Obligatory May text post

I'm back home now, and you'd think I would feel better, but really, I don't at all. I don't even know what's wrong with me, I mean sure I'm in the throes of romantic despair, that's de rigeur, but besides that, I think something's wrong with me, I really do. I've been feeling it for awhile now, and yeah, it was pretty bad when I was at school too, but now I feel literally mentally ill. It's like being sick– I mean, it is being sick– but it's not physical. Although I guess it manifests itself physically too, or I think it does. But I don't know. I've can't remember ever feeling so bad before. On a good day, I don't feel anything at all, and it's like I'm sort of vaguely making my way through a fog, but on a bad day, it's all I can do to speak to my family, or a least listen when they speak to me. I'm trying to make it through one day at a time, but that's difficult, because I don't even want to do that. And I know I should be trying to make myself better, and I am trying, or at least I think I am, but nothing's working, and I want to feel okay again, or even just feel again, but I can't, I really can't, and I don't know what to do. But it's not like I have any real problems. I don't have the right to complain, really. I'm just that gross. Of course I realize that illnesses like depression and anxiety are just that, illnesses, and can affect absolutely anyone, regardless of problems real or imagined, and can't be fixed just by "trying harder," but here's the thing, I don't think I have either of those disorders. I'm convinced that this is all just a made-up phenomenon in my head, and if I could only get over my whiny pathetic self, I would be just fine. But why? Why do I want to be sick? I hate living in fear, and I hate living in general, and neither of those seem like things that would be in the least appealing. I don't understand in the least. All I know is that it just comes down to me not being good enough again. Just like everything else. If you look at my life right now, and don't look at it too hard, it looks pretty good. I'm about to transfer to UCLA (I've dreamt of going there since like seventh grade), I got a 3.8 for my final GPA (which I still hate myself for, but it's not terrible, especially since all I could think about this semester was dying), I have an internship this summer specializing in things I have experience with, I'm making money from my violin students, I have the world's longest summer vacation and plenty of free time to do whatever I want, my friends miraculously still seem to like me, and doesn't everything seem peachy? But I can't be happy about any of it no matter how hard I try. Then I feel guilty, but that doesn't help anything, so I feel worse, and then we're off to the races again. I feel guilty for existing, basically. I'm sure my family doesn't really want me here. I mean, I try to help as much as I can, whether by cleaning people's messes or just being as pleasant as possible all the time, but in the end, I know I'm just a giant burden, and no matter how much I try to make everyone's lives pleasant, it will never make up for the strain of my existence upon the world. Is this me not seeing things clearly as a symptom of whatever's wrong with me, or is it real? I don't know. But it feels real enough to me that I can't get over it. However, even though I think it would be the best option if I died, I can't, because of the embarrassment it would cause my poor family trying to explain it. It's just not socially acceptable to be an upstanding member of society and have a relative who killed herself, you know? And besides, I'm afraid. Isn't that stupid? I'm not even afraid of what comes after death, no, come what may, I'll face it, because I'm sure after I die, my irrational fears of everything will disappear, but I'm so afraid of the pain. Yeah, I'm afraid of pain, me with my tapestry of self-inflicted scars that are only now just beginning to heal. Isn't it ridiculous? And what if whatever I did didn't work, and I was left damaged the rest of my life? And what if I lost my dignity? There are so many things I'm afraid of, and they all seem so stupid. It convinces me more than anything that my so-called "illness" must be fake. Just like me! I really don't know what to do anymore. This can't be any way to live.

I can't deal with this

We break up: "It's not permanent!" he said. "It's only until you come back!" he said. "I don't want to make you suffer through my depression!" he said. "I'm going to love you forever!" he said.


Two weeks later, he's got a new girl lined up.


Forever, he said.

