Blockage

"it was a dark and stormy night..."

"The night was humid..."

"The night was dry yet raining..."

"The clouds were dark...."

"The storm...."

Excuse me for the absence and lack of posting. Writing a short story is harder than i thought and i have less than one week to do it. I recently saw Throw Momma From The Trainfor the 50th time and am now understanding the writers frustration.

I think i have been on "the wind howled" for two weeks now. I don't have any characters, any setting but simply "the wind howled...". I think if i heard a wind howl right now i would throw my computer and this stupid short story out the window.

Thanks wind and your dumb howling.

Happenings.

I got an A in 2 classes

I got a B in two others

I got robbed of a B in the last one (that bastard. Surprisingly it is not Mr. Douchebag or Lovely Environmental lit professor).

My head hurts because my brother gave me a cold. He's still as a douche as usual and i spend my days avoiding him so that i won't stab him.

Marie has gained 70 pounds and has dragged me to several movies just so she can talk about her weight in between character dialogue

My mom and I went crazy Christmas shopping and now we are both broke. But we make up for the lack of money with late night coffee talks and digging through our closets to examine old clothes.

Mom has also agreed that going to Scotland will make a nice graduation present ( i saw the travel books in her car the other day).

The grey cat is peaceful and content. Sleeping all day and chilling all night. But the other cat is dealing some behavioral problems ( pooping and peeing where she shouldn't be) and likes sleeping on the toilet.

I have a short story due in less than 4 weeks that i am having problems with. Plot, character, endings and beginnings are overwhelming me and i have that to thank for some sleepless nights and drowsy mornings.

My body aches from this flu like thing that i have. I'll be back in business once i can breathe out of my nose again and the coughing subsides.

~Beckett

The Short End Of It. Part 2

The idea of writing my graduate school short story is daunting.



Seriously.



For the past couple of days i have unsuccessfully put myself under a writing schedule. Wake up. Write. Nap. Write. Dance with cats. Write. Nap. Write. Eat. Write. Sleep



I have not exactly stuck to this plan though. Not with all the christmas stuff and tv watching.



It's not that i don't have ideas. Because i do. I'm full of stories that i want to tell and write. Sometimes i get confused about the technical side of things ( 1st person, 3rd person, settings, and narrative voice) but i know the first moment i put my hands onto the keys something will come out. Something.



However i have been unable to open up Microsoft Word and type anything. My fingers seem petrified to do so.



I admit i am hella nervous about writing this story. Every time i go to put something down on paper i think "this could be the sentence that gets me in to a writing program or not". And i guess the knowledge of that is making this process a hard one.



I've going to have to put my nerves somewhere though, chanel it so it doesn't stunt me like it has.

Enviromental Lit

I can not explain how much this class has changed my life. I enjoyed going every Tuesday and Thursday and my teacher (author, professor, and nature writer extraordinaire) was exceptional. I think it is the first time i have ever been sad as i turned in an exam. Not the kind of "shit i failed this test/class" sad. But a "I'm not going to ever sit in this class and listen to him speak about nature as if it is divine" sort of sad.

The exam wasn't that hard just long and thorough. I was one of the last to leave and probably the saddest as i handed in my paper. I feel like i have him to blame and thank for wanting to climb mountains and see the world, not just see it, but be a participant of it.

One exam down, two more to go, and portfolio to turn in.

I'm so tired but so close to the end.

Playing Favorites?

Two weeks ago...Well really...at the beginning of the year, Mr. McDouchebag said that we would have to give presentations at the end of the semester. Basically we would have to read a book by a creative nonfiction writer, print out some handouts and give a short presentation in front of the class.

Of course i was not feeling this. There was a time when giving speeches wasn't a big deal. I'd get nervous of course, but my voice and legs would not shake, and my determination got me through it.However because of a) anxiety and b) never having to do a presentations at my school, i just am not use to public speaking anymore. Yesterday i had to read two poems in front of my creative writing class, and my legs were so wobbly i thought i would fall over.

