I was reading my old posts on this blog from when I was about 18, and I'm just so shocked at how much I've changed since then. I used to be witty, charming, dry-- rather pretentious, too, but let's not dwell on that-- and the very picture of a young parlor sophisticate. And now? Well. Sometimes, I talk about things other than my debilitating depression, and that's the absolute best the world is going to get from me.
It's rather sad, really. I believe firmly that I'm in the late stages of mental deterioration due to my drinking problem, and of course, the remedy to that would be to stop drinking, but, well. Sometimes things aren't quite as easy as they might seem (except me-- I'm very easy). I really don't know what I'm going to do when I get to Georgia, because I can't exactly be a successful and promising grad student if my brain turns to mush every time I try to read an article. Oh-- I never mentioned it, but I got into the University of Georgia for grad school! I'm going to be a PhD in Linguistics, provided I don't flunk out (which, as stated above, might very well happen). I'm excited, but I'm also vastly disappointed because I didn't get into any of my other schools. Georgia was my safety school, you see. That is to say, I don't know about USC yet, because they won't tell me, but I'm just going to assume it's a big fat no on that one.
The sad thing is, this was all easily preventable. I had good references, a good research statement, and a good writing sample. My resume isn't awful, and I look pretty good, except my GPA sucked. As I said, I have debilitating depression, and my senior year of college, I would spend weeks at a time in bed, never going to any classes, and not doing much of anything, really, besides drinking. I remember once I walked into my French linguistics class to hear, "bonjour tout le monde! Aujourd'hui nous avons un MIDTERME !" and I died a little bit inside because I hadn't been to class for almost the entire module. And then there was the time I was forcibly hospitalized and missed a midterm entirely... but that's another story. Anyway, as expected, I got a lot of Bs. Which, all things considered, wasn't too bad, especially since I literally couldn't study (see the above brain-turning-to-mush phenomenon), but grad schools don't really care about that. So I was rejected from UCLA and NYU and Arizona (which now boasts the scholarship of Noam Chomsky), and now have no choice but to go to the Deep South and live on ham, peaches, peanuts, and religious fundamentalism until the Good Lord takes me away. That is, if I want to pursue my dream. People have been telling me to wait a year and reapply and see if I can get into that cognitive science/linguistics program at Stanford, but I don't know. It seems to me that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and if I waited another year, there's no guarantee that I would a) get in anywhere, and b) remember anything about linguistics even if I did. So I feel like my path leads me to Athens, and come what may, I'll be a southern belle til the day I graduate.
That's coming in August, and I'm petrified out of my mind, but trying not to show it, because I know everyone doubts that I can do this, and I want to prove them wrong. Secretly, though, I'm also doubting that I can do this, if my track record at UCLA is anything to draw conclusions from. I'm quite literally terrified, and every day brings me closer to the day of reckoning. It's hard to stay upbeat in circumstances like these, especially since I still don't have a job. Granted, I haven't been trying as hard as I can, which isn't good either, but it seems like there's a lot of rejection going on in my life right now. I'm living in LA, trying to find somewhere to work that isn't a garbage dump or a construction site (actually, I would quite like to work on a construction site, but I don't think I would be very useful), but my mom is helping me with rent, and I feel terrible about that. Especially because I can't seem to stop drinking. I just don't know how to face life sober anymore, and that's awful, and I should be ashamed of myself (and I am), but it's so much harder to stop than it seems. Addiction is one hell of a thing, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.
Well, I don't think I have any enemies. But still.
One bright spot in my life is my relationship with my girlfriend. She lives in England, which is hard (and makes it difficult to explain to people, because oh, you met online, are you sure she exists and all that), but this is one of the most stable relationships I've been in. She's really wonderful, so smart and talented and warm and into social justice, and I really love her. Once I get a more steady job, I'm going to be saving up to go and visit her, and I just know it'll be worth every penny and more. I'm going to go to the post office soon, in fact, and send her a care package with lots of different types of snacks in it. I want to cook for her and show off my skills (because let's be real, I have a lot of cooking skills), but for now, I'll send her food, and it will be almost like the real thing. I'm so lucky! I feel like I've found the Grantaire to my Enjolras (made even better by the fact that she would understand and approve of that reference), and everything is so much better now that she's here. I can't wait until we can meet in person-- it'll be a dream come true.
