In Which I Get Nervous and Nostalgic All At Once

So these deadlines are zooming upon me much faster than I am comfortable with. In a week and then a week after that, I will find out if these people see potential in me. This is utterly terrifying. I try to avoid wanting things too badly, because it tends to end in disappointment. But oh my god, I want this. I. Want. This. As a result, the closer the deadline gets, the more nervous I get. Sleep is almost a joke (although to be honest,I've never been good at sleeping longer than 5-7 hours), as of late, food has been cool, but not the obsession that it usually is (even though that might be the tobacco remnants from monday still kicking around in my system).

I'm worried that virtually every single bad thing I do is going to count against me karmically.

That reminds me, I should call my mom.

Let's hear it for this heat wave! I think that maybe Austin's not ready for me yet. But perhaps the cool factor woruld balance the hot factor and I'd be okay after all.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't an only child.

Sometimes I wish I was a mind reader.

This makes me smile though:

In Which I Learn My Lesson (Disclaimer)

Which is to say, the master creeper has been creeped. It's a weird feeling, because I'm not sure of the logistics of how I got creeped in the first place, even though it is entirely possible to do so. I guess I shouldn't say things if I can't handle the fallout. Welcome to the internet.

But that being said, I am not going to apologize for how I felt a particular moment in time, nor am I going to apologize for how I currently feel. I can't help those things, and that's why they're feelings and not rational reactionings. I think I'm allowed to "blow things out of proportion" out here because that's how it is in my head. That's where I spend a lot (bordering on too much) time. I have a thought, it either amuses or bothers me, I vomit it out, and move on. Its either that or She-Hulk out on everything and everyone around me and that can't be healthy.

Anyone who legitimately knows me knows I have a mouth on me, and I can shoot it off quite proficiently.

This is the death of auto-tune, moment of silence.

Last night, Kenny was back to do a comedy show. Of course I went. The comedians were pretty funny, but I mean get a few adult beverages in me, and of course everyone's a fucking riot. It wasn't as validating as the last one, but it was still a good time. Even Mini showed up, which was cool because I don't get to see her that often. After the show, Mini and I called her friend Cody for snacks. But before the snacks came the hookah. Far too much hookah. The last time I had hookah was around the time that dares not speak its name four years ago. I came home feeling like hell at 3:30 and passed out shortly thereafter. It was worth it. I feel fine now, but it was touch and go for awhile. I gotta learn to pace myself. On the upside, I came out of it with a fantastic potential dancing buddy. One that will go to the gay bar with me no less! Lord knows I love dancing. Lord knows I love a gay bar.

Today might be a day for swimming. But that means shaving. We'll see.

I should stay in and clean, but this weather is making me forget how to act.

In Which I Regret That Time Travel is Not Yet Possible

More insecurity vomit. Adjust yourself accordingly.

New blog post with 25% MORE NEUROSIS!

This thing is like my therapist. I like talking about my problems, just not out loud. Verbalizing them just makes me feel weak. Is there such a thing as an e-therapist? I think that unloading my problems on a select few, or on a world that just silently listens is something comforting and appealing. I can be as weak as I need to be for a few minutes and then I can go back to my ballsy-take-no-prisoners persona. But anyway, back to the show!

I trust Matt. I really do. I can trust him all I want until the cows come home, but that's not going to change the behavior of other people and I don't like having hope as my only option.

That's the essence of trust, I guess. And I'm finding I don't like trusting other people when it comes to the big major stuff.

The Problem
This time the trigger was a simple photo. His friend (yeah that one that has been the bane of my existence and the root of all my insecurity for the past few/several months) changed her profile photo on facebook to one of her and Matt. And her last few statuses have been really flirty and cryptic. (Oh, the joys of having an indoor cat job and not having anything better to do other than hitting refresh on facebook.) And I know better than to read into it as much as I am, but I can't help it. Lord only knows why. I'm soothing myself with the fact that this girl changes her profile picture several times a week, and soon I'll be seeing another picture of her stupid, gorgeous mug all over my stalkerfeed. I looked at the album, there were 81 pictures. EIGHTY FRIGGING ONE. Not all of them were of her and not all of them were of Matt. I realize that they're really good friends but WHAT THE FRIGGING HELL. (please pardon my tone, the yelling may continue.) DID SHE HAVE TO CHOOSE ONE OF HER AND MY BOYFRIEND? I know it's stupid and petty and one of the hazards of dating in the modern age, but I still want to punch a baby or kick a puppy. And then smoke a cigarette.