For the last two weeks though i knew we had to give our presentations for Mr. McDouchebags class, but i didn't read any books by a creative nonfiction writer and was wavering on whether i would fully commit to this 5-10 minute speech.

Thanks to the lovely people at the GRE i actually had excuses for the two days of class i missed. Monday i was in the library going over words like nebula, and on Wednesday i knew that after a four hour exam i wasn't going to go to class. I emailed him on Monday to tell him that I would be absent in his class. I was hoping that by today we would just wrap things up, turn in portfolio's and do evaluations.

I spent the whole night revising the essays i wrote for the class. I actually even took his suggestions to heart trying to use the comments i thought counted and discard the ones based on his personal style as writer.

Once i actually went over his comments, he had some (and by some i mean few) good suggestions. I stayed up until 4 am in the morning retooling my anxiety paper, and i think it came out ten times better than the original.

Of course with 3 hours of sleep I dragged around the whole day. But i had my portfolio semi done and was hoping he wouldn't bring up the fact that i hadn't presented yet.

When i got to class, some girl who obviously was nervous about talking in front of the class, was asking how many people still had to present. When i sat down she shot me a look:

"You didn't go yet did you?"

"No i thought we were just turning in portfolio's"

"No portfolios aren't due till next week"

Motherfucker. At this point i'm thinking what the hell am i going to say when he walks in expecting me to present on an author. The nervous girl was trying to tell me i could quickly run to the computer lab, find some author, run back to the room and then present. But she didn't know about my three hours of sleep, and i shrugged my shoulders saying "i'll just tell him i'm not doing it"

She just looked at me as if she just learned the Easter Bunny wasn't real.

"what do you mean, you're not going to do it"

"I'll just say i don't have anything to present"

Of course in my mind i was thinking "HOLY MOTHER OF...", and silently hoping he wouldn't be totally pissed. When he walked in i assumed avoiding eye contact would help out. But it didn't, when i looked up he was staring at me, he reminisced about the semester(I feel like i was taking a different class from everyone else. I did not have as much fun as everyone was making it out to be). Then he started talking about presentations.

"So i think we have 3 more people going, and then we can end class early" The three people scheduled to go, did not include me. He called the names of the last few people who had to present, and then took a seat right next to me as the three kids did there presentations.

I looked around the room as people kept giving me the "i don't think she went" stare. I was holding my breath hoping that no one would say anything. When the last person went, Mr. McDouchebag got up from his seat, went to the front of the class and called it wrapped.

????

There was no talk of me going. There was no general "piss-ness"(new word for the GRE) on his face, and he seemed actually pretty happy. And i was happy cause i had dodge an awkward moment.

He had to leave as we did evaluations, and when he did the few students left suddenly turned on me.

"You got an easy pass" the girl who didn't want to give a speech said "he was sitting right next to you, and he didn't say a word."

" I don't know what to say, i just got really lucky"

"That's not right Everyone else had to go" The Writer said as i walked out of the room.

I have no idea what to think about this. The man does not like me, or at least not my work. The whole semester i've been getting my papers back, marked up with x's and whole paragraphs crossed out. After the meeting i had with him about the short story he's totally been sort of rude to me.

And yet. He gave me a pass. He didn't say one word. I don't know how to take this. It was either incredibly nice of him or shitty.

Either way. I didn't have to make a speech (it wasn't a graded assignment so it won't count against me). It's kind of hard to hate him now. Bastard.

Classes are officially done. I have one take home exam and two finals. YEAH!!!! But time for a nap, i deserve it.

Here's to you GRE

OMG.

I basically spent $140.00 for a test to tell me i'm an idiot. Really? Did i have to spend that much money. Was it that necessary.

I wouldn't say my mood is completely depressed, sad, or stressed. I kind of a knew after i blanked on the word obviate ( :to anticipate and make unnecessary) that i was in deep shit.

From the annoying little clock located in the upper right hand corner, to the moments of complete daydreaming( i swear i spaced for a solid 5 minutes. My dream involved Javier Bardeem and bob haircut) i knew this was going to reflect poorly on my score. And poorly did it reflect.

