wear on me. I hate having to walk around feeling awkward, terrified, or both, without any peace at any time, until late at night when everyone's asleep, and sometimes not even then. I hate not being able to eat (I've lost several inches off my hips, which to be honest, I don't need, and this guy asked me if I was sick because I'm so skinny and pale), and I hate not being able to sleep because late at night is the only time I have to relax, and I'm not giving that up, no way. I'm also really, really tired of everyone looking at me like I'm the harlot of Babylon because of how I look. Yes, I should be used to it by now, but it was never so blatant or rude as it is now, even when I was going through my half-naked phase in 9th grade. Let's be real here, I dress rather conservatively most of the time. I wear skirts and dresses with cardigans and flats, and I look like I've just come from teaching Sunday School more often than not. I guess my skirts are sometimes short, but I'm short, okay, do you want me to look like a hobbit? And some of my outfits are a little more revealing (like my pink lace dress), but they're not bad, really. I'm so tired of walking by people who look at me and glare or giggle and then talk about me as I walk away. I mean, it seems like it shouldn't be a big deal, but when you don't get any kind or non-judgemental glances from anyone all day, it's kind of a drag. I know what you're saying, "Jasmine, you cishet privileged asshole, welcome to the real world! Who's getting served now, bitch?" And I suppose you're right. I do deserve this. But that doesn't mean I can't complain about it. I'm just tired of people judging or looking down on me, you know? It's been this way all my life, and it seems like I must have atoned for the sin of being born by now! I sound so whiny, what's wrong with me? Ugh.
Now, on the other side of the spectrum, there's the problem that people sometimes like what they see when they look at me, and by people, I mean guys, and it's going to sound even worse when I talk about this, but I'm going to anyway, and you can't stop me. So, let me tell you, it might seem like it's flattering to get hit on and cat-called all the time, and I suppose it is to some extent, but it's also creepy, and really, really, annoying. I can't walk anywhere without people going, "You're beautiful!" or "Hey hottie!" or "You're so cute, isn't she cute, look guys!" or something of that nature, whether I'm by myself or not. And you might think it's nice to hear such positive affirmation after feeling the cold, judgmental stares of everyone else all day, but it's really not. I know it's just a matter of time until someone tries to assault me, and everyone will blame me, because hurr durr, pretty girl, nicely dressed, must have been asking for it, right? It's really frightening. I don't know if I'd be able to fight anyone off, either, because I'm five feet tall, and full of nothing but flab and useless pedantic knowledge, and my twelve-year-old brother can pick me up if he cares to. I know tae-kwon-do, yes, but I honestly don't think it would be enough. I'm frankly scared all the time, and I don't want people to notice me. Judge me all you want, but who wants to be assaulted? Now, it's not just this either, although this is bad enough. See, there's this guy in my opera class who won't leave me alone now. And it's SO annoying. I try to answer his texts in ways that won't further the conversation, but he keeps on going. Sometimes, I don't reply, but this doesn't prevent him from sloughing off. Nope, our dear friend just comes back with something else. I'm losing my mind. I feel bad for being annoyed, because he's a cute Korean exchange student, and he's all polite and sweet and stuff, and he genuinely seems to want to talk to me, but man, my poor ole nerves are getting more and more frayed every time he texts me! Ugh. I'm a horrible person. I accept it, though. I'm substanceless, remember?
So, I felt terribly terrible, and I decided that I don't even care anymore, so I did the opposite of what I said I couldn't do and texted Austin to see if he would cheer me up. And he did! The darling. ♥ He didn't act like he hated me for being an emotional gravyboat, and he was so sweet and caring, and I just, I dunno. How am I so incredibly lucky to have him in my life? He's wonderful, and he makes my life here so much better. But I miss him a lot. It's really a sad situation. Whenever I see happy couples walking around campus, I get jealous of them, and then I feel weird, because I don't get jealous often. But man, it's not fair, they're so happy, and I'm so alone! Well, not really alone. Just not with the person I want to be with the most. But that's close enough.