What Fucking Solution?
The logical conclusion one who is not me may draw is to talk to him (or her) about it. The logical retort I deliver is and say/do what? What's the next step? None are apparent. And besides, I would just look crazy and insecure and possessive, and while I do not deny my possession of all of those traits (often at once), I like to keep the visible evidence of that to an absolute minimum. But we all knew this. There is no solution, or even compromise to be reached. I thought I could just suck it up until August, when she was supposed to be leaving for LA, but alas, she won't be leaving until December. I think it won't be long until my crazy reaches critical mass. But raise your hand if you are loving bearing witness to my descent into madness!

My solution is this girl needs a boyfriend. Done and done.

Or is this whole ordeal some sort of test? What am I supposed to be learning? Is the true solution that my blood sugar's probably low and I should just eat something?

I'm going to read and forget that this ever happened. I do need to read more and spend less time on that sanity trap Facebook.

God Bless you, world. God bless you, Folk Implosion.

In Which Everything and Everyone Pisses Me Off, Including Myself

Yesterday was bad, mentally. The weather was gorgeous, which I greatly appreciate in Michigan, but oh my GAWD (yes the broad New England accent was necessary), I thought I was going to end up on the 11 o'clock news for a homicide spree. I think its my period, but I am pretty sure I would have been cranky even if my chemicals were ricocheting (when did I become such a horrible speller? this does not look like the correct spelling, but apparently it is). Coworkers, roommates, people at the bus depot (I thought I was going to have to clock this dude because I thought he looked at me funny, but in my defense, it is the bus depot.) Jill and Keith and I went out for dinner and drinks on the mall, but Jill was being difficult, and nothing looked good on me. I felt fat and like buying into the notion that I was less than because of my weight or my race or whatever.

But other than that, the food was fantastic (went to Kalammazoo's other tapas restaurant...who knew?), the drinks were expensive but tasty (a $7 mojito?!?), and the weather was chilly but pleasant.

I think some of my parade rain came from the fact that whenever I go out with Jill and a boy, or multiple boys, I inevitably get ignored in favor of her. Trite, petty, selfish...myriad other unpleasant and immature adjectives come to mind to describe the notion that I articulated, but it is the truth. And I know that it should only matter that a few people love me, but I can't help that I want to be everyone's favorite person all the fucking time. And apparently this is the way I really feel (as opposed to kind of feel) because I literally am choking back tears.

Fuck you too, hormones.

One day my blues will be a bitchen shade of teal.

This is not helping my positivity. But you know what did? I talked to Matt this morning, and we were looking at this calendar of free events at Millennium Park in Chicago. I said something about scheming to get off work, and then he said something along the lines of for most of these you'll already be here. Apparently, positivity can be contagious.

I think part of my birthday present from somebody is seeing Vampire Weekend in Chicago on the Sunday before my birthday. I am determined to have my birthday be a big deal this year. I'll be twenty-five, and goddammit, someone besides me should be glad I'm alive.

Apparently all I needed was to vomit verbally a little bit.

I do feel better. I am going to create my own feel good hit of the summer.

So The Kenyon Review Rejected Me, But I Am More Than Okay With That

I just have to remember that "adventure is just one mistake away". (A Softer World no. 334)

In Which I Am Thinking Positively

So its all sent. And now its all a matter of waiting. I bought a pack of smokes, and they are going pretty quickly. I have 17 and 23 days before I know anything, but I bought a pair of shoes and a pencil skirt for an interview, I started looking for an apartment and a boyfriend blazer, and at least the apartments look optimistic.

It looks like I can pick up a couple extra hours at work for the next few weeks. This is very very good.

I know I've said it before, but I keep thinking it: I think I like worrying. If I'm not worrying about my body, I am worrying about my future, if I'm not worrying about my future, I'm worrying about my finances, if I'm not worrying about any of those things, I am worrying about my relationship, if I'm not worrying about that I'm worrying that I don't have anything to worry about. Somebody give me a paper bag.