My roommate and I made the most delicious soup yesterday. It was chicken ramen, but we didn't have any dashi stock or anything, so we used an oden soup base (and doctored it up a bit), and put in a chicken thigh and all the vegetables we had in the fridge. Then we used these delicious instant ramen noodles that we buy from Daiso and cooked them for about three minutes, and voila, le soup du jour était prêt! I'm very lucky to have a roommate who is also a good cook, and who doesn't mind doing all the cleaning with me. Our housemates are, shall we say, less than domestic, and it falls to me and Kitty to do mostly everything. But I don't mind. It's good practice for when I live alone. Right now, I'm waiting for them to come back, and we'll clean the house together, and then maybe exercise some, and then make dinner. They're on a hike right now, to which I was invited, but as we all know, hiking is really not my thing, so I decided to stay home. But I'm pretty glad I did. I feel like we spend a lot of time together, and I wouldn't want them to get tired of me.
Cece and I are writing a paper with my mom. It's very cool and professional, and hopefully, it will get published. I'm so excited, really. It's fun to work on a Real Adult Project, especially with a friend, and I think it's good for me to keep my writing skills sharp before I head off to Georgia. However, I'm having some problems actually working on it, because my concentration is terrible these days. I'm well aware that if I stopped drinking and started eating more than 600 calories per day, I would do better, but this is my lot in life, and I must accept it.
No, I must not. What the heck.
I really hope I can get better at concentrating when I get to grad school. This is my dream, and I don't want to heck it all up by falling down the neck of a whiskey bottle every time something mildly inconveniences me. I've wanted to be a PhD since I was a little sunbeam, and even if it means recovering, I'm going to do it. It's going to be hard, of course. And I don't think I'm in a very good place now, to be honest with you. But I'm trying, and I think that's really important. I'm going to be the person I want to be even if it makes me into a fully functional member of society.
What else?
Did I ever talk about my gender identity crisis? I don't think I did. I shall.
So, long story short, I don't think I'm a cis girl. I thought I had to be all my life, but I've never really felt connected to the idea of womanhood. It seems so foreign and strange to me. In the same way, though, I don't connect to the idea of manhood, either. I'm just sort of... there. That's one of the reasons I love angels so much. They don't need gender. They just are. If I had to choose, I would be a girl, but the beauty of it all is that I don't need to choose. I can just be Sunny without having to worry about any abstract social constructs that try to dictate my life. I love that I chose my own name, too. Of course, it's still a nickname, and I don't mind going by Maria, but I feel like Sunny really encapsulates my personality, and gets me outside of the gender binary. People call me that now, and I couldn't be happier about it. All this isn't to say that I feel dysphoria, or want to legally change my gender (even though California does recognize nonbinary genders now). I'm fine with people calling me she and her (even though I melt with joy when anyone says they and them), and I don't mind having the body I do (except for the anorexia part-- but that's a separate issue entirely). I subscribe to the gender euphoria theory, in which the thought of one's gender brings a source of joy. And it does. Every time I think that I'm allowed to be nonbinary, it brings a rush of happiness.
For a long time, this was really confusing to me. I would "pretend" to be nonbinary because it brought me joy, but I thought I couldn't be anything but a cis girl because I love presenting in a traditionally feminine way. But after some study, I realized that what I want is to be a femme, not to be a woman. I'm the highest of high femme, makeup and heels and dresses and long, glossy hair, but that doesn't mean I have to be a girl, and that fact makes me supremely happy. I don't mind being read as a girl because it means (in our society, anyway) that people are reading me as femme, but if things were different, and all genders were accepted equally, I would definitely want to be a they instead of a she.
I want to do something. I don't care what, just something. But I don't want to do it with anyone. I'm really feeling like having a me day today, not really hanging out with anyone, not really being social and readily available like I usually am. Maybe I could pop into Westwood and go to a cafe or something. Or maybe I could take the dog for a long walk. It would be good for me; I need to exercise more. I'm way too out of shape. At any rate, I want to treat myself, but I don't want to spend a lot of money doing it (well, I do, but I shouldn't). And I know it's not good to just sit here in bed all day. Unfortunately, it's a really low energy day, so even brushing my hair and changing my clothes felt horrible. So I don't know what I can really do with that, but darn it if I'm not going to try.
I wish my housemates weren't here. I would take a bath with that bath bomb that Lauren gave me (and take Vivian the Vibrator in with me and have a grand ole time). But they're here, and I don't think they would appreciate me taking up the bathroom for so long, so I won't do that. Still, I think it would be pretty fun to have a spa day.
All right, I'm going to figure out something to do (and maybe reply to all the messages that I have been ignoring while typing this). Au revoir, cherie!

