But that's not because anything bad happened.
I had a very stressful weekend.
But that's not because anything bad happened. I can't tell if it's all the stress that's making me unwell, or if I'm actually sick now.
My weekend actually went very well. Better than I expected it to. And for those who feel they require a more in-depth account, I must apologize. I'm all distracted by my mystery illness. Which may or may or be due to stress. But I feel better than I have in quite some time.
You know, except for the feeling like crap part.
Monday
Thursday
And now ... the panic.
ohgodohgodohgod.
I saw Adaptation , last night (or the night before? Anyway - finally), and Superherp Girl will be greatly displeased to learn that I enjoyed it a great deal. What I could make out of it, anyway. This is good, for because of all the commercials I've seen for it, I now mentally associate it with the song "Under Pressure". And that's a song that I like. So I am glad that it is not connected to a movie I dislike. Also, it was extremely amusing to me because Robert McKee's Story is actually the text for my script analysis class. Hee!
ohholyfuckshitjesuslordchristsweetmotherofholyfuckingcrap.
Anyway, the "making out of it" comment comes from the fact that it was shown on the Rutgers movie channel at 12 AM. And Shereen wanted to sleep. This is a first. Anyway, I was trying to keep the volume low, and my tv sucks, so I spent most of the film pressing the volume controls more or less consistently. I had been waiting a very long time to watch the movie, yet I lessened my experience of it to better convience someone else. I'm a fucking fabulous person, I'll tell you that right now.
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!
Anyway, I was going to make an entry about being upset, but the next day, Shereen and I spoke with each other, and no one was upset at all, she had been tossing around because the room was hot (dubious claim, but I accept it).
I made a CD of all the songs I've been listening to in recent months. Well, not all the songs, just the artists, with samplings of their folios.
I am utterly fine except for when the giddy, suffocating panic comes in in a wave.
I paid twenty-five dollars for a shirt that has fringy hems. On purpose.
Even though no one (or maybe one one) knows what I'm talking about, could you wish me luck? And an absence of vomit? When I get excessively nervous, I feel like I may throw up. I am nervous.
Google says that my related searches are "lies" and "tomorrow". Well. There ya go.
I saw Adaptation , last night (or the night before? Anyway - finally), and Superherp Girl will be greatly displeased to learn that I enjoyed it a great deal. What I could make out of it, anyway. This is good, for because of all the commercials I've seen for it, I now mentally associate it with the song "Under Pressure". And that's a song that I like. So I am glad that it is not connected to a movie I dislike. Also, it was extremely amusing to me because Robert McKee's Story is actually the text for my script analysis class. Hee!
ohholyfuckshitjesuslordchristsweetmotherofholyfuckingcrap.
Anyway, the "making out of it" comment comes from the fact that it was shown on the Rutgers movie channel at 12 AM. And Shereen wanted to sleep. This is a first. Anyway, I was trying to keep the volume low, and my tv sucks, so I spent most of the film pressing the volume controls more or less consistently. I had been waiting a very long time to watch the movie, yet I lessened my experience of it to better convience someone else. I'm a fucking fabulous person, I'll tell you that right now.
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!
Anyway, I was going to make an entry about being upset, but the next day, Shereen and I spoke with each other, and no one was upset at all, she had been tossing around because the room was hot (dubious claim, but I accept it).
I made a CD of all the songs I've been listening to in recent months. Well, not all the songs, just the artists, with samplings of their folios.
I am utterly fine except for when the giddy, suffocating panic comes in in a wave.
I paid twenty-five dollars for a shirt that has fringy hems. On purpose.
Even though no one (or maybe one one) knows what I'm talking about, could you wish me luck? And an absence of vomit? When I get excessively nervous, I feel like I may throw up. I am nervous.
Google says that my related searches are "lies" and "tomorrow". Well. There ya go.
Saturday
I don't want to talk about it, really.
Talking about my issues and eccentricities is fun! Hopefully it's not dispelling the air of mystery that I've unconsciously constructed for myself. I don't think it does. Because if there's anything that I've learned in reviewing my journal entries, it is this: I am a strange girl.
I have a quirk of interpersonal interaction. It's a thing that I try that never works, and yet I somehow always seem to think it may. It is this: When in conversation, I often drop hints or make comments about things that I do not want to talk about.
Now, naturally, the most logical thing to think is that I do really want to talk about it, right? It's basic psychology. "I don't want to talk about it" = "Drag this out of me, because I really do want to talk about it, but I want attention first".
But, no. I honestly bring up things that I honestly do not want to talk about. Sometimes, it's a legitimate slip. I shouldn'na told you that. [/Hagrid] After these instances, I kick myself mentally and call myself a doofus. But on other occasions, I'm at least semi-aware of what I'm doing. I can't say I've ever made a completely conscious effort to mention things I don't want to talk about, but it wouldn't surprise me.