Aside from the ship business, right now I'm kind of back in this whole "is he losing interest" bullshit. I take the slightest pause, every unreturned text as a sign that Matt's having second thoughts. I have no idea where this comes from. Maybe its PMS, maybe its the crazy amplified by the hormones, maybe its because my mom's right and I am "depressed" and looking for yet another reason to hate myself.

As if I needed to look.

Holy emo.

I'm going to pretend that those words were never typed, but not really because if I really wanted to do that, I could just backspace the shit out of it.

I just had a moment where that was the opposite of staying positive. Fuck that shit.

This is not going to be a cruel summer.

In Which I Might Start Smoking and Eating Old Pills Again

This weekend was awkward. Among the events that occured:

- cock blocked by a law enforcement officer
- while avoiding a lecture on sex, got a lecture on aesthetics and piercings and tattoos

All aboard the trippin train. I was supposed to secure my nomination materials for this fellowship yesterday. It is now tuesday, and I have not heard anything from these people...er...person. The deadline to have everything submitted is by 5pm on friday. Three days from now. I'm getting really anxious because if I don't secure all the things I need to apply, everything will be riding on my This American Life application, which I am the opposite of comfortable with. Let's stop thinking about it becase the more I think about it, the more I want to cry.

Also, if one's long distance, long term significant other were to inquire as to the next rendezvous, and one repied with a potential time frame, and then one's SO replied to the reply there will already be six people staying at the apartment, what would that imply?

I guess somebody's not getting laid until june. Its just as well, the finances would be a lot of work anyway.

Gossip Girl is like crack and I am so late to that party and I am so mad, because I love it. My politics hate it, but my TV watcher loves it.

xoxo

In Which I Am Bruised and Happy

I made a semi-impromptu trip to Chicago this weekend, just to blow off some stress. And the fact that Boyfriend is there never hurts either. I haven't felt that liberated in a long time.

Friday was low-key after I got in 30-40ish minutes later than expected. We had snacks, TV, cocktails, and sex (sorry, that just worked too well). More or less in that order. Saturday was nice, so we went to free comic book day, walked around and went to the movies. Kick-Ass was really entertaining and I have not been that entertained by a child actor in a long time. I am totally going to be Hit Girl for Halloween. The bottles of Sutter Home stashed in my purse weren't hurting things either. We came back, I took a wine nap while Matt watched TV, and I woke up and watched more TV. And then...wow.

Two hours later its close to 5 am, and we decide we were going to try to watch the sun rise through the rain on the lake. We made it a few blocks, said fuck this, and grabbed breakfast instead. Soaking wet, we took the long way home (yes, I'm alluding to exactly what you're thinking I'm alluding to).

The rest of Sunday, we slept it off until it was time for me to get ready to go.

I finished my This American Life internship application. For better or for worse, its sent, and now all I can do is cross my fingers and hope for the best around and on June first. My fellowship application isn't due for a bit, so now I'm taking it easy before I hop on the trippin train again.

For the first time in a really long time, I'm excited about the future on several fronts. I'm excited for the impending exhaustion of working 2 jobs four days a week, the challenge of working with whichever 'ship I land and by extension, living in the same city/state/time zone as my boyfriend, and my future with someone who loves me. Bring it on, world!

That's all, mini-vacation until the 17th. I'll probably be in touch anyway.

In Which A More Glorious Dawn Awaits

Not a sunrise, but a galaxy rise. A morning filled with 400 billion suns.

"If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe." - Carl Sagan

I need more science books. I already need to read A Brief History of time, and something by this Carl Sagan character. Who knew science could be so poetic?

I also can't get enough of Adam Lambert. He'll be at the Royal Oak Music Theater June 18, but ticket prices remain unknown. We are both here for your entertainment.

The application for This American Life is mostly complete, I'm now entering my neurotic editing phase. I'd like to have this good to go by Friday, and it looks like I will, but I'm so nervous. And then I can take a breath and then move on to this fucking Pritzker fellowship application. Awwwwwwww freak out!

And it doesn't help that I want to do a linear storyline analysis of Lady Gaga videos. For serious. I'm seeing too many connections to keep these thoughts to myself and the only way to get them away from me is to release them on the written screen/page.

