I think my heart is about to burst, but not in an everything-is-so-great kind of way, because you see, things are not so great. In point of fact, things are terrible. I think my entrails are dissolving from anxiety. Which is, you know, not so comfortable.

Why, you ask, is Maria having yet another Time? What ridiculously inconsequential thing happened to set off her meltdown this time? Well, now. That's a good question. However, its answer is not so good. Let me tell you, and you shall see why things have fallen into place this way. 

So.

Boys.

That's a punchy opener, isn't it? It's short and brief and to the point, and it encapsulates perfectly the struggle of man (or men, as the case may be). 

Anyway. I've made friends with Trace, as you know, and it's quite nice and we get along and everything is Swell Beans (as they say). Recently, though, we've moved into the friends-plus category, which is okay for me, although I don't want any feelings involved. Now, here's the tricky part. You see, Xander and Trace are best buddies. They've been friends for years, and they get along well (which is rather rare for Xander). I thought Xander was okay with it when I made friends with Trace, and I thought he was okay with us becoming friends with benefits, because Trace told me that he knew and had given explicit permission. So I thought he knew, and out of delicacy for his feelings, I didn't really talk about it, because who wants to know that their little sister made out with someone? I certainly don't.

Okay! So now comes the tricky part. It seems that Xander really didn't know that we were getting involved. And now that he knows, he's mad about it. Or, maybe mad isn't the right word. He's angsty. Or something. At any rate, he's not happy. It's not even that he doesn't want us to be involved (because I could understand that); he's upset that we're friends at all. Because he thinks that I'm going to steal Trace away from him. I talked about this yesterday, or whenever it was that I made my previous post, but things haven't gotten any better. I keep dodging Trace's efforts to hang out with me, and ignoring his texts, and all that, because I really don't know what to do. Tonight, I asked Xander point-blank if he minded us being involved (in any capacity) and he said there was no easy answer to that, which basically means that he minds. So I suppose I have to do something, but I don't know what. I've never been good at this, and now that it's my own family involved, it's much much worse.

Now, okay, I guess it's my natural not-being-good-at-social-interaction-ness speaking, but I???? just do not????? understand???????? To me, friends are always good. I always love to meet new people and talk to them and get to know them (depending on if I'm feeling up to it, but I'm speaking generally). So, I don't think there's a limit on friends, like wow I have three, I have to get rid of one if I want to make another, I mean come on, friends aren't video game inventories! Just because I know Trace now doesn't mean he has to stop knowing Xander! It boggles my mind why he would think that. 

Maybe it's because I don't understand the concept of jealousy. I know people get jealous, like I see them talk about it, and yeah, I feel it sometimes too because I'm a human and it's a normal human emotion, but I don't understand letting it corrode an entire relationship. If I'm jealous of someone, it says much more about me than them. So maybe I'm just not predisposed to understand. Well, if that's the case, then maybe I'm lacking in empathy. I don't know. It might be a problem. 

Okay, but then again, I don't know? I don't think I did anything wrong. I'm a pretty friendly person, you know, and I talk a lot if I'm comfortable with someone. I text people all the time. (Actually– remind me to make another post about this, because I've grown and matured so much and I've learned to manage my anxiety so much better (I'm still not good though) and it's really cool, so let me talk about it sometime.) So it's not even necessarily that I'm "talking" with Trace (although I guess I sort of am), because I'm like this with everyone. Good morning text? Motivational messages? Random messages telling them how great they are and how much I appreciate them? Obscene use of emojis and exclamation points? You betcha. I just love the people in my life, and I want to show them that, and if I can make them happy, I want to do so as much as I can. But that's my style. So it shouldn't reflect badly on Xander if he doesn't do those things, because that's not who he is, and his friends like him for him, not because he fits some kind of stereotypical mold of a "good friend" (whatever that is). 

I don't know. I feel for Xander. I really do. But I don't know what to do about it.