Blehh, it's already almost 9:30, and the library closes at midnight. What am I going to do? I don't want to go back to the room and hang out with Melissa and other-Melissa! Oh, did I write about that? I don't think I did! I was too busy feeling sorry for myself! Okay, so Melissa has invited her friend over from Penn State (or one of those schools) to spend the night here. Her name is Gillian (or something, I'm afraid I can't really recall), and she doesn't know what linguistics is. I'm terrified of her. What am I going to do? I was planning to stay here at the library until it closes, and then stay out a little later, but then they might think I was avoiding them, and I would feel so rude! So maybe I should go back now. But then I would have to stay in there for several hours until it became okay for me to go to bed! When is it okay to go to bed? I usually stay up until three, so maybe they would think something was amiss if I didn't! But then again, I could pretend to be sick. And I really do need my sleep. So then I could just go to bed early and have a lovely night and not get up embarrassingly late tomorrow! No one got ahold of me for a ride to church tomorrow, and I feel really bad about this, but would it be so bad if I skipped a week? I'm so overwhelmed and tired of dealing with people, and every week is horrible because I have to go to someone's house and stay there all afternoon, surrounded by strangers, and by the time I get back, it's about 6:00 and too late to take a nap, and I'm tired the rest of the week. Sabbath is supposed to be a day of rest, and I feel like it wouldn't be too bad if I had worship on my own and watched University church online. Would it? I don't know! Maybe it would be good for networking if I went to church. But I'm so exhausted of all energy and inclination to deal with people! Well, with unknown people, I mean. If I were at home, I would love to go out with my friends all the time. What's wrong with me? Who am I turning into? My anxiety was never this bad before. I think it's been getting worse all through high school, and now it's bloomed fully. At least, I hope it's bloomed fully. I definitely don't want it to get worse.
Oh dear, the library closes in half an hour, apparently. I thought it closed at midnight, though! Oh dear. Well, I guess I'll go, then. My laptop is dying anyway. I tried to bring my charger, but it didn't work. Okay, so here I go, ready to walk across campus by myself. If I die, just remember that I was driven to it by Melissa's cursed gregariousness. All right, bye now!

Do you ever think about the meaninglessness of life?
That was a really weird opener, and I fear it's set up the wrong precedent for now until hereafter, but I don't mean anything funny by it. I just mean– do you ever think about the meaninglessness of life. I do, quite often. I'm not depressed, and I don't think about it in a despairing way, I just ponder it. And it's a really good topic to ponder. Because, if you think about it, life really is fairly meaningless. There's nothing in it to look forward to, really, not in the end. The path of honor leads but to the grave; we leave college, we go to grad school, we get careers (hopefully), and we die. Maybe we get married in there somewhere, raise a family, all that, and maybe we make it to retirement, but other than that, there's not much deviation from the course. What chance is there to create something lasting that would make life worthwhile? I've always wanted to set something in history that would transcend my own mortality, but as I'm growing older and less idealistic, I'm starting to think that that isn't really possible. I have no skill that would guarantee me a place on the scroll of true and honored fame, and I'm skeptical that I'll ever achieve enough success in my field to grant me even the sparest mention anywhere. I'm not going to leave a mark on the world, and I'm not going to impact it in any way, so what exactly is the point of my being here? I am useless in the grand scheme of things, and in the not-so grand scheme of things as well. I mean, let's think this through here. I am a financial burden on my family, more so now that I'm going to school here, and I'm a burden on the people around me in that they have to give me rides and talk to me and all. Opposite of helping the world. I'm being a detriment to it. And that's not good, is it? The world doesn't need more detritus. All my life, I'd hoped I would grow up to be something powerful, something amazing, something that would set off a light that generations would see for years to come. When I was in middle school, I thought for sure, high school would be the place. When I messed up my life in high school, I thought college would be the place. And now that I'm here– what? What am I here for? Am I just going to be an extra burden on my family for another four years? Am I going