And there's her whole obsession with plastic ("Beautiful Dirty Rich"/ "Paparazzi")

OH GOD ITS STARTING ALREADY.

Just edit, edit, edit, and just....dance...er....finish these bitches off.

In Which I Get Bitten by The Productivity Bug (and actually focus on something worthy of my anxiety)

Operation: Escape has taken its first wobbly steps toward fruition.

I am applying for a fellowship and an internship, both of which are through Chicago Public Radio and are paid and begin in July. I am so excited because I haven't wanted something like this in a long, long time. The challenge is something I am welcoming because I can't remember the last time I was properly challenged. The possibility of not landing either of these things would be far more devastating than I would ever care to think about. So we're staying positive, and only bringing in good energy. I will even start putting deposits toward my my karmic debt. Whatever it takes...(I am struggling not to burst into the theme from Degrassi: The Next Generation). The prospect of the fellowship or the internship leading up to a job with benefits is almost too much to take.

So I am writing applications and trying to let my best aspects shine through.

But I don't think "Killer Rack" is not something appropriate for a resume. I don't even know where that would go. Applicable Skills perhaps?

These things will keep me busy and I'll try not to think about the same type of things that keep me up at night(love you too, fluctuating hormone levels).

I like the way I look when I'm crazy. I cut back on booze and salt and other things that any sane person with taste buds enjoys. I try to walk 5ish miles a week, and I can tell the difference in the way my jeans fit. Its a great feeling. This week is my naughty week because I won't see Matt for awhile and I'm having my period. I'm allowed to be naughty, I just can't slip back and make it a perpetual naughty habit.

All along the western front...

And if my new life plan doesn't work, I'm opening up a restaurant in Santa Fe.

In Which I Crave Clove Cigarettes and Sushi

Well, here we are. The home stretch. Four more days until I get to see Matt again, and 2.5ish weeks until I have to turn in my application to This American Life that will ultimately decide what the french toast is going to happen to me.

The absolute terror of what is going to happen to me this summer has got my emotional state in the firmest of vice grips.

I want to move. I need to move. There is no way I can just stay in Michigan. I am firmly convinced that its killing me.

I am absolutely discouraged as far as jobs go. I feel like there's nothing I can do to be more qualified. I'm hoping with this internship, i can get the letters of recommendation I will so sorely need for grad school, because if I am going to get in, lord knows its not going to be because of my stellar gpa. I wouldn't mind a second bachelor's but I hear its not really worth it, and that I may as well just try for the master's. But as of late, my rationale has been this: if I go and get the second bachelor's, I can hopefully get a more impressive grade point average, make people love me so much they will be raping one another for the opportunity to write letters for me.

Total hyperbole, but you get the idea.

Moral of the story: not good enough for what I want, too good for what I can do. I refuse to cook or serve food (drinks are okay), mop floors, wipe asses (literally), or let strange people see me without my clothes on (unless I am a burlesque dancer or an artist's model). All I am equipped with is a bachelor's degree, a smart mouth, a head full of metal, an somewhat killer wardrobe and a righteous sense of self-entitlement. Besides, I have a better working vocabulary than most of the working American public anyway.

Maybe I just have to go balls out and not care anymore. If I make it to the interview, I might say fuck. All my most profane facebook statuses and most offensively raucous photographs will be prevalent.

I'm done with that rant for now, I swear.

This is all springing forth because of one lone strand of gray hair I found springing from my scalp this morning. I shall call her Lola, and now that she's here, I'm not sure if I want her to invite some friends over or not.

I'm here for your entertainment.

In Which I Aspire to Be Beutiful, Dirty, and Rich.

Last night, I fell off the wagon. Kenny was in town and I wanted to have a good time, so I drank and smoked and drank like my liver was still a virgin. I got sauced and sassy and made new friends that I can't remember, and said hello to the ones I did. I was sauced and sassy and I didn't care who knew it. (Drink count was somewhere between 5-7, alternating between vodka and whiskey.)