February post! I do have a lot to say, but I'm reading fan fiction right now, and it's very absorbing. So I'll come back and post more later, but I wanted to make sure there was a February entry. It's very important to me. Okay, time to go see what those Les Mis cafe boys are up to!

Happy January! This is going to be the year when I write here often, because I think it’s really important for me to start journaling again, and my paper journal is lovely, but it’s more aesthetic, you know? So here, hopefully, will be a dumping ground for me to get my thoughts in order before I translate them to the handwritten page. 

I have a lot to say, but at the moment, I don’t have the mental capacity to say it. So I’ll let it cook for a bit in my head, and hopefully later I’ll he able to articulate it. 

That’s it for now; I just wanted to check in during this first month of the new year. Hopefully, more will be forthcoming in later days.

I'm afraid that I'm wasting my life.
I'm afraid I'll never get anywhere.
I'm afraid that my own frailty will prevent me from following my dreams
I'm afraid that my dreams aren't even possible for me anymore, if they ever were.
I'm afraid of growing too old with nothing to show for it.
I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid.
Time is running out.

Okay I have to admit, I'm only making this so I can do my post-in-every-month thing. So, how are you? This is January. I'm 22. Gosh how time flies.
wellp bye.

I have privilege.
Quite a lot. If we were to count up the ways in which I have it better than others, the numbers would be staggering. Don't think I don't feel guilty about that. I do. But this isn't a post about that.
This is a post about beauty.
I've always been conventionally attractive. I'm a natural size zero, with D-cup boobs. I have long, shiny hair and big eyes, and I've been told my freckles and crooked smile are cute. My voice is high-pitched and sweet, I giggle a lot, and I'm (usually) charming. So it's no surprise that people find me attractive. While I don't– I suffer from numerous issues, in fact– I can't deny the effect that my general appearance seems to have on people, inscrutable though it is to me.
This has its perks. People are, in general, more friendly to me. I can get free drinks just by asking. People jump up to help me or offer me things, everywhere I go. And it's nice. Even though I don't always want the attention, I would have to be incredibly foolish to deny that it's a privilege.
But there are times when I curse my appearance, and everything that comes with it. Times like now.
One of my dearest friends, one of the people I love most in this world, is mad at me because last time we went out, a man followed us around all night and flirted with me instead of her. She said she's tired of feeling like the token ugly friend, and she's upset that I led him on. Which is valid. I understand what it's like to be ignored. Not by straight men, no– I can count on one hand the number of times I've failed to be the center of attention among groups of potential admirers. But outside of that, in the realm where it matters, I know what it's like to be locked out, to feel cut off from everything. And it's not a nice feeling. It's awful. So I sympathize, I really do.
The thing is, though, I didn't realize what was happening. I thought he was flirting with both of us. I think my friend is one of the most beautiful people in this world, and I know many other people think so, too. So the thought of her being the "ugly friend" just fails to compute. I don't want to dismiss her feelings, because of course she knows her own experiences better than I do, and I'm quite socially awkward, really, so I don't notice things a lot of the time. And of course I will accept blame where blame is due. I did wrong, and I won't deny it. But, that being said, I don't understand. If I were to replay the night over again in my head (and believe me, I have been), I wouldn't be able to pinpoint the moment which I would change in order to make things right. She said she gave me an out, and I didn't take it. But I didn't realize what was happening, and I still don't. I was dissociating the whole night, on the brink of a depressive episode, trying to cope with a horrible midterm that I'd taken an hour before, and even the broadest social cue would have been lost on me, which, apparently, it was. I'm more than sorry, and I would do anything to make this better, but I don't understand how. I know I did wrong, but I don't know what.