My three days of studying and watching America's Next Top Model marathons did not help. Though i could have written a whole essay on the injustices of Heather being kicked off the new season.

I'm going to retake in January which will give me ample to study. Particularly the first or second week before school starts, so i'll be all refreshed from Christmas break. Plus it will give me time to study words like "jejune" and graphs and charts.

I should have sent my scores to Harvard just to give someone a giggle.

My number one school thankfully does not require any GRE scores so now i just have to work on a kickass story and hope that will be enough to get me in.

Gre- 1. Beckett- O, But fighting.

Graduate Exam

I'm taking the GRE on Wednesday. And i have this terrible fear that it may kick my ass.

I've been going over the math section for the past two days.

And there is a reason why i could never be a mathematician.

Clearly.

Floater

My mom called me a floater yesterday on the phone.

I called her back after the whole "she went on a date thing" so she wouldn't feel bad about going out with a dude that she likes. Though she still weirded me out.

I sometimes feel my life is stunted because moving on would mean that my role as the "child everyone can rely on" would diminish. Much to my pleasure. The pressure of being that kid is horrible.

My brother once said that i wasn't suppose to lead an interesting life just the right life. At 18 this phrase was even stupid to my ears. Everyone in my family thinks because i read books and go to school that my life is going to be just average. Despite all the actions which prove otherwise (my restlessness, spontaneity, humor, and drive) there is still this look that i get like "you don't have a boyfriend, you don't go to parties, and you have a book in your hand...boring".

I hate this because a part of me doesn't do half the things i want because I know it would involve me drifting further and further away from my family...especially my mom. Our relationships is weird. Good weird. We get along like closest friends, but i know that we are dependent on one another, and this dependency is holding us in place.

It's like we are holding this rope that binds us yet we are heading in different directions now. Not bad directions, but just somewhere will distance will change our relationship.The further we walk in opposite ways, the further and further we get from the dependency we have relied on.

This isn't a bad thing because the rope we hold will always represent our love, but our relationship will inevitably change. And i guess this is a little frightening. At this time we have come to the point where the rope is so tight as we stand on either ends. I want to let go because i see how close the life I want is, but I'm still a little hesitant because i am a little comfortable just standing there with her at the opposite end.

This was how i felt, until last night when she called me a floater. We were talking about Marie's potential new boyfriend (he deserves a whole post) . Every time i talk about relationships (which isn't much these days) my mom manages to subtly say"why don't you have one". It isn't phrased like that of course it usually goes "whenever you get one"

For the most part I've been letting the comments slide, but they are becoming a little much. It's like hey i know i don't have a boyfriend need i be reminded of it. Anyway, Marie's potential new boyfriend is as sissy just like the last one, and my mom kind asked me why Marie has no problems getting a boyfriend but i don't

Mom: it's just aggression, you don't have it.

Me: I'm not an aggressive person, i don't like to push myself onto people.

Mom: Yeah but you don't just want to float. That's what you are a "floater", you don't make any waves.

Ouch!

I don't know why this hurt my feelings so much, probably because i feel like i do make waves, or a least ripples. I understand that my life isn't the pinnacle of social activities but does that mean that i am useless floater of a person. Does that mean that I'm just average?

I'm not a floater. Maybe a glider, and observer. But i make waves, my own very small waves but waves nonetheless, it just sucks that that's how my mom sees me.

I don't know about this.

My mom went on a date.

"A sort of date" she called it.

"A sort of hanging out between two friends" she continued

"We had martini's" she chuckled

"It was a good time." She said more to herself than to me.

For some reason this unsettles me. I don't know why. She could even tell it bothered me on the phone, i became unresponsive and detached adding some "really" and "wow's" in so she wouldn't think that i hung up on her.

It's weird. I've never had to share my mom's attention with anyone else. I feel like a jealous cat. "She's mine" i want to yell to the guy with a weird name. With my back arched in a defensive stance so he knows i mean business.