Why do I do this? The reason, actually, is simple enough. I don't expect a reply. This may sound completely stupid, but it is, in fact, what I assume will occur. I will drop Hint X, and my partner in conversation will let it go, and continue with the conversation.
I blame movies, I think. This happens all the time in movies, but it never happens in real-life. Someone makes a comment, and it's foreshadowing. It slips by the person that they're talking to, only to become relevant later when the importance of the comment is highlighted. Or else, the comment produces an internal reaction in the person they're talking to. "What does that mean?" the person wonders. "Could she possibley mean X?" But of course, the person will not ask, they will simply think about the prospects, mulling it over at a later point in time.
And this, essentially, is what I expect. Sometimes I'd like the person I'm talking to to think about X. So I will drop a hint about X. But I do not want to talk about X, and I do not want them to ask me about X. The reason I expect this, besides the movie precedent, I believe, is that this is what I often do. If someone makes an off-hand comment, I will often ponder what they meant by it, and come up with several nuanced possibilities. The extent to which my rampant paranoia affects my interpretations is inconsistent. I won't ask about it, though. I will simply let the questions drive me crazy in silence. Well, depending on what the possible meanings are. Sometimes I will ask.
I've never been sure if this happens to other people. The silent pondering. But sometimes I want them to ponder silently. So I try to set it up so that they do. But it never works. I am invariably asked what I mean, or to elaborate. The point, in some way or another will become highlighted. And at that point I need to either sigh and say "Nothing." or else explain what I meant. Neither is a particularly attractive option.
Conflict occurs where subjective expectations meet objective reality.
In other news, I would really like to review Slaughterhouse 5 . Unfortunately, 90% of people are profoundly stupid. QED.
I have a quirk of interpersonal interaction. It's a thing that I try that never works, and yet I somehow always seem to think it may. It is this: When in conversation, I often drop hints or make comments about things that I do not want to talk about.
Now, naturally, the most logical thing to think is that I do really want to talk about it, right? It's basic psychology. "I don't want to talk about it" = "Drag this out of me, because I really do want to talk about it, but I want attention first".
But, no. I honestly bring up things that I honestly do not want to talk about. Sometimes, it's a legitimate slip. I shouldn'na told you that. [/Hagrid] After these instances, I kick myself mentally and call myself a doofus. But on other occasions, I'm at least semi-aware of what I'm doing. I can't say I've ever made a completely conscious effort to mention things I don't want to talk about, but it wouldn't surprise me.
Why do I do this? The reason, actually, is simple enough. I don't expect a reply. This may sound completely stupid, but it is, in fact, what I assume will occur. I will drop Hint X, and my partner in conversation will let it go, and continue with the conversation.
I blame movies, I think. This happens all the time in movies, but it never happens in real-life. Someone makes a comment, and it's foreshadowing. It slips by the person that they're talking to, only to become relevant later when the importance of the comment is highlighted. Or else, the comment produces an internal reaction in the person they're talking to. "What does that mean?" the person wonders. "Could she possibley mean X?" But of course, the person will not ask, they will simply think about the prospects, mulling it over at a later point in time.
And this, essentially, is what I expect. Sometimes I'd like the person I'm talking to to think about X. So I will drop a hint about X. But I do not want to talk about X, and I do not want them to ask me about X. The reason I expect this, besides the movie precedent, I believe, is that this is what I often do. If someone makes an off-hand comment, I will often ponder what they meant by it, and come up with several nuanced possibilities. The extent to which my rampant paranoia affects my interpretations is inconsistent. I won't ask about it, though. I will simply let the questions drive me crazy in silence. Well, depending on what the possible meanings are. Sometimes I will ask.
I've never been sure if this happens to other people. The silent pondering. But sometimes I want them to ponder silently. So I try to set it up so that they do. But it never works. I am invariably asked what I mean, or to elaborate. The point, in some way or another will become highlighted. And at that point I need to either sigh and say "Nothing." or else explain what I meant. Neither is a particularly attractive option.
Conflict occurs where subjective expectations meet objective reality.
In other news, I would really like to review Slaughterhouse 5 . Unfortunately, 90% of people are profoundly stupid. QED.
Tuesday
It's like I don't even exist today.
I'm not sure what I mean by that, but there ya go. The horrible people who seem to be everywhere just seem like they're reacting to me as if I don't exist. Like, if they are directly in my path, obstructing my course, they do not move out of the way. As I push past them, they just look vaguely at me and say nothing and don't even look concerned. This happened on the bus this morning, I said "Excuse me" three times, but the chap in question just stood there. As he was quite tall, and I am the opposite, I walked under his arm. I don't even think he knew I was there.
