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.