A waiting game, truly

Okay so this post was from two weeks ago, but I forgot about it, and as I'm here in the airport with nothing to do, I might as well while away a few errant seconds and publish it.
My new roommate is moving in today, apparently, and I have no idea when she's going to do so. I cleaned up the room, and then I high tailed it to Barnes and Noble so I could hide. Then it started getting dark, so I left, because I don't like being out on High street by myself after dark, especially on a weekend. So now I'm at the Union, which is kitty-corner to my dorm, and I'm ready to spend all night here if I have to. Or as long as I can anyway, because I didn't bring my laptop charger, and my battery is only at 62% now. I wish I'd brought my lip balm, though, because I can't live comfortable without it. There's some kind of event going on tonight, so I'm seeing all these fancy sophisticates walking around in evening gowns and suits (though not both at once), and I have the uncomfortable feeling that I'm an unwelcome interloper into a life that is much more important than mine. Of course, that feeling is nothing new to me at this juncture in life.

When should I get food? The place in here closes at 8:00 on weekends (which is incredibly inconvenient), and it's 6:30 now, so maybe I can hold off for a little bit until it's close to closing, and then I can buy something that's not too embarrassing to eat, and then I can come back up here where it's pretty isolated (except for the dignitaries, whom I hope will take no notice of me) and eat it. Is this going to be my life now? Will I have to live here in the Union for the rest of the semester, watched by the friendly eyes of the Ohio elite? I don't know what to do, upon my word of honor I don't. I feel like Heathcliff, and that's not at all a nice feeling to have. Never will I get to live in the main house (or residence hall, in this case), or be accepted as a decent member of society, or even be a decent member of society, because my Byronic brooding precludes me from the joys of normal life. Oh, woe is me! Life is truly a vale of tears, and that's all there is to it.

Oh wonderful, two gentlemen have come over, and are now sitting within two feet of me. They're clad in identical tasteless black hoodies, ugly black shoes, and hideous red-and-white Ohio ski caps, and they're talking in identical dialects, which rest somewhere between "inebriated frat boy" and "flunking stoner" (both of which they probably are). Maybe they're part of a cult. I hope they don't try to initiate me; I really wouldn't want to be caught dead in those hideous excuses for footwear. Oh no, one of them talked to me. Disgusting. He wanted to know where the computers were in here. I didn't even know there were computers in here. "There's gotta be," drawls my new compatriot, "I mean, it's so big!" I'm tempted to inquire about the efficacy of navigating such a complex structure whilst floating on the effects of the good herb, but instead, I smile politely and go back to my computer, cold-hearted and completely unhelpful. My harsh vibes must have alarmed the suave souls, because after awhile, they swagged off together, talking enthusiastically, albeit very slowly, about Chipotle. Now I'm alone again, which is how things should be, but I really have to go to the bathroom, and I don't know what to do with my laptop. Should I get someone to watch it for me? I don't trust these people. Someone will probably sell it on the black market while I'm gone and use the profit to buy alcohol. And I don't want to contribute to the already-rampant alcoholism on this campus, so I think it's best for me to hold off on that. I should get food soon too. Do you think it would look goofy for me to leave and then come back? Probably not, right? I mean, everyone needs to eat. And it's not like anyone's really paying attention to me. Okay, let's do this! Maybe I can find some trustworthy soul downstairs as well.
I have some very good news, incidentally. I'm going home for spring break! I'm extremely excited, like y'all don't even know. How could anyone have such good fortune as this? Life is quite beautiful at the moment, and none can tell me otherwise.
I really should go meet up with my new roommate, though.
Ew.

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!