to take away chances for Kitty and Sungmin just because of my ambition and pride? I'm not achieving anything special. I'm not anything special, period. So what am I doing? I'm not going to kill myself or anything, of course, I'm just trying to figure out why I'm alive and what I'm doing with my life, since I am. You know, I thought that college would be my tabula rasa, I even optimistically professed that opinion back in one of these entries. But it's not. I haven't overcome myself. I'm still just the same, old, pathetic, Jasmine. I'll never be good enough, and that's the depressing truth. Maybe I'll live my life in mediocrity, if I'm lucky, and that's nothing to live for. So, I suppose, the question is what is the meaning of life now? What's the point of my existence? I'm not happy, not really, and I don't think I ever will be. Oh dear, let's back that up a second. I've gotten over my depression, and I'm not the chronically unhappy, suicidal, person I was before, and let's be clear about that. I don't go through my life feeling sad, or numb, or anything like that, and often I do have moments of clear joy, but they're just moments. They're not connected or cohesive, and I know they're not going to last. I know happiness isn't a big, dramatic, fanfare; it's a quiet realization that everything's all right (or something of that nature), but I think you would know if you were happy. And you wouldn't think about death without aversion. I'm not afraid to die. I don't want to go, and I'd do anything (within reason) to prevent it, but when the time comes, I won't be afraid to face whatever it is that's on the other side. Yes, I'm afraid of the dying part, I'm petrified of the pain, but aside from that, there's nothing there to scare me. How did I get so morbid? I don't know! I didn't intend for this discussion to take a dark turn. I guess I'm just venting my problems, since there's no one whom I can talk to about these things.
What is happiness anyway? I mentioned it, but maybe I don't actually know. Is anyone really, truly, happy? Anyone who saw me would think I was. There isn't anything to me, really, just sunshine and daisies, and sunshine and daisies aren't unhappy at all. Is happiness one's appearance? I'm not talking about smiling all the time, or telling flippant jokes, or dancing through the halls of the dorm while rehearsing an acapella version of Build Me Up, Buttercup. There are a lot of perfectly happy people who don't do those things. No, I mean the sort of inner peace you can see in even the most taciturn souls sometimes. These people seem perfectly content with everything. They don't flutter around crying when they read Milton or hear Variations on a Theme by Corelli. They don't feel as if they want to break down and give in to sheer and utter panic when they spend too much time with strangers. And they especially don't starve themselves because they're too afraid to get food or eat around people. But is that happiness, or is that normalcy? At this point, I think I'd take either one.
I want ice cream. I want to eat a whole tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream and listen to Wagner and cry. And I want Austin to come over and cuddle with me and rub my back (cuz I'm soooo sore). But lacking this, I'd give a chunk of my hair for a piece of schoolwork that was slightly challenging or a person who could discuss something meaningful with me. I talked about a truth table with Delightful Devin in logic today, and it was the best five minutes I'd had all day. Actually, that whole class is the best part of my day. I look forward to it, because it's the only class in which I'm sure of some mental stimulation. Yes, I learn things in my other classes, and yes, I like them a lot, but the breakdown is always something like 10% explanation and 90% rehash for what seems like every other person in the class. Orchestra is like that too. And my humanities scholars class is nothing but self-satisfied back-patting, as I'm sure I've already mentioned. So yeah! Nothing much there! I know I'm being whiny, but you know when you're complaining about something, every other complaint comes out too. I'm bored, plain and simple, and I'm not paying 18000 dollars a year to be bored.
I wish I could take more classes. I wish I didn't have to max out at 18 credits. I wish I didn't have to take my stupid survey class and my stupid humanities class. And I wish the people at this nationally-reknowned university were smarter than the kids at my high school. I'm going to die of the lack of intellectual companionship. I know I sound horribly conceited and egotistical right now, but objectively speaking, these people are pretty dim, and there's nothing they or I can do to sugarcoat the situation. Oh dear, I think placing out of calculus has gone to my head. I feel like I'm smart now. Phooey on everything! Man, I want ice cream.