Then the other problem - people have been looking at me all day. No, I don't really know how I can think everyone is looking at me and oblivious to my existance at the same time, but there ya go. Sometimes, I will say that I've been getting looks from people, and it's a somewhat positive thing. They are looking at me because I'm so pretty, naturally. And then there are days like today, where it feels like everyone is staring at me, but it's bad. I don't know why. What the hell are they looking at? Is there something wrong with me, in their view?
I don't know how much of this is a product of my mind. Are people really looking at me, or do I just think they are? And if they are, are there really difference in the looks? Are they really looking at me because I'm pretty one day, and with obscure judgement the next? Or is this just a reflection of what my personal opinion happens to be that day? I will admit that I am not in the best of humors this days. However, I also think I look quite cute. So what the dill pickles??
I am not having a good day besides. My head feels like it's filled with cotton in that way that it sometimes does. Tomorrow I have to go get a present and a card for my Auntie Pat's birthday, and I need to worry about whether or not I'm going to be hit with the storm before I can get home.
And besides that, I have to stave off what could be a possible personal crisis. Brought on by thinking. Thinking, many times, can completely ruin me for weeks at a time. I try to do it as little as humanly possible, but sometimes it is simply unavoidable.
In other news today, I did something so Superhero Girl today. I hung out in the library, away from all the people, and read A Streetcar Named Desire (which did not help my mood or thinking one bit) in front of the "E" biographies. Man, this school has a crush on Emerson.
Then the other problem - people have been looking at me all day. No, I don't really know how I can think everyone is looking at me and oblivious to my existance at the same time, but there ya go. Sometimes, I will say that I've been getting looks from people, and it's a somewhat positive thing. They are looking at me because I'm so pretty, naturally. And then there are days like today, where it feels like everyone is staring at me, but it's bad. I don't know why. What the hell are they looking at? Is there something wrong with me, in their view?
I don't know how much of this is a product of my mind. Are people really looking at me, or do I just think they are? And if they are, are there really difference in the looks? Are they really looking at me because I'm pretty one day, and with obscure judgement the next? Or is this just a reflection of what my personal opinion happens to be that day? I will admit that I am not in the best of humors this days. However, I also think I look quite cute. So what the dill pickles??
I am not having a good day besides. My head feels like it's filled with cotton in that way that it sometimes does. Tomorrow I have to go get a present and a card for my Auntie Pat's birthday, and I need to worry about whether or not I'm going to be hit with the storm before I can get home.
And besides that, I have to stave off what could be a possible personal crisis. Brought on by thinking. Thinking, many times, can completely ruin me for weeks at a time. I try to do it as little as humanly possible, but sometimes it is simply unavoidable.
In other news today, I did something so Superhero Girl today. I hung out in the library, away from all the people, and read A Streetcar Named Desire (which did not help my mood or thinking one bit) in front of the "E" biographies. Man, this school has a crush on Emerson.
Monday
It's just the tiniest bit wet out.
HOLY FUCK!
No, seriously, it's not that bad. I mean, it's not like I walked through water that came up my knees or anything.
THAT LAST SENTENCE WAS A LIE!!
I should have more emails than I do.
No, seriously, it's not that bad. I mean, it's not like I walked through water that came up my knees or anything.
THAT LAST SENTENCE WAS A LIE!!
I should have more emails than I do.
Friday
"Hey, Guess Who's Dead!" will not be played today.
There are too many correct answers.
Instead, let's play: "Whose Death Is Upsetting Me the Most?"
Right now, Johnny Cash is leading at a decent margin.
Instead, let's play: "Whose Death Is Upsetting Me the Most?"
Right now, Johnny Cash is leading at a decent margin.
Tuesday
Everything is for Christians? Everything is free?
Dude! That is the lyingest ad ever!
Is this because I frequently pepper my speech with the phrase "Jesus Christ!"?
Is this because I frequently pepper my speech with the phrase "Jesus Christ!"?
Fuck You, Rutgers!!
No, seriously. Rutgers, if you are reading this, fuck you. In all of your various despicable orifices.
For the benefit of everyone else: they seem to have caught on to my clever email ruse. The reason that they are deliberately not letting me access my AOL mail is because they are stupid and suck and need to be kicked squarely in the nads.
That didn't really explain anything, did it?
Fuck you Rutgers.
For the benefit of everyone else: they seem to have caught on to my clever email ruse. The reason that they are deliberately not letting me access my AOL mail is because they are stupid and suck and need to be kicked squarely in the nads.
That didn't really explain anything, did it?
Fuck you Rutgers.
Thursday
The continuing saga of my insomnia.