My winter so far

Merry Christmas! I haven't written for a long time, I know, but that's quite all right, because I'm writing now, and all is well with the world once again. It doesn't really feel like Christmas today; it's about 80 degrees outside (or it was, before the night fell), and there isn't much in the way of holiday spirit in our house. Oh dear, that's not to say that we live in some sort of Ebenezer Scrooge-esque garret or anything, it's just that we're really not ones to decorate and/or celebrate overmuch. We do have a tree though, a fact which should be profoundly magnificent, but this particular tree of ours is crafted out of three fallen pine branches that Dad managed to glean off the street three days ago. Also, lacking any other place to put it, we've assembled it on the landing of the staircase, where it leans up against the banister in a sort of haphazard way and obscures traffic. However, we did find some lights and ornaments in the garage, so at least it glows and shines with Christmas spirit in that regard. And although we didn't really have many presents this year, there were enough to keep all of us feeling like proper GDP boosters (except for Sungmin, the archetypal consumer). I really didn't want anything this year; I'm just so happy to be home that I could have gotten nothing, and I would still have been happy and excited. But I did get some stuff, and it's stuff that I can use, so I'm really happy. Austin got me a coat and gloves and a scarf so that I can stay warm in Ohio, and he left the price tags on by accident, so I could see that it cost a little more than 100 dollars for the whole ensemble. I feel terribly bad, because I gave him a stuffed guinea pig and a bunch of stuff from the 99¢ store with puns written on each article, but then again, his mom is a rich dentist, and he has money to burn, whereas I'm a broke violin teacher with a burn in my heart for money, so maybe it all evens out in the end. I still feel a bit bad, though. But man, he has a lovely taste in clothes! Tonight, when we go out to our grandma's house, I'm going to wear everything with pride, look like a rich person, and bask in the warmth that love brings.
It's probably pretty annoying to talk about him so much, but let me discuss my wonderful boyfriend with you all for just a moment so that we can all appreciate his numerous charms. So, even though he had a final the next day (well actually he didn't since it got cancelled, but never mind that), he came with Mom to pick me up from the airport. I was so happy to see him that I thought I was hallucinating at first, but then I realized he was real, and it was as if the whole world had started to sing in harmony (wait not that, that would be a little terrifying). It was the best welcome-home I've ever gotten, and I'm still surprised that I didn't cry. He gave me a present: the only Ayn Rand book I haven't read, penguin bookmarks, and my Disneyland ticket that he bought me (so we can go together later). It was so thoughtful, and I couldn't believe it. I've been spending so much time with him now that I'm back, and I think it's to the point where Zac is jealous, because since he's come back from Juilliard, he hasn't had much of a social life. Last night, Austin and Chris came over (the latter was much to Kitty's dismay), and Zac came in with his friend with the most challenging sort of manner ever. I thought he was going to ask all our guests to duel or something.
Okay, so now it's January 12th, and I'm back at school. Happy New Year, and all that! I forgot about this post, and it's only now that I've been able to find it. Many things have happened in this interim, truly, and I would like to tell you all about them. Oh yes, I've laughed, I've cried, I've collected porn in Vegas, and I've lived up to that beloved age-old bromide carpe diem as all the college students of the world are supposed to do. So, let me tell you now!
When I left this entry before, I was talking about Austin, so let me continue, because he was an integral part of my break. I saw him every single day except one, and I think that's quite the accomplishment, seeing as we're both busy people with busy schedules of our own! Sometimes we went out, but more often, we stayed at his house (and later, mine, but that'll be forthcoming) and talked or played video games or did myriad other things, and it was relaxing and wonderful. Strange as it may seem, I can't ever get tired of him, no matter how much I see him! It's not that we don't have our disputes, just as every couple does, but even when we're fighting, I still love him, and (he says) he still loves me. Also, we can work things out, usually fairly quickly, so that's another excellent facet. But where was I? Right, so he got acquainted with my family somewhat during the summer, but now he got a chance to really get integrated into our dynamic. Surprisingly, everyone likes him, or at least approves of him, which is more than I can say for most people, friends or not (we're somewhat of a clan of misanthropes, but that's neither here nor there). Sungmin even gets along with him, and you know that's hard to do. He came along with us to three of our performances, and even though he didn't play or sing with us (we tried