It's easy to assign blame in these cases. "If I hadn't..." I say, and then you reply with "Well, but then if he had..." There are so many eventualities, and in the end, they really don't matter. That being said, though, I know that none of this would have happened if I didn't look like this. The man would still have come over to talk to us, because my friend is beautiful, and amazing, and I don't think there's a straight man on earth who wouldn't want to hit on her. But he would have ignored me, which is fine, because I don't want that kind of attention anyway, and she wouldn't have felt so bad. And I wouldn't be in danger now of losing one of the dearest people to my heart.
If I weren't so pretty.
If I didn't smile so much.
If I didn't talk like a Barbie doll.
It sounds petty to complain about these things. I know it does. And maybe, to some extent, it is. Some people would kill to have these problems, even for just a day.
Maybe just a day, though. Awful as it is to say, there are some things that people who aren't conventionally attractive just don't have to worry about.
I have few real friends, mostly because almost everyone either wants to date me, or have sex with me, and I don't want either. And even if I do find someone who likes me for me, inevitably, something like this happens. Everyone ends up jealous of me at some point, and I don't blame them, because it's awful to be in someone's shadow, but it means that I never get to keep anyone in my life, no matter how much I wish for them to stay. On the same token, I could have a date every weekend if I wanted to. Everyone wants to get with me. But it's rare that I find anyone who wants to stay. Once people get past my appearance, I'm just like anyone else, a complicated, broken girl who isn't right for everyone– and I understand, because of course I'm not everyone's cup of tea, and I wouldn't expect to be– but the rate of people loving-and-leaving me is so much higher than normal, and it's demoralizing, sometimes. And I can never go unnoticed. Sometimes, I just want to slink about, not have people stare at me, either like they want to bed me immediately, or they want to fight me for supremacy, but I turn heads everywhere I go, and I can never hide. I can wear my ugliest, rattiest clothes, go out with no makeup and my hair unbrushed, and people will still stop me to ask me out, or stare at me as I walk around, or try to talk to me, and I know I shouldn't complain, but sometimes I don't want attention. When I'm trying to stave off a panic attack, or when I'm struggling not to cry in public, and all I see are eyes, eyes, eyes, it feels like the most unfortunate thing in the world.
I didn't ask to be born this way, nor did I do anything to model myself in any particular likeness. My genes were fortunate, that's all. And it sucks. It's unfair. I know so many people who want so badly to be petite and curvy and feminine like me, and who, through whatever unhappy accident of fate, are not. I feel for them. Even I have wished that I was taller, more muscular, had a less babyish face, a different smile, anything. But in the end, it just comes down to happenstance.
I'm not complaining, not really. I don't deserve to. I'm just grieving the loss of yet another loved one in my life, turned away by my face.
Beauty is a blessing, I know. It's true. But it's a curse, too.

Get to know me!