Another thing! One of the few pleasures I have in this college life is going to the library between classes and reading a little bit from whichever book suits my fancy at the moment. But I'm having such a hard time doing that, because I'm so horribly shy and terrified of people that I can't bring myself to read anything around them! I feel like they'll judge me. Reading a book in the library? Oh goodness. Try to contain your screams of shock, ladies. It will be all right. No, but really, a lot of people don't go there to read, or even to study, so I feel weird when I do it. Whenever I see someone coming, I whip out my phone and pretend to text so they'll think I'm just some bubble-headed valley girl and will judge me on that account and not as a person. I know this doesn't make sense, but it's my best defense mechanism. I do it quite often. I think I talked about it before; when I'm out in public by myself, I put on my bug-eye sunglasses and text conspicuously and drink my Starbucks and flash around my cleavage and act like the opposite of myself, just so I won't break down. Yeah, it doesn't make sense, I'm silly, I know. Got that. But it's so annoying to have to pause in the middle of my Moliere and pull out my phone to text some random person back! It's even worse when I'm reading poetry. It's like I'm in another world, and then I'm pulled back to the pedestrian present for no reason but my stupid social anxiety. I HATE IT SO MUCH. During Thanksgiving break, when everyone's gone, I hope the library is still open, because I want to go there and read all by myself. It would be perfect. ♥
Bless me, this was a really long and rambling and very
depressing entry! I should probably not write stuff like this in the future in case my self-pity gets too out of hand. But I feel a lot better now! That was strangely cathartic. All right, goodnight now!

Procrastination, really

Look at this lovely exchange.
Austin: But I want to go to dinner with you!
Me: Nah tho, you would be so traumatized that you would run away to sea :P
Austin: I think you'd be traumatized to sea me eat actually ;D
Me: I have seen you eat! It didn't produce any unhappy em-oceans in me!
Austin: When I'm eating at my messiest, to be Pacific.
Me: Beach please, I can eat more grossly than you can under-sand.
Austin: No really, I just gulf everything down.
Me: But I'm so messy... I wouldn't be surprised if Island face first in my food someday.
Austin: You should eat with me, if you canal be your bffl
Me: I think that might provoke some in-clam-ent problems :P
Austin: I accept you for who you are, you sea.
Me: Aww. You seal-y, I don't know if you want to say such an unshellfish thing around me!
Austin: Whale you know I'm dolphinately yours until the rivers all run dry ♥
Me: Babe, my heart is an open brook to you ♥
Austin: I may stream to play it cool sometimes, but the truth is that I'm crazy for you ♥
Austin: I spend my day pond-ering ways to make you smile :)
Me: Aww, I lake everything about you :D
Austin: But I'm such a pool :(
Me: But you're my pool, and what I fish for ♥
Austin: You make me so happy, it has me floundering about ♥
Me: You make my heart scallop ♥
Austin: I can never be crabby around you ♥
Me: You're my golden star-fish!
Austin: I wish I had bigger mussels, then I could be all sexy for you and stuff maybe
Me: You're as beautiful as a seascape; don't cl-oyster yourself away!
Austin: You make me want to be a betta person :)
Me: I know you've heard this anemany times, but you're so perfect already!
Austin: How can I feel perfect when my girlfriend is a mermaid among a sea of guppies
Me: You are perfect though, you're the lamprey of sunshine in my life and you know it!
Austin: My heart feels like a whirlpool when I think of you :)
Me: I will shower you with love everyday :D  speaking of which, I probably should go shower.
Isn't he lovely? He knows I like wordplay, so he plays with words with me! I appreciate that so highly! Most people won't do that. Not even Francisco. So I just think it's so amazing and wonderful that he's willing to be silly with me. I'm so lucky!