to urge him to, but he was too nervous), he watched, and helped us carry our stuff, and was just generally wonderful. After awhile, he got comfortable enough with my family, and they with him, that he came over to our house and hung out with me there. At first, we only let him stay in the front room, since that's the only clean room (it's where we teach our students), but then finally, we let him stay to dinner, and he saw the horrific kitchen and the slightly-less-horrific-but-still-frightening family room (that's what it's called, right? That's what we call it). And he politely sat down, not even presuming to move the eighty-seven books and twice as many papers littering most of the area (I cleaned up for him in subsequent visits). He was so polite about everything that if he hadn't won Mom's heart before, he did now, and he was allowed to come over as often as he (or I) liked. While all this bonding was happening on my side, it was also happening on his side, since I got the doubtful privilege of meeting what seemed to be the entire Philippines when his family came over. Being who I am, I was naturally fairly nervous about meeting them all, but I managed it, and I like to think that I managed it with poise and grace. Oh, wait, I didn't meet them all at once, I realize I made it sound like I did. But no, thankfully, it was incremental. First, I met his little adorable brother, who's a freshman, and the most socially awkward little dork I've ever seen. It took awhile, but finally he got comfortable with me, and I was happy, because he's a little cutie, and it's nice to be accepted by your boyfriend's family, you know? After that, I met the parents. I wasn't really sure how to feel about them, because of how they treated Austin and Adam when they were younger (and kind of now too), but they were nice enough, though scary. Fortunately, they approve of me, and the mom even gave me a really cute pair of shoes, since apparently, I'm the closest thing she has to a daughter, and she wants to treat me as such (again, I'm not sure how good of a thing that would be, considering her parental track record, but it's a lovely sentiment, and I do appreciate it very much). After that, I got to meet the grandparents, and they're both the very picture of a sweet old couple. They didn't speak English, but that didn't stop them from giving me food and being lovely to me. After that, I got to meet various cousins and uncles and aunties (his family tree could rival that of Henry IV's), and they were all very nice people, though intimidatingly rich and successful. All the cousins were very attractive too, and smart, and I think it runs in the family. But everyone was very nice to me, so I didn't feel that inadequate. Having met everyone thus, Austin asked his mom if he could bring me on their family vacation to Vegas, and she acquiesced happily, so that's how I found myself in pecuniary paradise with ten of the richest people I've ever met. Goodness me, that was a little stressful! I'm not exactly affluent, and though I can act like a sophisticate if need be, I'm distinctly middle class. I didn't want to be presumptuous, so I was prepared to buy all of my own food, but when the median price for a hot dog is seventeen dollars, there's only so much you can do. Fortunately, the mom bought everyone food in a block the whole time, so I didn't even get the chance to ask for my share of the bill. I still tried to be considerate, but I guess I wasn't as inconspicuous as I thought I was, because Austin kept asking his mom to get more food for me, and she would act all concerned, and do it. Very nice of them, of course, but it's a bit awkward to have people being solicitous on your behalf all the time when it costs them undue expense to do so (of course, I don't imagine that they thought the expense was undue). Overall, though, I had an amazing time, and the memories will get me through these dark days of winter here. After we got back, we went to Disneyland the next day, which sounds like it should be tiring, but it wasn't, really. Everything seemed to be closed, and there were huge crowds, but we had fun anyway, and I was really happy to be able to go. Mom got free tickets from her department at work, so she and Kitty and Sungmin, and Zac, and Zac's friend Carlos all went too. It was quite the party, and our families got to meet, and everything was sunshine and daisies. The next week, which was the last week of break, Austin and I tried to pack in all the things we'd wanted to do earlier but hadn't. We went to LA for a day and went to the LACMA and to this fancy bookstore, and we attempted to go to Francisco's performance, but they wouldn't let us in, and finally, we met up with some of the hard-partying La Sierra crew. That last part was the only unhappy part of the day, ugh, I don't know how I got through it. But I did get through it, and lived to do other things! Finally, though, it came to be the last day of break. My plane left at 6 in the morning on Sunday, so I had to leave the house at about 3:50 in order to get to the airport on time (Zac too, incidentally; we both had the same flight to Dallas, on our respective ways to New York and Ohio). I stayed up all night, and Austin stayed with me, which I appreciated more than I can say. We slept on the couch for a couple hours, but mostly we sat in teary-eyed wakefulness and tried to grasp the fact that I was leaving again, and we'd have to be apart for four more interminable months. Leaving this time was even harder than it was in August, because in August, I didn't really know what I'd be missing once I was gone. But now I do, and it already seems so long. I don't know how I'm going to stand this. Anyway, I cried gallons all the way to Columbus, and it was really traumatic. Why I ever decided it would be a good idea to move 2110 miles from everyone and everything I love, I have no idea.