As you are well aware, dear world, my self esteem as of late has been plummeting in a downward spiral. As far as that goes, last night was just what the doctor ordered. I was funny and helpful and I looked down, and I had the body of a striptease falcon. In a room full of comedians, I was making them laugh (boost #1). There were dudes everywhere (my element), and I flirted because I was a terrible girlfriend and was miffed that Matt had seemed distant for the last few days (damn text messages that have no inflection). I have a problem with seeking validation in the form of attention. I flirted with everyone in that room and everyone flirted back: the guy working the door, random friends of friends, friends in general...hugs and laughs were abundant (overall boost #2). Later in the evening, on the drive home, my friend Stephanie tells me that one of our mutualish friends thought I was hot. I've only seen him when our social circles overlap, so its like whatever, but still. It gives me a rush like BAM! I still got it. Its immature and slightly unhealthy, I know, but sometimes its just what I need.

Like my McDonald's hangover breakfast.

No matter what, I'll be fine.

In Which I Feel Like Going on The Master Cleanse Would Not Be The Worst Idea Ever

Gross. Gross, gross, gross. That is how I feel after a weekend of absolutely horrible food. Delicious, yes. Skinny-making, no. So I think I might start this master cleanse business on Wednesday. From Wednesday to next Tuesday, I will be on a strictly liquid diet. These efforts are mostly due to my feeling absolutely disgustingly fat. I also have the notion that Matt won't love me unless I'm thin(ish). This is probably a completely batshit loco notion in and of itself, but I think that if I'm not perfect, he's going to leave. I can't do anything to stop him from going, I can only make him want to stay.

I just have to remember that I am the one that he's going to come home to. I'm the one he wants. Not these other flirtatious tarty women. There will always be women flirting with him, and I think the sooner I can deal with this, the happier I'll be.

And yes, I realize that you (yes, you, there in the fourth row) are yelling that I am a hypocrite just because I have had the habit of slight occasional flirtation. However, I don't think that my flirtatious ways have ever been the cause for worry (unless you count Devon, and maybe Mike if I ever get around to seeing him), but honestly, I am a one guy kinda gal.

Also, God keeps punking me. My mom made me talk to my dad this morning, but luckily my ride back to Kalamazoo showed up so I left without saying anything of substance. It was weird and I don't like it. He was really excited to talk to me. I have no idea what to do or what to say. Hey, dad, wtf? Kthxbai.

Life would be so much easier as an lolcat.

Less than two weeks to go before I can see Matt (11 days, but really, who's counting?), and I think I can make it. I have Kenny's comedy show hosted tonight, chicken fingers tomorrow, Richard's arrival this weekend, and chicken fingers next Tuesday.

I'm a driver, I'm a winner. Things are gonna change, I can feel it.

In Which I Get A Little Hyper And Secretly Wish I Could Listen To Butthole Surfers

I had a dream last night. A common occurrence with myself and millions of other people and life forms.

This is what happened in my head:

I am in Grand Rapids for some giant DEMF meets Lolla meets SXSW meets Bonnaroo type of music festival. Sweaty, smelly, hairy people as far as the eye can see. People and blankets and tents everywhere. I'm stumbling through with my friends (nobody specific, just a general sense of camaraderie (apparently that's the correct spelling)). I stop by a merch booth/table/tent to look over the goods. I remember specifically a t-shirt that had some illustration from One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish by Dr. Seuss. It was yellow with bright green sleeves. This little kid is there looking at the shirts too. He takes one look at the Dr. Seuss shirt and screams "ITS TOO BRIGHT!" (possibly prefaced with an "I told you", I can't honestly remember) and takes off running. In the first couple steps he takes he morphs into a greyish lop-eared rabbit (I don't witness the transformation). The guys at the table are chasing him in circles around the table/general area. I join in. We manage to corner him. I magically acquire a blanket, which I use to disorient the bunny and pick him up. He starts wiggling and squirming and I eventually get bitten and lose my grip. Bunny boy takes off through the crowd, and I after him. I chase him to the back of the festival area which ends up being a big university. I've lost him, but I go in the university anyway.

Its all a blur after that.

I told twitter that I have dreams where I chase rabbits, but they're not white and they don't lead to underland/wonderland.