Okay, Jasmine, that's enough. Ugh, I'm going to want to slap myself later when I read this and see how myopic and lovestruck I was. I got it bad, I do!
I'm at the library right now, starting my paper for Lit. It should be fun, I think, but I'm afraid I won't be able to do well! I know I was good at this sort of thing back in AP Lit, but is that enough now? I'm going up against juniors and seniors here, most of them English majors, and I'm sure they can smoke me. What if I don't do well? What if I get something other than an A in an English class? That's the very definition of humiliation. I have to do well, that's all! I'm starting this paper early, so I can work on it through the week and revise it as needed. I got this, I got this. Right?
This library is so packed full of people. Why are these nerds in here? They need to get a life and not be like me! Come on now. I went to the 11th floor, but it was all full, so I went to the 10th floor to see if I could sit in one of the window seats. There was a guy who had two chairs around him, not with his stuff on them or anything, and just sitting there. I thought maybe I could use one of them, since he didn't seem to be, so I went up and asked him if I could have a chair. He looked at me, shook his head, and went "No, no." And off I scuttled, blushing and embarrassed, and feeling as if I really should have stayed in my dorm. Now I'm on my favorite floor, the 9th floor (which is the literature one), and I'm happy in a nice little window seat here, but I feel extraordinarily awkward anyway. Why am I so awkward? I need to grow some balls! You know, this is becoming a problem for me. I asked a question in class today, and afterwards, I was shaking so hard I could barely write. I love the class so much, but I feel like the teacher won't like me because I never talk. This is my logic class, see. So, you know, I'm very adept so far, and I always know what he's talking about and when he asks something, I always know the answer, but I can't make myself say it! Even if the room is in stumped silence and I'm the only one with a clue, I just sit there like an idiot. I try, I really do, but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. Sometimes, I manage to whisper the answer, and someone near me hears it and repeats it, and the matter is taken care of that way, but often the poor teacher has to explain it all over again, just because I was too weirdly shy to say anything. That's how I was in high school too, but in high school, there was usually someone else to say the answers (except in Lit, but I had no trouble talking in that class). Now it's just me, and I can't do it. I'm so ashamed of myself! Why can I not be normal? I wonder if anyone else in the world is as strange as I am.
Other than that, though, the class is so beautiful. We had to do six proofs for homework last night, three of them normal, and three of them hard. I had no trouble with the three easy ones, but I was missing a step on the three harder ones, and I couldn't quite finish them. I thought I was being stupid, and I was all embarrassed, but then when I got to class, it turned out that they were technically possible, but so un-intuitive that feasibly, they weren't really viable for us at this stage. Then I was proud of myself for getting as far as I did, because I had the right idea, I just hadn't taken it far enough. And everyone else was more stumped than I'd been. In fact, they'd had trouble with the normal proofs too. So I walked out of class feeling powerful and ready to take anyone on. I wish I could have that feeling more often, like when I'm about to get food, or walk past a group of people by myself. That would be nice.
It rained a little bit last night. It was very pleasant! Very soporific, you know, and cozy to hear while lying in bed wrapped up in blankets. It's gotten colder recently, and I'm wearing a sweater now, which feels very collegiate and autumnal, and it's such a welcome change.
Oh, there's a kid in here. Why? He's cute and all, but I hope he doesn't try to talk to me. I'm afraid of children. I will never be a mother. What do you even do with kids? I will be alone in life forever. Oh, but you know, I fear mothers even more than I fear kids. They are always so unfriendly, and they act like they are superior to everyone, and they have no sense of boundaries. This particular mom seems to have some, but in general, moms won't care if their kids climb all over you and pull your hair and whatnot, because it's cute. They're just like dog owners. I don't like people, man, I don't like them at all. I'm going to move to a cave and walk around dispensing Zarathustra-esque advice. Wait, no, then I would have to have followers and all. This is a problem, then!
