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!