I'm in what might be called a Pickle!
Okay, so it's kind of an issue, and I don't want to be all dramatic about it, but I think it's kind of bad, and man, I sure don't know what to do, I really durn tootin don't! How does this happen? Okay, so here it is:

As we know, I have broken up with My Love, and now I'm single and ready to mingle (in the eyes of the world), and somehow I seem to have deduced yet another of my brother's friends. Oh, well I mean seduced. But I'll give you this one, iPhone. This is a problem, because it's the fourth one this year (I KNOW), and I think we're going to start running out here, because Xander doesn't have that many friends around here to begin with.
(Did I say that? I didn't say that.)
I don't know, man! I didn't do anything! I just went to a few parties, drank a few shots, maaaaybe got a little flirtatious in my texts, but that's not too bad, so you know, basically I was just my normal charming self. And what happens? This. This happens. I would express my disappointed surprise, but I really have none to express. (Surprise, that is. Disappointment, I have plenty)
Okay. But we haven't gotten to the Thick of it yet.
Just wait.
So, I decided to have some casual doings with my latest admirer. Why not? He's smart and handsome and fairly nice, and we both had Xander's express permission. Or at least, so I thought. Lo and behold, Xander begins to fall into a depression, worried that I'm taking his friends away from him. I quote (second-hand from Mom, but still): "Eventually, they'll all realize that she's more interesting than me and abandon me."
What.
No.
Child.
I sympathize. I really do. I, too, have the constant fear that my friends actually hate me and think I'm weird and annoying and ridiculous and would like to be rid of me as soon as possible (is that not normal?) and I understand where he's coming from. I do. But, from a purely objective perspective (how's that for a band name), let me just humbly say,
What to heck.
There's no way his friends would abandon him for me. No way in, well, heck. Sure, I'm fun sometimes (I think), but so is he. We're different, that's all. I'm air; he's fire, I'm gelato; he's a spice cake, I'm the embodiment of anxiety; he's suffering and existential angst in a human form.
You feel?

So, I don't know what to do. I already turned down an invitation to hand out with Dat Boi and his friend (both of whom really wanted me to hang out tonight) because I felt guilty that they didn't ask Xander first. Granted, I would have said no anyway, because my throat hurts, and I'm dying of pestilence and despair, but that's beside the point! I can't keep on giving excuses forever. Sooner or later, I'm going to have to face the music. Or rather, the musician. And we all know which is the worse of the two.

It's the last day that I'm spending here in the dorms, because I'm going home tomorrow for Talia's graduation, and I'm really melancholy about it. No one's answering my texts, and I'm lonely, and it's sad anyway because I don't want to get older, and I think I'm getting a rash because of my tonsillitis medication, and everything's just a bummer. I don't want to do anything, but I also don't want to not do anything, do you know what I mean? I feel at loose ends because I don't have any more schoolwork to do, but I don't feel like going on tumblr or watching netflix or anything like that. I guess I'll sleep soon, because I want to get up early and get breakfast so I can use my meal swipes, and I need to pack, so I'll do that. But right now, I'm just so full of ennui. Well, it's okay. I guess it'll pass. Or not. But I might as well just sleep, so at least I can be rested and sad instead of tired and sad.

Letters I won't send, part 2/?

My dear,

I don't want to sound rude or judgmental, but if you don't like what I have to say, why do you keep checking up on me? My tumblr is intensely personal, but I always make an effort to hide things under a read-more or to specify if they have sensitive information, so it's not really like you're seeing things accidentally. I know you're not there because of all the Les Miserables and memes, so why? It's just going to upset you. And maybe it was silly of me to post this:

I’m not good enough and I never will be, and that’s okay, but I don’t feel real, and I want to go out and get really drunk and dance with strangers who grab my ass a little too long and share life stories in dingy bathrooms with girls I’ll never see again and fix my smudged lipstick with the half-clean tissue someone found at the bottom of her purse and breathe in all the smoke and stale liquor and bad decisions of an entire disappointed city. I want to have rough, painful sex that leaves me bruised and struggling to walk straight, with someone whose name I’ll never know, because if I’m the one being hurt, then I don’t have to worry that I’m doing something wrong for once, and if I’m being used, then at least I’m grounded in reality for a little bit. I want to jump on a bus and leave far away, no destination in mind, just floating along with the lights and dreams and glitter of a blessedly oblivious world. And, I want your arms around me, your voice in my ear, your heartbeat next to mine chasing away the ghosts that try to claim me. Not that love can fix a thing, no, but loneliness never did anyone any good either. And so, I think that’s what I want most of all. The stability of a touch, the reality of a quiet whisper. Anything but this. Because more than anything, I want to feel, and if I stay as unreal as I am, I never will.

But it's my own blog, and really, I can post what I want, because I deserve to be able to take care of my feelings too. I was dissociating so badly that I thought I would do something drastic and awful if I didn't let it out somehow, and this made me feel better, so really, I don't regret it at all.
You made it about you, though. You thought I was trying to be passive-aggressive, trying to accuse you of cheating on me. Why would I? Don't you know me? If I were upset with you, wouldn't I have it out right then and there instead of resorting to some kind of underhanded tactics? I miss you, of course I do. You would make everything better. That's why I put it in there– when you were with me, it didn't hurt so much, because I knew I had someone on my side. And now I don't. But, it's not about you. It's a bigger thing, something I can't talk about with you, because you're so quick to accuse me of abandoning you nowadays.

You know I'm your friend, first and foremost. Why do you keep sneaking in all these little references to "I need a friend who will be there for me" and so on and so forth, with the subtext that I'm not? What do you want from me? Tell me how, and I'll do it– I want to support you however I can. But don't just leave me to guess, and then be upset when I don't guess right.

I know you're not well, and I'm sorry. I want you to get better, and I want to help in any way I can. But, I have to take care of myself, too. I won't make that mistake again. I can't. So, please. I'm trying my best to understand you. Won't you put even a little effort to understand me?

I realized today that three of the most formative classes I've ever taken have been English classes. There was AP Lit in high school that gave me validation and the confidence to continue, then my dystopian literature class in Ohio that taught me not to be a snob, and now, there's my wonderful honors class on Nabokov and cognitive science that has opened my mind and stretched my brain in all sorts of amazing ways. Why is that? Is there a particular reason that I feel most alive in an English classroom? Linguistics gives me the spine tingle too, and I could never give it up, because at this point, linguistics is me– our integration is total and I wouldn't want it to be any other way, but I feel so strangely invigorated when I'm analyzing literature. No, more than that– I feel smart. I feel capable. If it's done right, it's right at that proximal zone between too hard and too easy, and it's just. So indescribable. I don't know if I will ever take another English class in my life, but the ones I've taken up til now have done so much in changing the way my mind works, and making me (hopefully) more open to the world. This is why I'm always so salty about schools cutting funding from the humanities. Sure, math and science might get us to the moon, but literature and philosophy make us human. This isn't any shade on STEM, by the way– I love STEM. I do cognitive science and computer science for goodness' sakes– and just wait til you hear my proposal on the subject of integrating math and linguistics– it's a doozy. But don't you see the distinction? I've learned so much about the world we live in, and even who I am as a person just by taking these too-few literature classes, things that I frankly could never have learned in my freshman physics lab (for example). And so, I'm always going to be grateful for these opportunities that I had to stretch my wings and grow. It seems like whenever I hit a wall in my life, whenever it came to a point where I just wasn't good enough, a lovely opportunity for one of these classes presented itself, and I took it and saw that maybe I could be good for something after all. Vacuous positive reinforcement? Maybe. But I'd like to think of it in slightly more pedantic terms. Literary critic Joshua Landy describes some works of fiction as "formative"; that is, they can help us to grow and learn even as we read through them. I think my experiences in the literature classrooms have been formative. I've learned innumerable things from innumerable sources, and I deeply treasure all my experiences, but these classes, these forays into the world of literature and analysis, these have been the backbone of my intellectual development, and I would despair for anyone who never had the chance to engage in such experiences as these.