Now is the winter of my discontent

Because it's winter, and I'm discontented, wow, how totally clever am I?
I know I said no more grossness, but I'm going to be gross, and I don't really care. But you might, so I would advise you to keep your caution about you at this point.
Yesterday, the housing office, in their infinite wisdom, decided that I'd been getting a free pass for long enough, and assigned me a new roommate to take Melissa's place. Her name is Georgia, and she's moving in sometime this week. I know it shouldn't be such a big deal, and I'm totally over-reacting, but I honestly thought of jumping in front of a bus just so I wouldn't have to deal with this. It's bad enough to have to share a space in general, but on those days when human contact feels like acid (which, sadly, are becoming more and more common), it's next door to unbearable. Even Melissa, who shares my introversion, was sometimes almost more than I could take, so how am I going to manage with a complete (and seemingly chatty) stranger? I wish I could be normal. Why can't I be normal? It seems to me that every other person on this earth is better with people than I am. Sure, you can cite the awkward rejects of society who congregate on tumblr, but they all have internet friends, don't they (and probably several very close friends in their general vicinity, because every awkward person I've ever met had a rather sizable awkward IRL clique), and they think nothing of contacting random people all across the internet and befriending them. I can't even do that. It's gotten so that I do a mental double take every time I hear myself having a conversation with someone, because it's that infrequent. Really, I'm starting to think that I wasn't built for real life. I should be locked in a library somewhere, alone with my literature and syntax, not bothering anyone, and not trying to fake my way through a life for which I wasn't made. Wouldn't that be better? But it's anachronistic to be a recluse now. Everyone is meant to interact with other people, perfectly, without any anxiety or trouble, and since I can't seem to do that, perhaps I shouldn't be alive. Aristotle said that without friends, no one would choose to live, even if he had everything else (I paraphrase), and if we can't trust one of the greatest thinkers in the world, I don't know to whom we're going to turn. I don't have anyone who cares about me, not really, so why am I here? Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit. But let's be real here– who would even notice if I spontaneously combusted one day? My family would, after awhile, and yes, they'd be sad, but in the end, I think they'd be better off without me. I'm the requisite failure; I've always been so, and I'm really damn expensive too. So even if they don't see it, I know it would advantage them to be rid of me. Austin would notice, I suppose, though how he'd get wind of my death, I have no idea. But I think he'd be better off without me too. And my friends? I never see any of them in real life (unless you want to count Opera Boy and Orchestra Boy and Melissa) (though I don't really see any of them either), so I'm sure it would just be easy-come-easy-go on that front. There's no one who would be impacted by my death, no one at all, and if that's not a disheartening thought, I don't know what is. I was thinking about buying a little potted plant, so I could have an excuse to stay alive for someone's (something's?) sake, but I don't think the dorm allows them, and besides, I would have no way of taking it home, so it would die during the summer, and I would have done more harm than good in the world. Honestly, how pathetic is that? You can talk all you want about ripple effects, but while everyone else is out splashing about in the pond, I'm lying on the bank in the fetal position trying to get up the energy to eat. I don't even know if one could count what I'm doing as living. Actually, no, I don't think one can. I'm just watching life go past, and I don't even know why. I'm supposed to be smart; why can't I figure out how to function like a normal individual? I don't think I'm ever going to amount to anything, ever. I have my ambitions, of course, those haven't changed, but let's be real here, I'll never achieve them. Tell me, what kind of sophisticate starves herself because she's too afraid to go get food in public, and what kind of lawyer wastes hours curled up in a ball, shaking and crying and wishing for death, and what kind of Supreme Court justice accepts lower grades than she should because she feels physically incapable of speaking up? It's so unrealistic of me to dream of these things. It will be a miracle if I get any job at all, ever. What's the matter with me, anyway? My life is fine, albeit lonely, and I haven't any of the severe troubles that so many other people do. All things being equal, I don't deserve to feel this way. But I do, sad and pathetic creature that I am, which makes me ashamed of myself, which makes me feel even worse, and then the cycle just perpetuates in a never-ending spiral of misery and guilt. Oh, what wouldn't I give to be normal! It must be so wonderful to walk around carefree all the time, without any trace of fear. Ordering food? No problem! Meeting new people? Delightful! Shouting out the answer in class, even though you're not completely sure it's the right one? No question about it! Life must be so beautifully simple and clean. There are no abstract mental rules to follow, no complicated patterns to remember, and no insurmountable obstacles anywhere. I can't imagine living without constantly feeling ashamed or afraid (or both), but some people do, and I think they must be the luckiest people in the world. The closest I ever get to that is during my classes, and that's pretty sad, I know. I'm pretty sad. I will never be anything, not to me, not to anyone, and not to the world. Which makes me wonder why I'm here. Isn't it sophomoric to have an existential crisis? But I really do wonder about my purpose in life often. Could it be that I don't have one? I believe everyone does– or at least I think I do– but it would be more than believable for me to be the only one who doesn't. It's always been that way, after all. So, that leads us back to the old familiar query: Shouldn't I just die? No, don't answer that. I think I know. But I'm selfish and disgusting, and I never did anything right, and I think I know that I'm not going to go gentle into that good night. Isn't that pathetic, just talking and never doing? I'm as fake as they come. Contemn me all you want, though, and it will be to no avail; no one's opinion of me could ever be worse than my own. However, that's the last I'm going to show that opinion for awhile. I'm no exhibitionist, and I'm still hoping that if I pretend everything's fine, it will be. And it will be. You'll see.