File Under F, for Fucking Daddy Issues (let's be honest here though, if I had a file, I think F would be the biggest one. Everything's fucking this and fucking that):

This would best go in list form. I'm officially good and cranked and full of ADD right now.

a. my (half) brother called my mom on sunday. It seems he wants to get a hold of me. No big thang. We speak every few years.
b. I'm an aunt, it would seem. To a little biracial girl, I think. (I am certain on the biracial part, but not so much on the girl part. I secretly find this a little thrilling because chances are very high that I am going to end up with biracial kids myself.)
c. apparently, I also have a father? Apparently he's been trying to get in touch with us. I am not sure why. My interest in speaking with him is purely selfish and scientific. I just want to know genetics: heritage, diseases , etc.

that's all.

Fuuuuck that, I'm flexin.

The weather's gorgeous. and it promises to be nearly eighty tomorrow. I just might shave my legs for that shit.

Started watching Gossip Girl, reading Nerve, Jezebel and Gawker, and incessantly listening to Lady Gaga. Please don't judge. It's not so bad being trendy, everyone who looks like me is my friend. Please don't hate me because I'm trendy.

In Which I Identify With Amy Winehouse A Litlle too Much.

I have been Listening to Frank all Day. There were brief interludes from The Beatles and Ebony Bones but, for the most part I cannot stop listening to Amy's jazzy tones. I really do wish the best for her a voice like that should not go to waste *meaningful glance thrown in Whitney Houston's direction*.

I think I'm in the midst of my first fight. I can't tell. Damn text messages. Damn fluctuating hormones. Its a stupid nothing fight too (if it is one). I just made a wiseass little comment about how he couldn't bother to text me back last night when he finally texted me this morning. (Something about him having NOT fallen down a well.) He asked what I meant. I told him. Two hours ago. No response. So we'll see. I'll probably crack first, but it felt good to let my aggression out, regardless of how passively it happened.

In other news, I have to peeeee and I can't leave the lab right now.

Damn periods (even if I am thankful for the peace of mind they bring).

In Which I Deliver A Partial Manifesto.

Attempting To Reconcile (Vs.)

I'm mostly a good girl. I drink, I smoke, I swear, I fuck. I help when I can. Sometimes there are moods where I can't help who I hurt. Sometimes I just don't care. I believe in God and I like to think that God believes in me. I like to think that God laughs openly and often at the ways people try to reach him. I think that the things people do for God more often than not make him sad. it probably balances out. I think that somewhere between what we want to do and what people say God says is what we should do. I don't believe in sex without love. The end should justify the means. I don't know if I believe in Satan or a devil, but I do believe in evil. I don't believe in being evil, but I do believe that it is unavoidable and at times necessary. I believe in exploration. I believe that God and science can coexist.The existence of one does not negate the other. I believe in peace, but I am all too aware that people can't leave things alone. I believe that medium coffees at Dunkin Donuts are friggin gigantic. I believe in magic. I believe in talent. I believe in trying to find a balance. I believe that failure can be an option. I believe in a thing called love.I believe that God is not offended by it. The key to a satisfying existence is chaotic structure. I believe addiction is a basic, primal force. I believe in reincarnation. I also believe in making the most of the life you can remember. I believe in exercising ability to an extent.

I am a firm believer in juxtaposition and contradiction. It's all about contradiction, i am proof. I believe in proof. I believe that pop music tells the truth more often than people care to admit. I believe in playing hooky. I believe in anaphora and alliteration. I believe in all forms of evolution. I believe in experts, but not necessarily answers. I believe in excitement. I believe in abstract definitions of art. Let the record show htat i also believe in bullshit. I believe that everything's a little bit funny. I believe in benign abuses. The only malicious abuses I do believe in are the abuses of self and I know all too well those can easily be taken too far. I believe we are all crazy. I believe the best way to negate this is to acknowledge it, but not too much, Hamlet. I believe in the power of shutting the fuck up sometimes. I believe in the failure of words, but not as much as I believe in their power. I believe in language. I believe that the only way to understand boundaries is experimental excess. I believe in grabbing 'em in the biscuits. I believe in unfinished stories.

In Which I Possess The Ability to Talk Myself Off of Bridges

More dispatches from the west coast. Sometimes I remind myself of "Alicia Amnesia".

I have gone from crazy to fine back to crazy back to fine. Talking it out helps with little or no outside input.

I feel good.

There's no sense in telling me the wisdom of a fool won't set you free.

I can make this work.

I just had the most questionable lunch of my entire life. Pizza, already a day or two old, placed in a ziplock bag and aged for another three days unrefrigerated. I heated it to high hell, so I think I'll be okay.