"she's mine" i want to growl "there's no place for you here."

Someone's getting restless.

I've got the itch again. Dammit.

I was doing absolutely fine until i got to work on Monday and felt the happenings of restlessness coming on.

If college has taught me anything (which at this point is: Easy Mac is suitable for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Dressing up for class is stupid. If at first you don't succeed...take a nap...and then start all over), it is that i am a very restless person. I like doing several things at one time, i get bored with repetitive activity, and i hate feelin unproductive.

My mom says i have so much energy i should donate it to some people. Trust me I'm not a hyperactive person, my personality is calm and collected with a ounce of fun, wit and sarcasm, but when I'm not doing something (be it singing to music, typing at the key board, cleaning my room, walking) i just feel lazy.

My whole problem with grad is that I'm kind of sick of sitting in classrooms all day. I get up, go to class, try not to fall asleep, and then end of doing so anyway. I've been frustrated mostly by Mr. Douchebag because his teaching style doesn't allow us to be productive. We've sat the whole semester, read each other's paper, and I've at least tried not to cry from boredom ( at the last minute he thought it would be fun to make us do presentations, probably because he is sick of hearing his own voice. Of course I'm not doing it, for many reason. Nerves 15%, unpreparedness 35%, GRE exam next week, writing portfolio due, papers, studying 50%)

As a child i was always filled for a need of exploration and learning, and unfortunately that has not subsided. Ever so often i get this almost unquenchable need to go off and do something. My mind gets set on going to a place i have physically never been too. My legs get fidgety with a need to run and jump, but mainly heart fills with a yearning that consumes everything that i am. I want to see things, i want to experience things, i want to escape from the confinement of my life and just go offwith a camera in one hand a book in the other, and comfy shoes on my feet.

My boss (who i have to go in more detail about later) once said that in your 20's there is window of opportunity that makes you feel you can do anything. She wanted to be a painter she was 22, but the older she got, the smaller the window of opportunity (called nerves) became, and she was too frightened to do anything by the time she was in her 30's.

I don't worry about the window closing for me. I get freaked about my aspirations and the future like any one else, but there will always be this need (like i have now) to go off and do something. I'm so sick of just waiting idly, I'm ready to go off and explore. It's impulsive I know but behind my cool exterior has always been this ounce of impulsiveness that i try not to act on...but sometimes i wonder where it would take me. The adventure could be pretty interesting.

Enough of that. I still have an 8 page paper due. I finished my Jane Austen paper, and i must say it kicks ass. I was pretty surprised by that.

In other totally unrelated news. 3 weeks ago i lost a book. It's called A Map of the World, and other than it being wickedly awesome i have to write a paper on it in two weeks (for a final). So upon losing the book, i was frantic because i hadn't finished the ending( and i had a test on the book) and kind pissed because i hate losing things.

After 3 weeks i figured the book was long gone and that there was nothing i could do about it. I would go buy the book or get it from the library. On Monday i didn't go to Mr. Douchebags class because i had to watch a movie for my film class. Today when i walked in kind of late to Mr. Douchebags class my book was on a desk in the corner. I couldn't grab it because Mr. Douchebag set his laptop next to it. For the whole class period i was like "is that my book, what the hell is my book doing there, who the hell had my book, maybe that isn't my book, but then what are the odds that someone else is reading this book".

After class i waited until everyone left and snuck back in the room to get the book. I figured if it wasn't mine...i would keep it. I'm horrible i know. But upon inspection all my writing, drawing, and green undelined markings where in the book.

But the weird thing was on the inside of the cover someone wrote "U R Kool". Someone is book stealer. Who takes a book, and then returns it to the scene of the crime with the phrase "U R Kool" written with a pink highligher.

HMMMMM....INTERESTING.

Crunch Time

I'm so tired. I have an 5 page paper and 8 page paper due Thursday. So far i have 2 pages (okay lets me honest 1 1/2 pages) done on the 5 page paper, and the title for my eight page paper. I'm on roll....yeah....right...