I have orchestra pretty soon. I should leave in ten minutes. It's at 6:30, but I have to go back to my dorm and drop off Daisy Bell and get my violin and then walk over to the school of music, so I need to leave enough time to do that. I was late to both my classes already today, and I'm not angling for a third. It's so weird to have only three classes per day, it almost seems like I'm not doing anything worthwhile. I would take more classes if I could, but I'm already at 18 credit hours, and I can't add anymore at this point anyway. I guess I am taking eight classes, but it doesn't seem like it. At this point, it probably sounds like I'm looking for things to feel insecure about, so maybe I should stop. I'm going to turn into a truly irritating person soon, if I haven't already. Bleh.
Okay, I should probably pack up and go down soon, so off I go! You can do this, Jasmine. You got this. You are a strong, independent woman who knows the rudiments of propositional logic and who can spell "chiaroscuro," and no one can bring you down! Let's go!

Sundays with Jasmine

That title was an allusion to the book Tuesdays with Morrie, by the way. I haven't actually read it, but I've heard copious praise of it from Austin, so I feel like it's an old friend at this point.
Blehhh, speaking of which, I miss my Austin so much. I made the mistake of downloading Next Year, which is the first sing he sang to me, and now I can't listen to it without getting sad. I also listened to I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing and all these other songs and now I'm all melancholy. I feel really sappy, but what can you do?  I'm listening to Carry On Wayward Son now; hopefully that will put me into a better frame of mind so I can go take care of the errands I need to do without wandering along in a gloomy haze, absent-mindedly singing Two Door Cinema Club to myself, and getting weird looks from everyone around me, which I will ignore because I will be so lost in my malaise. I feel like that might garner a bit of Durko-hood here, and that's something I definitely don't need.
Okay, when this song is done, I'll go out and mail my checks, and be productive. I guess Melissa will just have to find her own way into our room, because I sure as shootin' ain't gonna leave it unlocked like she does. I have a lot of stuff in here, and I don't want to have any of it stolen, you feel me? I mean, how would I live without my Daisy Bell? And my violin is pretty important. And okay, what if some destitute wrangler decided to come in and help herself to all my panties so she wouldn't have to buy her own? That wouldn't be a very good turn of events. It would make me feel like quite the scarlet woman to go about campus with nothing between me and the breeze.
Okay, I'm back! I went out to do my errand, and then I decided to explore the math building on the way  back to my dorm. Let me tell you, it's quite the magical place (or should I say "mathical?"), replete with graphs built into the floor tiles and a marble sculpture of a Fibonacci spiral in the foyer. It was almost completely deserted, though, so it was a little scary to walk around in there by myself, even though I did have my key in my hand to puncture the puncturable parts of anyone who tried to accost me. I wish I'd been able to bring my pocket knife with me on the plane. It would have made me feel safer. Walking around by myself is quite the scary ordeal, I'll have you know, and though I've been hit on too many times to count and have walked away to tell the tale, I'm always sure that each time I go out carelessly will be my last. I don't think I would feel as nervous if I were at a different school, but this one is known for its animalistic football players, and I'm never sure who has good intentions and who doesn't. Man, I gotta get me a cannon. Then I can wheel it around with me wherever I go, and no one will dare to come close to me. Everyone can call me Jasmine the Cannon or The Loose Cannon or Cannon in D(efeat), or something witty like that, and I will gain the respect of everyone on campus. But in the meantime, I just carry my key with me, and hope that I can protect myself with it.