I like to read my old posts sometimes, so today I was scrolling through this blog, and I happened upon this gem. I really admire that I've had the foresight to do this all these years! I believe there was also one that I made in maybe tenth grade, so I'll try to dig that up as well, just for comparison purposes. Ed: I found it.
But now, I'm going to fill it out again, because I'm 21 now, and that's another benchmark. So, here we go!
..
Favorites~
Season: Fall, but each of them are nice in their way.
Singer: I have a big, gay crush on Nicki Minaj. I also love Lykke Li and Lana Del Rey and Marina and Grimes and basically, all the ladies. And of course, I love the Greats like Natalie Dessay.
Song: November Rain by Guns'N'Roses
Color: Pink
Cosmetic: It's hard to say, because I can't really pick just one. But I could never do without my chapstick, so I'd have to say that.
Animal: My guinea pig, of course, and I also love moths and butterflies and penguins and birds! I also think my Fursona would be a kitten.
Food: Strawberry croissants from Bruin Cafe tbh
Outfit: It depends on how I'm feeling. My favorite lecture outfit is my black skater skirt, belt, and gray half-sleeve top, but I also love knotted cardigans and crop tops and sundresses. And if I'm going to a party, of course I'm going to get the Tity out.
Perfume: My signature scent is Japanese cherry blossom.
Drink: Grande double-shot Americano with a splash of cream.
Possession: I guess my phone and my laptop. But I really value people more than things, of course ♥
Car: My dream car is a manual transmission Volkswagon Jetta, but I think I would like anything at this point. I'd really rather have a manual than an automatic, though.
Subject: Linguistics by default, but also cognitive science and computer science and literature. And then art history! And regular history. And then poly sci and econ, too, but then I have to go to math, and how can you have math without science? But I love the humanities, so philosophy. And how could I forget, foreign languages!!! French is my very favorite.
Book: Les Misérables by Victor Hugo ♥♥ Another (not as much, but nothing could ever rival my Les Mis love) would be Swann's Way by Marcel Proust, and it's not really a book as much as a collection, but Vladimir Nabokov's short stories oh my goodness. And then of course I love The Brothers Karamozov by Fyodor Dostoevsky. And of course, poetry!
Type of person: Generally, I get along well with everyone. But I'm a Social Justice Warrior™ so I might find it more difficult to find common ground with a really bigoted person.
Type of boy: This is really heteronormative. I like boys and girls and other genders, too. But anyway, I don't really have a "type" per se. I'm attracted to kindness and humor and intelligence, but the most important thing is that we're friends.
Game: I'm really good at beer pong, actually. But anything can be fun if you're drunk enough.
Song on the top ten: (literally had to google for the charts right now. I'm so old) Just Like Fire by Pink. It's so feisty and fun, and it was super cute in Through the Looking Glass.
Now my least favorites!
Season: None, although I get sad when I have to be at home for any amount of time.
Singer: I don't think this is a nice question, so I won't answer it. I do have a lot of Opinions about problematic people, though.
Song: There's a lot of songs I object to for various reasons. I couldn't really single out one.
Color: None. I think every color has its time to shine.
Car: I don't support Ford, or several other brands of that nature.
Animal: None.
Food: Hospital food. I sometimes still have nightmares about that "chicken."
Cosmetic: I don't support brands that test on animals. I have a list somewhere, and I can probably dig it up if needed.
Outfit: Anything that makes me feel less than confident. I don't wear pants much.
Possession: My existential angst and debilitating mental illness lmao
Perfume: Again, anything that tests on animals, or is otherwise oppressive.
Drink: Beer
Book: Oh gosh I have a lot. Although, now that I think about it, I think I've been angered more by certain academic articles of late.
Subject: This is a little petty, but I have a grudge against anthropologists. I think they're so hypocritical and myopic and culturally appropriative (among other things) and they don't even have all their facts, but they still go around spewing hateful, half-baked rhetoric, and they're so insufferable and mean and just ugh. Okay, I'm calm. I'm calm.
Tyoe of person: This isn't very nice.
Type of boy: I'm not answering this one, either.
Game: Once, my brother and I played Spin-The-Bottle, and we were in the same room. I couldn't possibly be drunk enough to forget the sight of him macking on his boo. Never again. (I do like Spin-The-Bottle, though, because I'm a huge flirt)

Song on the top ten: Whatever that one is by Meghan Trainor, because I don't think she's a very nice person, and I have a lot of issues with her for various reasons.
..
So that was that! I'll be interested to look at this later and see how things have changed. I think these things are always so exciting, because it just goes to show how life is such a fluid thing! We're always growing and learning and changing, hopefully for the better. We don't stay static, and that's wonderful. I hope that when I do this again in however many years, my answers will again be completely different.