Thanksgiving was awkward. The night i came home my brother decided to bring his new girlfriend over (when my mom wasn't home) and let's say i heard some things no sister should ever hear. EVER.

I told my mom the next day, who promised she wouldn't say anything until after Thanksgiving (for my sake) so she spent the whole weekend giving him the evil glare and i spent the whole week avoiding his eyes. GROSS.

The actually Turkey day went well. My mom made a lot of food, i over ate, and my brother wasn't a complete ass.

I called Marie so we could hang out on Friday, and so the label of "World's Worst Friend" would be taken away from me. I actually had a good time. Though she did talk about school, her friends, this new dude who she swears she doesn't like yadda yadda yadda. I listened, nodded my head, and i think inserted some sentences. We bought shoes, played Guitar Hero (we suck at it) and saw August Rush (her pick not mine). Though Jonathan Rhys Meyers is incredibly hot, the movie was a little sappy. It was sweeter than candy. A bunch of senior citizens and teenage girls ,who whistled every time he came on screen, were there. Marie and I sat for 90 minutes rolling our eyes and tapping out feet (the music was pretty good)

Came back to school on Sunday, slept, ate, slept, ate, slept ate. When my mom got back home she told my brother that by March he has to move, she used her serious voice and everything. I usually would say she was bullshitting but she seemed pretty serious. I guess having sex in house was crossing the line.

I of course felt a little bad. I hate feeling like a tattletale but i had no other choice. I had to cover my ears with two pillows just to drown the noise out, and i am still traumatized. Yuck.

Overall a pretty good time home. But i am back at school and it's crunch time.

2 more weeks of classes. 3 recommendations for Grad school in the bag. Not so worried anymore about frivolous things. A couple of exams thrown my way. And a new pair of Ugs to warm my feet. I'm prepared for the next two weeks and feeling pretty good about it.

Tired Eyes

Getting to Friday is becoming very hard these days.

I spend the whole week running around trying to accomplish this, finish that, meet with professor, take test, go to class, eat...and maybe get some sleep. By Friday my eyes are so heavy from tiredness that i crash wherever a cozy spot is.

Today i had no other choice but to find a corner in the library to rest my head. For 15 minutes i laid down, trying to catch my breath as everything continues to rush at me all at once.

My head is just buzzing with a million and one things, and even though i talk about it in on this blog and with my therapist, i am not any closer to sorting it all out.

It's all about my indecision at this point.

Indecision is the name of my game and it is kicking my ass physically, mentally, and emotionally.

I won't go into it. I don't want to bombard my own jounral with anymore headache inducing thoughts about post college life. I'm beginninng to feel like the narrator of some Reality Bites inspired Blog, despite not being apart of Generation X or having a really cool love interest played by Ethan Hawke.

I will admit however that i am extrodinarily tired and fearful. I'm tired from all the stuff i have to do to graduate in August ( yep. August. Not May.). I'm tired of feeling like no matter what i do i will always be two steps behind and struggling to catch up. And i'm fearful that after all that is said and done the whole busting my ass to graduate will be for nothing because i still won't have any clue what i want to do with myself.

Fact Checker

Last night while i was laying around in my very awesome socks (mailed to me by my mother who was concerned about my cold feet. Yes, i have extremely cold feet. I don't know what to do with them. They are small. And get cold easily. Damn)



Any who. While i was laying down i heard a knock on my door. I'm not really a fan of people knocking on my door. Cause you figure if they are knocking it's because it's an unexpected visit, and in a dorm, at least for me, unexpected visits are not always good.



The last unexpected visit was when two very craptatsic RA's chastised my room. Since then my room is still very "messy" and i don't answer doors anymore. But because the people in this dorm are very persistent, they will slide notes under your door if they can't reach you. I have about 10 pieces of paper that has piled up in corner. Events, Guest Speakers, Yadda.