I sliced my finger open on Friday. It was very dramatic. Maybe I cut it at the wrong angle, or maybe it was a cursed blade (Gillette razor, really, but let's use poetic diction, shall we?), but the poor thing bled for half an hour, rather copiously, before it finally slowed down, and I still can't type normally, because it still hurts a bit when I touch it. I took pictures of it, and sent them around to people so that they could appreciate the drama of the moment as well as I without having to go through the same ordeal. Cool and interesting as it was, I hope this won't happen every time I try to shave my legs. It would be a costly price to pay for the silky-smoothness we all so covet. Although winter is coming soon, so I won't really need to shave as much, because I'll always be wearing tights. Then again, maybe I should, just in case my hallmates and I decide to have a naked pillow fight or something. Those are common occurrences in college, aren't they? That and beer pong, and both of those activities might well culminate in everyone seeing me strip, so perhaps I'd better shave anyway, just to be on the safe side. Now I sound like a gross gorilla. Oh dear. Well, nothing to do about that. It's a way of life, and it is natural and beautiful for all its naturalness.
Yesterday, I went to the local church again. It's really the African-American church, so I feel like a bit of a cultural appropriator, but where else am I supposed to go? Everyone is so nice and friendly, and I love the music, and they are very vigilant about helping students, so it really seems like the best option. Also, it's the church in charge of the church school where I'm going to start the CKC– Ohio branch program, so that's a deciding factor right there too. But anyway, where was I? Oh yes. So I went there, and everyone was so nice, and the pastor from whom I got a ride last week invited me to lunch again, but at a different person's house this time, so I went along. It was really awkward, but it was tolerably so, and I got free food, so I didn't have to buy dinner, so that was nice. It was really good food too, and they gave me a whole lot of it. Very nice of them, I do appreciate it. The kids are all so cute too! They keep talking to me and wanting to play with me and all. That one little girl from the potluck last week saw me at church and came running up to give me a hug, and it was so cute. Maybe I can be a mom yet.
Man, I'm sleepy. Why is that? I got enough sleep yesterday, I think, and I didn't get up early today or anything (quite the opposite, in fact), and I got coffee to boot. Maybe it's the weather. It's kind of hot, but it's also cloudy and drowsy, and it's four in the afternoon, which is a sleepy time, so that's probably all. I don't have narcolepsy, no, not at all. Don't gotta worry about that. But you know, my sleep schedule is really messed up. I should probably sort that out before the semester gets into full swing. What if I go to bed when Melissa does, at the unreasonably early hour of 11:00? I don't even know if I'd be able to fall asleep that early. I could try, I guess. But then I couldn't talk to my babe. So that would be a detriment to my psyche and quality of life overall. Oh dear, whatever shall I do? I must figure this out someday. I can't let my poor sleep hygiene interfere with my schoolwork. So far, it's not done so, but I feel like I might sleep in one morning and miss my classes (all of them) and then I'll fall behind and not be able to catch up and fail the semester and have to go to Compton Community College after all. And that's not as unfounded a fear as you might think. My logic class moves extremely fast, and no matter how easily I can grasp the concepts once I'm taught them, I still couldn't figure them out myself if I missed a lecture. Opera, too, moves fast, and in Lit, it's important not to miss anything, because it all comes back to haunt you in recitation. Now, if I skipped a couple of those two horrible humanities scholars' classes, I think I would be impacting my life in quite a positive way, but unfortunately, attendance is a big part of the grade in both, so I can't skip more than one, and I want to save that one for when I'm lying on my deathbed, diseased and delirious and unable to get out of my dorm. I hate those classes so much though, not just because they preclude me from taking choir or another academic class, but because they're full of horrible people, and they're boring and useless and promulgate values which are detrimental to the well-being of society as a whole. I mean, they preach oneness of our own little tight-knit community, but they exclude outsiders, and they don't care about what happens to anyone on the outside. In fact, there's an undercurrent of the Puritan saints-vs-strangers going on, and it's positively primeval. Shouldn't we be past that sort of thing by now? Homeless people don't exist to be the butt of your jokes, and neither do ethnic minorities, or women, or anyone else, for that matter. It makes me really uncomfortable to hear the stuff they come up with, and it's troubling to realize that everyone else is buying into either the white-savior complex or the idea of the elect, or both, and we're about to unleash a whole horde of socialite justice warriors onto the world. But if I don't willingly help with their soirees and zombie movie parties and self-congratulatory meetings and sundry other means of bettering the world around them, I'll fail the classes, and won't get my 4.0 and life will be ruined forever. So I have to do this stuff, and pretend I like it. UGH.
