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.

Letters I won't send p.1/?

Soleil, chère amie,

I really don't know what else to call you at this point, and French seems more nuanced somehow, so I can get away from the dry implications of the English "dear" and move into a different, more fluid area (is that all right with you?).

It's not my place to complain, I know. You made this clear yourself, and just as I accepted it then, I accept it now. But please forgive me if I sound a little bit whiny, just a little bit, because I need to put this somewhere, and I would never bother you or anyone else by saying it aloud. So if I do this, it's the only bit of selfishness that I will allow myself.

I know it wasn't your intention to break my heart (that sounds so cliche, doesn't it?) and I would never accuse you of it. But– forgive me– if you had no intention of staying, why did you let me hope? You told me you would be here no matter what, if things got hard, if everything was bad, you promised you'd still stay by my side and be here for me. Just as I would be for you. And of course I understand. I do. Who would want to stay with me, having seen the horrible person that I am? I don't blame you, and I'm not bitter, I'm just complaining, because I guess that's what I do. I complain.

But now you're angry that I won't trust you with my problems? I don't want to sound accusatory, but what did you expect? You told me very clearly that you needed to focus on yourself now. And I completely respect that. Sometimes, when things get bad, all you can do is think about yourself. But please don't be angry with me for trying to respect your wishes! You clearly don't have the energy to think about me, and that's fine, but it was your own choice to make it this way, so forgive me, but I'm not going to keep burdening you with information that you clearly don't want to hear!

Am I dejected? Am I sad? Of course. You left me. But that's my problem, not yours. Please, you need to focus on yourself. I'll be all right. Or maybe not. Who knows? What matters is that you chose to make our relationship one-sided, and I accepted your terms. You can come to me whenever, and I'll be here. But you pretty clearly told me that you don't have the capacity or energy ("spoons" as they say in the discourse) to worry about me. Again, I said this was all right. So don't accuse me of not being emotionally open. I am. I just can't burden you when you asked me not to.

I'm respecting your wishes. Please don't hate me for it.

I'm supposed to be studying, so naturally I'm doing everything else. It came to my attention that I haven't posted yet in January! And I want to! So here is my post. I'm going to edit it later when I don't have fifteen tons of homework to finish. Bye now!
ed: I realize that I have indeed posted in January. My bad. I'ma still edit though, I'ma still edit.

The yearly birthday mope

I'm about to turn 21, and I don't think I like it. Well, okay, I know I don't like it. I've never liked my birthdays, and as I've grown up, I've liked them less and less still. It's partially that I fear the passage of time, and partially that I feel I'm much too old to be this young, and partially some deep, unknown fear that I can't name, but all of it is unshakeable. We always like to laugh at the people who want to be young forever, and we think we're above them, but the truth is, I'm not. I want to be young forever. Not alive forever, no- a lot of the time, I don't even want to be alive now. But I want to live out my life, however long it may be, holding (successfully) unto my youth until the very end. Do I want knowledge? Of course I do. That's the purpose of my life, after all. But I don't think I have to grow old in order to get it. If I live freely, I should be able to gain wisdom, and experience, and all the knowledge I want (and I want a lot) without having to turn old and ugly and ineffectual and dissatisfied. I want to be 18 again, and hopeful, and ingenuous, and able to learn without trying to argue everything or be slowed down by the pressure of my own mind. By the time I'm 23, my brain cells will have matured, and then they will start to die, and I'll begin the descent into dismal decrepitude which I know is coming, and which I would do anything to forestall. I'm so afraid, but there's nothing I can do.

And then, too, I feel that as I mature, I have to change who I am, fundamentally and completely. So I'm pretty bubbly and joyous by nature, and I like to dance and sing and twirl around and put flowers in my hair, and so on. And that would be okay if I were younger, but I feel like I shouldn't be this way as an adult. I don't want to lose my enthusiasm, or my love of beauty, but it would look weird for a dignified linguistics professor to bend down and talk to a puppy, or stop and say hello to pretty flowers, or take selfies in front of a particularly nice building, and I can't really do any of that once I get to be at that stage in life. But am I at that stage in life? I don't know. Probably? I'm a third year in college already. That's pretty old. Oh gosh, I don't know. Some facets of my personality are good for this, of course- my drive, my willingness to help, my ambition- but that's only part of me, and if I get rid of everything else and just leave the good parts, what will I be? But I don't really have a choice. Playful young people are cute. Playful adults are annoying. Obviously, I can't stay sweet and adorable forever, and I have to grow up at some point. But I'm afraid to, because once I do, I'm not going to be Maria anymore, and it'll be weird. I suppose I'll adjust, though. I /am/ resilient. That's another of my good traits. And maybe I'll grow more good traits to replace the ones that I'll have to dispose of. That's something, right? It'll be okay. I can do this. I've gotten through everything before, and I'll get through this now.

It helps, of course, that everyone is so excited. 21! It's a big year! I can finally drink! Gosh, I've been waiting so long, you know. (Oh, that reminds me- I should tell you about New Years. But later.) And even my less alcoholic friends are excited. I'm going to celebrate with Trisha and Irene and Marissa tomorrow, and then after that I'm going to celebrate with Sigma, and I'm really excited. They're all so enthusiastic that it's making me more enthusiastic, and of course I do want to have an excuse to dress all cute, because goodness knows I will take literally any opportunity to get dolled up. I think I'll get up early and do a fancy makeup look too. So at least I have that. I'm going to try and focus on the good here (though there doesn't seem to be much), because I always get long depressive episodes around my birthday, and I don't want it to happen this year. I'm going to fight! Let's DO this!

All right, I think I'll go to bed now (so early! But I don't get to sleep much because of the Screaming Children who live with me) and get up early. I have a 10am discussion anyway. Goodnight!