Last night however i got a note under the door saying that i have not purchased a meal plan for the dorm... which is mandatory to live here. In the spirit of promoting a communal space this dorm requires you to eat in a dinning hall for dinner. Four times out of the week you have to subject---i mean sit among peers and faculty members and have dinner.



This sounds wonderful, if i was totally in to that crap. But I'm not, and i definitely didn't want to fork over any money for food I'm not going to eat. Unfortunately i have no choice in the matter unless i want to be kicked out of the dorm with my cold feet and cute socks.



I had to fork over 140.00 dollars (they pro-rated the normal cost because it is so late in the semester) today and now i have to figure out a way to abide by the rules without sitting uncomfortably in a dining hall scratching my eyes out.



I figure i can just run up to the dinning hall when dinner starts. Slide my card, and then leave. Or grab something small like dessert or a cookie. Munch on it in a corner and then leave. I know this most logical thing to do is eat dinner there (since i am paying for it) and be done with it...but i just don't want to to do that. AT ALL.



F*cking fact checkers who manage to find out that i had not paid the meal plan fee at the beginning of the year. I thought my magical ability to go unnoticed would work, but no...not this time.



I'm going to do a dry run today at 5. See if i can slip by unnoticed. I haven't done the slip in a very long time, i'm a little rusty at it.

Anyway

I think i have royally pissed off Mr. Douchebag. Although our meeting a couple of weeks ago was very successful and pleasant my opinions about him have not changed. He's still boring, his class still sucks, and if i had to make the decision over again i would rather hold him to high fabricated esteem than realize how much of a stinker he is.

I guess after our meeting he thought i would warm up to him more, like the rest of the kids in class. The kids who have shown interest in Creative Writing approach him all the time after class, ask him for recommendations, and talk to him like he's an old friend. Despite that one meeting, i have not done what the other kids have done. I still ignore him, i still pay marginal attention in class, and he will be that last person i would ever ask for a recommendation. I treat him like i did before the meeting because in my mind nothing has changed.


However he now gives me this very cute but weird look during class. Almost a pout, snarl, frown mixed with annoyance and disappointment. I at first thought "maybe it's all in my mind", I have a tendency of doing that. But today when we got into our groups to discuss the interview pieces we turned in 2 weeks ago ( I interviewed my Dad about my half-brother. One day I'll explain the story in full detail), i'm starting to think "I may have made him mad"



I wont even get to the fact that The Writer and The Other Dude in My Group didn't even talk about my piece. They just went back and forth talking about how great each others pieces were while i sat scratching my face. If they each didn't mention girls in their previous essay, i would have expected a full on make out session, thats how bad they were going at it.



They threw (handed back) my paper even though we had 15 whole minutes to discuss it (Mr. Douchebag mentioned we could leave as soon as our groups were done, so they totally skipped mine to head out early). When i turned around Mr. Douchebag was standing over my shoulder, and i asked him if we were going to do group work on Friday since we didn't get to my piece



Instead of an answering Douchebag ignored me and started talking to The Writer about possibly publishing a piece in a student run literary journal (because publication looks good when are applying to grad school.)



I just stared at him like "did you just snub me..." and after getting no response the answer was clear.



Maybe i did something wrong. Maybe i should have sent a Thank You email, for helping me out. I don't know. Now i feel kind of mad, pissed,confused all while lacking 140.00 dollars.

Flattery will get you nowhere...Well i take that back.

There is a girl in my short story workshop who is a total asshole.

I know recently i have been on a "calling everyone a douche, asshole..." but seriously i have encountered the worst people.

And if she really wasn't that bad i would totally not call an asshole. But she is.

Really

She comes in late all the time(which doesn't bother) , but then has the balls to complain in class about who he knows what(which does bother me). She talks with a foreign accent, though she was born in America. Right down the street in fact.

I try to stay as far away from her as i can, because i seem to be a radar for douches and douchettes.

Because the heavens are against me she wound up in my short story group, and despite annoying the hell out of me she isn't that much trouble cause i usually ignore everything that comes out of her mouth.

