Ennui

I think I have a lot of ennui. (is that something that one possesses? Or is it stative?) I want to do something, but nothing is the right thing. What's more, though, I'm filled with a general sense of malaise and discontent- irritation, even- and even the tiniest things make me want to scream and tear my skin off (which is, you know, a totally normal reaction to feeling annoyed, right?). There's a lot that I want to accomplish, but I can't get anything done, either because I don't want to, or because I just can't (which aren't completely mutually exclusive, let's be clear about that), and that's frustrating, which makes me even less effective, and then the whole cycle continues. Very terrible. I wonder if everyone feels this? Maybe it's a seasonal thing. Well, that doesn't quite make sense, really, because it's very lovely outside, but I will go to any extremes to avoid admitting how Mentally Fragile I really am. 

(It is getting harder to avoid this, but dear me, denial is the spice of life, and I will keep on burying my head in the sand for as long as I can)

Now! You know what really irks me? Well, lots of things do, but at this moment (and every other moment), I am greatly incensed by the patriarchy. As I've just said, this is a general state of being for me, so let me be more specific. You see, I would dearly love to go party hard and drink my feelings away with cheap alcohol and bad music. I could make out with attractive people and they could appreciate how skinny I have gotten (seriously my body looks pretty good rn) and it would be medicinal. But I can't do this! Why? Because I'm a woman, a small, tiny, conventionally attractive woman, and in this society, to exist while being thus is to live a life of danger indeed. I can't go out by myself at night, not to the apartments, and certainly not to the frat houses. I can't go party by myself, and I can't hook up with strangers and expect everything to be okay. Now, I think, would be the time for me to quote that one journal entry of Sylvia Plath's where she talks about her anger at this fact of existence. I too, long to walk freely at night! Even if I did, and by some miracle did manage to make it out safely, I would be afforded nothing but scorn and derision for my activities, and would be labeled as a Nasty Hoe. Now, it's perfectly all right for me to call myself a hoe; I do it all the time. But for other people to decide that they should call me that, and terminate their relationships with me because of it- oh dear, no, that isn't quite as comfortable. But to be great is to be misunderstood, and the world will whip us with its displeasure, and so on, and I don't particularly mind the odd name-calling. It's been done before. But I don't quite fancy the other possibilities that could result from a hard-partying lifestyle, and sadly, I must abstain. If I had a Party Squad whom I could trust, it would be all well and good (sort of), but I don't, so I must stay away from The Drink. When I turn 21, you can bet I'm going to become an alcoholic. It's written in the stars (and in my genetic code), but for now, I must live my melancholy life sober.

And what a life it is! My tiny roommates go out more than I do, and they're like 12. (I mean, they're 19, but same difference, right?) Yesterday, I spent a couple hours at someone's dorm doing homework, and that was one of the more exciting evenings I've had all week. Which, okay, is partially because I like doing homework, and any chance I get to talk about set theory is A+. But that's irrelevant. I mean, I'm in the prime of my youth here! I'm supposed to be frittering my time away on beer and skittles (or tequila and skittles, whichever floats your boat). I'm not supposed to be looking forward to doing problem sets! Well, okay I can do that too. But you get my point, right? I want to have fun! I want to go out and have a life and not be stuck here in the dorm listening to my freshmen suitemates talk about their SAT scores for the fifth consecutive day in a row! I feel like I never see anyone anymore. I'm bored and grumpy and anxious, holy hell  am I anxious. Everything sets me off. I feel like I'm constantly halfway to a panic attack, and it's always hard to Stop and Smell the Roses in that case, isn't it? And of course I'm always Deeply Unhappy as well, and who knows what all, and the cocktail of my emotions is constantly Despair Flavor. You see it, right? I can't get anything done, and that makes me not get anything done. It's all a cycle. And sure, I can blame some of it on my incredibly annoying suitemates, but the truth is that it's mostly me, fucking up day after day because of, well, anything goes at this point. Who knows? Not me! All I know is that I want to get drunk, and the patriarchy is standing in my way. 

Tomorrow is Veteran's Day, which means we don't have school, which in theory means I can catch up on my readings and study for all my classes, but in all probability will just end up with me sleeping all day. Ajay wanted to meet up to study, but he never texted me back after that, so boo to him, and Cesar wanted to go to a concert with me, but I kind of don't want to go because I am Filled With Anguish at all times, so it might just be netflix and chill with me and the screaming children who live with me. I don't know. What happens happens, you know? I'm too apathetic to be too worked up about all of this.

(I was going to write a paragraph or two about m love life just now, but there's a lot to write, and I really can't be chuffed to do it right now, so I'm going to leave it for next time and probably never get around to it. This is a perfect example of the kind of shit my mind pulls.)

Okay, I guess I'll go to sleep now. The Tiny Ones have also taken to their beds, so I won't feel like an old lady if I turn in. It's sad how elderly I am, though. Anyway, goodnight! I hope your rest is lovely and sweet and filled with dreams about beautiful things!