Where was I before I started in on the Privilege Power Party? I'm not sure. Well, I suppose I better start off anew. So, what shall I get for dinner today? I can go to the Union across the street, but I'm really not sure about the state of the Union sometimes (zing), because they never seem to have anything that someone would want to eat. I could also go to the so-called Marketplace on Neil street, but that place is further away, and it's always crowded, and I hate getting food in crowds, especially by myself. I could seek out another of those places that take food blocks, but they all close ridiculously early on weekends (for some strange reason), so I don't know if I'd be able to find one in time. This is all so difficult! Maybe I will forego dinner tonight. I mean, I had actual food for breakfast instead of just coffee (admittedly, it was just a donut, but you know), so perhaps I can last the day. What do you think? Or maybe I can go mug some little freshmen and steal their lunch money. Wait, I am a little freshman. I guess I could try my luck at the local high school then.
The Tchaikovsky violin concerto is one of the most perfect pieces of music ever written. Or at least that's what I think whenever I hear it (as I am doing now). How did he do it? What was his secret? It makes me melt every time (which, I realize, is quite a weird way of putting it, but I am nothing if not a corporeal representation of eccentricity), and I only wish that someday I could create something so beautiful. I've played the Canzonetta, but I didn't do it justice. I wish someday I could play the whole thing and play it like it should be played. It's a work of art, it really is!
It's only 94 days until I go home! It seems like forever, though. I hope it goes by quickly. There are parts of this life I like, but then there are parts of my other life I miss overwhelmingly (i.e Austin), and it'll be so nice to go home and see my family and friends again and take normal showers and eat enough food and sleep until the cows come home, and not feel awkward at every turn, and have time to read as much as I want, and have a beautiful life! I am so excited, you don't even know. I feel like it will be hard for me to leave, though. I think I'll do some transfer applications when they come out, just in case I feel like transferring, and just in case we can afford it. I would have to start over again at the new school, but that's okay, isn't it? I've done it once, I can do it again. I would feel like such a wimp, though. So maybe that would haunt me all my life. I dunno. I guess we'll see!
Okay, I don't feel tired anymore, but now I feel like going out to fight dragons and raise hell, and I don't know if that's any better. I mean, what hell is there to raise around here? I guess I could go around punching people in the throats, but somehow that doesn't seem very polite. I dunno. What if I damaged their vocal chords permanently? Maybe I should start an anarchist group or something. That's what people do when they're restless, right? I could wear my leather jacket and boots and stomp around yelling obscenities at anyone or anything I deem to be evocative of "the man," and everyone will love me. Well, no, that would go against the point of my movement, but they will love the freedom I will bring to the world. Live free or die!
Oh, that's right, Melissa is out at a retreat for her glee club, and it's going to last until 8, so maybe I should get food before then so I can eat it in private. How long do you think it will take me to get food?  Probably about half an hour, right? And then it'll take me about an hour to eat it (because I'm pretty sure I could get a Guiness world record in slow eating), so I should probably leave at about 6 or 6:30. Wow, that's really early. I don't like eating so early. Oh well. I'd rather eat early and be unreasonably and distractingly hungry at night than eat with people around. So there we go. I wish I were normal, I sure do.
Okay, I should probably do some political science stuff here. I have to take a quiz, and before I do it, I want to review my notes so that I'll keep up my record of perfect scores. Let's go, Jasmine! You can do this! Time to think about international relations. I really like the course, by the way. It's very interesting. I don't like that it's online, but I like the material, so it all balances out in the end! Okay, time to go. Bye now!