Interim

I'm sitting in the political science department, waiting for my 3:00 class (the phonology-statistics-computer programming mashup), since it's in the basement, for whatever reason, and I have about an hour to spend contemplating the mysteries of life here. I usually don't bring Daisy Bell to class with me, but we had to analyze an article in English, and I was too lazy and poor to print out all twelve pages, so here I am. The article in question was a singularly annoying one, to be honest. It was filled with the most irritating social-democrat rhetoric, and tarred neoconservatives, libertarians, and Rush Limbaugh with the same defamatory brush. Now, I don't deny that there are many problematic aspects to Richard Matheson's writing, but none of them are the fault of today's right-wing politicians, no matter what social justice English majors might say. But no matter how incensed this shortsighted invective made me, there was nothing I could do to protest its promulgation, because I still can't make myself talk in class. I could have a Hermann Melville-style essay written up in my head, the thesis of which is right on the tip of my tongue, but it wouldn't matter. It's such a frustrating phenomenon, because I've lost count of the times that I've been the only one who knows what's going on, but I haven't said anything, and our poor professor has to spell it all out. How can I get over this? I don't even know what's wrong with me; I haven't had any traumatic experiences or anything (that I know of), so I should be able to shout out the answers with confidence and a complete lack of shame. But I can't! This is why my participation is always the lowest part of my grade.
It's gotten warmer recently (oh dear, that was quite an abrupt subject change, I do apologize), so much so that I'm not even wearing a coat today. It's 46.8 ºF, according to Wunderground, which I would have considered to be glacial in California, but now seems friendly and paradisiacal. What has become of me? I could move to Antarctica with impunity now, and make a home with all the penguins. Maybe I should do that. I would probably like them much better than people.
You know, I think my life has gotten progressively duller as the months have passed by. I've never been a very exciting individual, but now I've practically become the human equivalent of Longfellow's rhyme scheme. I wake up; I go to class; I go back to my dorm; I watch Netflix; I sleep. I never go out, and unless someone talks to me first, I won't talk to anyone. Also, I don't even keep myself busy anymore; I spend a significant amount of time each day just sitting on top of Melissa's abandoned filing cabinet, staring out the window, and ruminating. That would all be very well if I were a philosopher or a postmodern artist, but I am neither, and no amount of change in lifestyle will change me so. I really hope I'm not turning into some kind of Tennessee Williams character. That would be so terribly inconvenient. Well, I'll just have to watch out, and if I start collecting little glass animals, I'll know I have a real problem.
Spring break is coming up in three weeks, and I should be excited, but I'm not, because I'm facing a bit of an issue here. You see, the university, erroneously assuming that we all have rich friends who will fly us out to exotic locations for vacation, makes it a policy to close down most of the residence halls on campus, without so much as a by-your-leave. They do keep a few open, and apparently once the time rolls closer, they'll allow us to apply for asylum, but I don't see how three or four buildings, no matter how large, will be able to accommodate the extremely sizable population of international and out-of-state students who will undoubtedly be searching for a place to rest them so from trouble sore. Now, if I had a few extra hundred dollars lying around, I would buy a plane ticket back home with excessive alacrity, but as it is, I have the sneaking suspicion that I'll be trying desperately to eke out a living on the cruel streets of Columbus while my more fortunate classmates enjoy all the comforts that money (and a close hometown) can bring. Or maybe I'll have to live in a broom closet with sixteen other people and no wifi for a week. One never knows. If only it was socially acceptable to hit up one's rich boyfriend for money. Or rich anybody, for that matter. I'm sure there are plenty of wealthy alumni living around here; maybe I could convince one (or two or three) of them to help me financially in the name of education and patriotism. I could even repay them for their services by performing at their social functions, or editing the pieces of rhetoric they send around to all the members of the upper echelon in the state. This is such a good plan! I'll just dig up my shabbiest clothes, put a little dirt on my face, and a few sticks in my hair, and I'll be ready to play my part in saving my future. Goodness me, I am truly an inspiration.