... Does it count as a continuing saga if I haven't really mentioned it yet? Anyway, I have been having a great unpleasant deal of insomnia lately. There's just no sleep to be had. I set my alarm for 7:45 this morning, so that I could be cleanly showered in time for my 9:50 class. A bit excessive. At around 3, I was impatiently waiting for my alarm to go off, or for it to start getting light so that I could turn on the computer without any distracting brightness contrasts.
So, what do I do when I'm lying in bed, flipping over for the millionth time and arranging my limbs in odd positions in the hopes of increasing blood flow and providing entertaining distraction? Why, I think about stuff, of course! And may I say, most of it is damn brilliant. Of course, I am never in the frame of mind or physical mode to commit any of these thoughts to writing, which sucks because the thoughts relate directly to things that I'd like to write about.
So, here is one of the things I was thinking about last night, recalled to memory by Steph's latest entry. I have been wondering, at least since last night, when I will stop thinking of people as "kids". Because I do. Most of the people I know, I would label "kids". I'm not sure where that ends. I consider people younger than me to be kids. I consider people my own age to be kids. While I don't think about it that often, I suppose I consider myself to be a kid. This is where I start confusing myself. Most of my friends are "kids". I've been wondering why I am so tentative about bestowing "adult" status to the people I know, and where exactly I draw the line. For example, Beth, you are a kid. 1978 babies, you are kids (though some of you more so than others). I'd probably say that I think of Annika as a kid, but not Will. Because Will has a beard. Kirk is not a kid, but only because he's just so damn old.
Pat and Steph I would call kids, except they have the hitch of having created life, twice over. So, I suppose they get some sort of free pass into adulthood. Enjoy it, moochers.
I have been considering that as I age, my upper threshold for "kid" keeps increasing. I wonder of this will continue indefinitely. Will I still refer to my peers as "kids" when I'm fifty? And if so, then who's an adult? Will it come down to hair again, as most of my opinions seem to? Will gray hair = adulthood? A bit of a strange concept, considering that a portion of my own hair is currently gray. Am I unconsciously evaluating what I perceive to be maturity in my friends? As mentioned before, there are some people I know who are the same age, yet I feel more comfortable calling one a "kid" than another. Is it about levels of familiarity? Will Beth never be an adult in my mind, simply by virtue of the fact that she is my best friend?
In a related note, if I don't locate Never Never Land within the next 91 days, I will never be allowed in.
So, what do I do when I'm lying in bed, flipping over for the millionth time and arranging my limbs in odd positions in the hopes of increasing blood flow and providing entertaining distraction? Why, I think about stuff, of course! And may I say, most of it is damn brilliant. Of course, I am never in the frame of mind or physical mode to commit any of these thoughts to writing, which sucks because the thoughts relate directly to things that I'd like to write about.
So, here is one of the things I was thinking about last night, recalled to memory by Steph's latest entry. I have been wondering, at least since last night, when I will stop thinking of people as "kids". Because I do. Most of the people I know, I would label "kids". I'm not sure where that ends. I consider people younger than me to be kids. I consider people my own age to be kids. While I don't think about it that often, I suppose I consider myself to be a kid. This is where I start confusing myself. Most of my friends are "kids". I've been wondering why I am so tentative about bestowing "adult" status to the people I know, and where exactly I draw the line. For example, Beth, you are a kid. 1978 babies, you are kids (though some of you more so than others). I'd probably say that I think of Annika as a kid, but not Will. Because Will has a beard. Kirk is not a kid, but only because he's just so damn old.
Pat and Steph I would call kids, except they have the hitch of having created life, twice over. So, I suppose they get some sort of free pass into adulthood. Enjoy it, moochers.
I have been considering that as I age, my upper threshold for "kid" keeps increasing. I wonder of this will continue indefinitely. Will I still refer to my peers as "kids" when I'm fifty? And if so, then who's an adult? Will it come down to hair again, as most of my opinions seem to? Will gray hair = adulthood? A bit of a strange concept, considering that a portion of my own hair is currently gray. Am I unconsciously evaluating what I perceive to be maturity in my friends? As mentioned before, there are some people I know who are the same age, yet I feel more comfortable calling one a "kid" than another. Is it about levels of familiarity? Will Beth never be an adult in my mind, simply by virtue of the fact that she is my best friend?
In a related note, if I don't locate Never Never Land within the next 91 days, I will never be allowed in.
Monday
Make Your Bed The River, Young Girl.
So my email is not working. Everything else is in functional order (well, except my printer, which could be problematic later. Bah.) but not that, for some reason. I feel like I'm missing something. And, of course, I am. And I also have no AOL IMing, so there is no PatnSteph to talk to. 
Hopefully I will not feel so ... something tomorrow, because I will go to class and do things.
I feel all ... something. Someone entertain me, please. I am all lonesome.
Hopefully I will not feel so ... something tomorrow, because I will go to class and do things.
I feel all ... something. Someone entertain me, please. I am all lonesome.
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