Can anybody tell me why I'm so fearful? I'm afraid of myself and the consequences that my actions may or may not bring about, to a degree. I'm not afraid of vice- related consequences. I think the real fear comes in when we bring that pesky l-word into the picture and all that it entails. I think I'm so busy trying to be perfect, that I think I'm putting my own needs, wants, and sanity as the least of priorities. My ultimate nightmare, in addition to being lost and alone in pitch darkness, is being told "you aren't enough. You're not good enough".

Another problem I have is that I can't stay mad. I want to, but all that ends up happening is I get over it. While most people extol (side note, I had no idea this was the proper spelling) this personality trait as a virtue, sometimes I think its important to get angry and to hold on to that anger, at least for a little bit. I think this is partly due to the fact that I see my significant other so rarely, that by the time I get around to seeing him, my anger (or at least whatever negative emotion that I'm producing) has fizzled. And nine times out of ten, its about something that has no foreseeable, logical conclusion.

But staying positive is the only way I can reinforce anything that keeps me happy. Its the only way I can hear that faint whisper of "You are worth it. You are amazing. You deserve whatever happiness you can get. You deserve to be loved."

I have decided that instead of one raven tattoo, I want two, just under each armpit. The inspiration comes after doing some research, mostly on wikipedia:

"In Norse mythology, the Ravens Hugin and Munin sit on the god Odin's shoulders and bring to his ears all the news they see and hear; their names are Thought and Memory. Odin sends them out with each dawn to fly over the world, so he can learn everything that happens."

I like that. I like that a lot. Even though I have no Norse heritage that I know of, the sentiment is just lovely.

These ideas keep me from thinking so much, because yes, I have started thinking again.

"Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'Other friends have flown before —
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'"

Yes, I read "The Raven" today. Yes, it bummed me out. Yes I'm still bumming, but I forget why exactly.

Is that a good thing?

I'm getting all kinds of futuristic panic attacks. It falls in line with the quarter life crisis sequel (trilogy? saga?). I think its mostly because I think i secretly like worrying. I like freaking out. I want to bring this all up with Matt, but its not the kind of stuff you can say in text or even a phone call. Unfortunately, my next plans for seeing him won't be until April. I'm hoping he'll come home with his roommate for Easter, and I'll get to see and talk to him then. If he doesn't come back for Easter, the next time I'll probably be able to see him is mid April, like the weekend of the 16. And that's a whole month away. That's a mighty long time.

Loans are starting to not sound like such a horrible suicide. They'd allow me to live happily and comfortably and I wouldn't have to worry outright about moving and finding a job.

I need to start planning grad school visits. That's what summer is for.

My top five:

- Columbia College
- Northwestern
- University of Texas at Austin
- University of Gerogia - Athens
- Bowling Green

Road trip, anyone?

All the things I want to do today:

- catch a cup of coffee
- smoke a cigarette
- catch a drink
- some writing

(if we're really being honest here, in addition to the above)

- get laid
- see my old friends
- chain smoke

Things that might or probably will get done today:

- catch a cup of coffee
- smoke a cigarette
- catch a drink
- some writing
- get laid

Chain smoking bad.

But its settled. At the very least I can grab a cup of coffee (seeing as there's both a Dunkin Donuts and a Starbucks within a half mile of here (Matt's apt)) and come back and do my nails and read and be just kind of domestic.

I was also thinking of cooking one of these nights. I want some fucking spaghetti. With ground turkey. And maybe a bottle of okay-tasting red wine.

What I just said stays between the two of us. Okay, world?

In Which I Wax Nostalgic For The Unremembered Eighties.

I have seven minutes left at work and I am type type typing to pass the time and i can actively hope that I have to not deal with any more stupidity today.

I hope it doesn't rain (on me).

Yes, this is spring break. The temperatures have been spring-like, even if the weather hasn't.

And I get to see Matt tomorrow. I couldn't be more excited. It's been a month. A month!

Life is okay. I need to do a lot in the next 24 hours. Its okay, I have the rest of the week off.

I want a cigarette, but I have not had a right proper fag in quite some time and I have not had a drink in about two weeks.

That's getting obliterated this weekend.