A brief catalogue of complaints

Hello, and happy February! Last year, I failed to represent every month in my posting, but this year, I'm determined to make up for that failure with unmitigated success. So far, I seem to be doing so, but as it's only the second month of the year, I suppose we'll just have to see where life takes us.
I really have to stop writing in the first person plural. It sounds so terribly much like the explanation of a lab report.
So, here I am on this lovely Sunday afternoon, avoiding all my responsibilities, as a good college student always likes to do. I have to do a reading guide for stats, but more importantly, I have to perform a literary analysis on some work of dystopian fiction, yet undecided, and have it ready and printed out by 12:40 tomorrow. That means that I have to go to the library, and it's cold and dreary outside, and more importantly, I haven't showered today, and my hair looks like a relic of the Napoleonic wars. "Why don't you just bite the bullet and shower now?" I hear you saying. Well, that's an excellent academic question, and I admire your cleverness in asking it. But you see, then I would have to change my clothes afterwards, and I would be using up two outfits in one day, and that's such a waste, especially when it's hard enough to avoid repetition as it is (I have fewer clothes here than the typical white male gamer). So all in all, I think it's best to wait until the day has run its course. Maybe I can go to the library early tomorrow, before class, and print my paper out then. That's a good idea! I'll just get it all nicely written and formatted here, and then I won't have to worry. It's only two pages; how hard can it be? I've been doing literary analysis since birth (or at least eighth grade), and I can identify symbolism in my sleep. This should be a walk in the park. The only thing I'm worried about is the topic, since this class isn't really about "literature" per se, and we shun novels in favor of Youtube videos and video games. Actually, I like that part, because video games are really just unwritten literature, and I might not be able to differentiate between X and Y on an xbox controller with any degree of regularity, but I'm a hardcore fan, and I will be until the day I become a pregnant and barefoot conservative housewife. But where was I? Oh yes. So, books are very easy for me, but I think our teacher would rather we do movies or something, and I'm not really feeling it. For one thing, I don't watch movies much, and when I do, they usually have more to do with elves and hobbits than with nuclear apocalypses. I wonder if we could consider Middle Earth under Sauron to be a dystopia? I think it's pretty dystopian, don't you? But for some reason, I don't think my teacher would go for the idea. Okay, well, do you think I could use a TV show then? I just watched an episode of Star Trek where this planet was wiped out by an apocalypse, and it was very tragic, only the crew of the Enterprise went back in time and saved them. That wouldn't count, would it. Man. Okay, so I started watching this show called Revolution, and it's as dystopian as it comes. It's a really good show, incidentally, I love it. But could I write about it? I'm really not sure. How would I do it? Would I take an episode? Or maybe part of an episode? But which part? Oh man, this is really difficult. You know what, I'm just going to use The Day After Tomorrow. I saw it on an airplane when I was about nine, so even though the only part I remember is the burly leading man getting stuck in a flooded telephone booth with his beautiful, fainting, costar, I'm sure I could google some climactic scenes and make up something about them. Ugh, this means I have to write about the environment, doesn't it. I hate writing about the environment. Sure, it's important, and pollution is terrible, and global warming and polar ice caps and death to the masses, but it's not an issue in which I'm really invested, unless it has to do with international relations, and even then, I'm iffy. Oh well, I can do it anyway. I could probably write an opinionated essay on shale oil extraction if I had to (it wouldn't be as hard as you think, though, because I was studying it on Wikipedia for fun the other day). I mean, I wrote a pseudo-communist political propaganda speech the other day just to see if I could (I could). So this shouldn't be too bad. I can do this. Yeah, let's go!
I really need to redo my nails first though. I painted them last Sunday, and they looked as lovely as Dorian Gray, but now they're starting to resemble his portrait more, so I need to do a little touch-up. For whatever reason, I really dislike having sloppy-looking nails, like even if they're an uneven length, it'll bother me. So when I paint them, it takes a lot of upkeep, which means that I rarely do it. But I love how they look manicured, and I love nail polish in general, so it's quite the struggle. When I'm a rich lawyer one day, I'll be able to have them perfect all the time, and if that's not motivation to do well in school, I don't know what is.
Speaking of doing well in school, I'm really worried about physics. I got an 85 on the first quiz, for goodness' sake. That's just not acceptable to me. Last semester, I got a 4.0 without even trying, but now I'm afraid that it's going to drop into oblivion despite my hardest efforts. Physics is five credits, so it's weighted more than anything else, and no amount of humanities classes could assuage the deleterious effects of a poor grade. And the kicker? It's not even my fault! I'm not bad at physics, if I do say so myself, but when the only bit of teaching we're getting is the TA dropping by to give us explicitly wrong information, there's only so much I can do. (Seriously though, he told us that particles move faster in higher temperatures, which is true, and that this makes the resistance lower, which is false, and everyone just accepted it) I have my old notes and worksheets and tests and whatnot, and I have google, but this class is more of a blight than an arbitrarily high price floor. Do you think it would be too expensive to sign up for some kind of internet crash course? Now, if I were Austin, I could look at a textbook for five seconds and be able to apply all the concepts as if I'd been born knowing them, do the labs in an hour, get out early, and play Pokemon, but sadly, I have not his particular brand of overarching intelligence. To him, science is nothing but common sense, and AP Chem was a fun and easy class. Now that I think of it, he's pretty excellent at math too. We're just academic opposites, aren't we. That's okay! It means that together, we're an inexorable force of scholar-hood, and nothing can stand in our way. How lovely! It still doesn't solve my physics dilemma, though.
I should probably get down to business now. Okay, let's make a plan. So. I'll go up to the fourth floor and find a deserted study room and paint my nails, and then I'll get some food early, since apparently it's the Superbowl or something, and there will probably be a lot of drunk people out, and then I'll shower, and then I'll sit me down to a good long night of Netflix analysis and studying. I got this, man. Let's go!