Now I'm back again! Goodness me, I just keep leaving this poor post for days at a time, letting it marinate in the heat of my forgetfulness, all by itself. Quite a pity. But that's all right now, because I'm here! So, where was I? I was talking about my baby winter break, wasn't I. So! I finally got to see Allie and Sonia, and I was so happy, because I hadn't seen them for months, and I'd missed them a lot. We all got to catch up and talk about our new lives, and it was extremely exciting to feel so sophisticated. I mean, we're college students now; we're practically adults! Soon we'll be paying bills and mortgages and taxes and all that fun stuff. Maybe, if we're very lucky, we'll even get culled for jury duty someday! Life is so full of excitement.
Oh, okay, so life is actually kind of full of excitement at the moment for real. I feel like it shouldn't be, though. See, Melissa decided to move into the church house this semester, so I have the room to myself. And though I feel ashamed to be so happy about her moving out, it's the next best thing to paradise for an introvert like me to get to live in solitude all semester. Honestly, it's nothing on her; she was a perfect roommate in every way, and I like her a lot, but even the loveliest people can get in the way of your personal space sometimes if you just want to be alone, and it's really nice to have a fortress of isolation to return to after a long, hard, day of socializing (okay, well, maybe that last word is a bit of an exaggeration, but you know). So that's one nice thing, and also, I really like my classes! Syntax and grammar are wonderful, and feed my inner logician, and though I thought Dystopian Lit was going to be sub-par (it fulfilled my last humanities GE as well as one of my English minor requirements, so I had to take it), it's actually really cool, and full of real literary analysis. My other linguistics class turned out to be more on the computational side, and is basically a statistics class with computer programming, which you'd think I'd be terrible at, but so far, the challenge is really stimulating and fun, and I like it a lot. This class also serves double duty as my last math GE and a prerequisite for the linguistics major as a whole, so it's perfect. My schedule is really nicely chosen, I think. Oh, well except for one thing. Physics is proving to be extremely difficult, not because I'm bad at physics, but because the teachers (there are about five of them) make it a policy to not teach us anything. The class is meant to be based on the inquiry method, which sounds good in theory, but in actuality is anything but. Every Tuesday and Thursday, for three hours, I sit with my lab group, and we try to puzzle through interminable labs on our own without reliable assistance. There's no lecture, there are no notes, and there is no learning. Everything is done in the group, and although there's not much homework, attendance is mandatory, and there are three midterms, which are done individually, and which cover all the things we've never learned. I'm really thankful that my physics teacher in high school was good, and that I saved every last thing I did in that class, because otherwise I'd be more lost than an uneducated voter on election day. I got my mom to mail me my physics binder, and I intend to make very good use of it throughout this difficult semester. Today, we were going over circuits, which were never my favorite phenomena anyway, and which become 100% more confusing when you have to figure out everything on your own with some burned-out bulbs, a pair of half-dead batteries, and a vaguely cheery pothead for a TA. While Michael earnestly tried to convince us that parallel circuits were basically the same as series, only prettier, Kayla and I tried out what seemed like every single permutation possible, given our equipment, in a vain attempt to figure out the mathematical relationship between the resistors in a parallel circuit. However hard we tried though, it was all useless, and now we know even less than we did when we started. I honestly think lecture is the best way to learn, and if someone gave me a set of notes to study, I wouldn't contest their validity. This is the worst class in my schedule, and it really doesn't help that it starts at 9:00 AM (well, 9:10 really, but I have to tell myself it's earlier than it is just so that I'll get up on time). Oh well, it's nothing I can't handle, I think, and maybe it will get better. We'll see.
Speaking of school, I really should be doing homework now, since I have a lot due, so I will see you later! Goodbye now!