The first time we introduce ourselves (when we first got in the short story group) She had this to say to me

LD: You look like a Felicia

Me: Yeah...that's my not my name though

LD: I know but you just remind me more of a Felicia. Can i call you Felicia

Me: No

?????

She later went on to rename another kid in our group. I was pretty annoyed by her renaming thing, but took it in stride because well...i wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. When she introduce herself however, it was with a fake name. LD is just some name she came up with and wants everyone to call her that. For that sole reason in class i call her by her given name.

After the first introduction she harassed me again:

LD: I think we work together

Me: do you work in the library?

LD: No but i swear we work together

Me: Well if you don't work in the library then we probably don't work together

LD: I'm pretty sure it's you though

She came back the next week after walking up to a girl at work who she thought was me( and realized it wasn't), which she later had to tell me this "news" during our class

LD: You were right we don't work together. Funny HUH.

No. Not funny. What the hell is wrong with this girl. I can't even concentrate in group because i am silently shooting daggers at her. She's pompous and crazy which is the worst kind. Today she came in with a huge hangover, i mean HUGE. She ran to the bathroom in the middle of class, her feet galloping down the hallway in a sprint so shouldn't throw up on herself.

When we got into groups, i made sure not to sit next to her because i didn't want barf on me at 8 in the morning. Apparently a hungover crazy lady is the rudest person in the world because she spent 10 minutes tearing this guys story to pieces to the point where i was even cringing. His story wasn't good don't get me wrong (athlete doesn't want to be an athlete, gets in a car crash, is paralyzed. YAWN), but there is a way of going about not liking a story with...kindness. She went on and on about how "this didn't make sense, and i didn't like this part where...". His face was beat red by the end of it. Me and the Monk just sat back in our seats and watched.

After the tirade i said something to him like: The flow and pacing was nice. Just to ease the tension.

When we finished work shopping his story, crazy drunk student turned to me and just stared. I thought she was going to say i looked like a Katie, Stephanie, or Jessica....so i was preparing my self for the eye roll and silent curse under my breath.

Instead with his lazy eyes and disheveled hair she said

LD: You look really smart. Like smart smart. My parents would love you.

Instead of rolling my eyes, I blushed

Me: thank you, that's really nice.

Dammit I'm a sucker for compliments, if that was a compliment.

Not holding my breath

For the past two weeks i have been running around trying to figure out if i am going to graduate in May or August. Because of the major change(literally and figuratively) i have had a lot of catching up to do.

My overly enthused Advisor exclaimed that i was going to be graduating in May. Which made me very happy

But then i went to do a senior checklist with someone in the English department only to get shot down. I in fact would not be graduating in May but instead August. Which made me kind of sad.

But after a cry, pout, and a cookie i figured i could take 6 classes next semester, and a maymester class just in time to graduate in August. So i head back to English department, give them my new plans for the upcoming semester only to be faced with a "Oh you can totally graduate in May"

At this point i have no f*cking clue when I'm graduating. May/ August/ Never. I kind of wish someone who give me the correct answers though so i don't have to go through the emotional roller coster of "am i or am i not"

It is very weird to think that i am going to be graduating college. I don't at all feel prepared for the real world. I wonder what it is like out there?

The Monk

There is this guy in my creative writing class who i call The Monk. Usually i am a little hesitant with religious people especially those who kind of where it on their sleeves. I think it has to do with my fear of being judged, and having someone tell me i am going to hell because i don't go to church or read the bible is not my idea of a good time.

Though i am still not a very religious peron i do respect some of those who are generally into the stuff, especially if it gives them to tools to be a better person. This is how The Monk is, he's my age but is one of those hippie orthodox religious dude, with curly hair and a beard. He is soft spoken, wears these brown boats every time i see him, and is a English major with a minor in religious studies.

There is something gentle about him, the way he walks, talks and interacts with the people in our class. If anything, i was hoping he would be in my short story workshop group, cause he's pleasant to be around.

And luckily he got paired with me and some other people.

His first story was called the Monk and the Artist. To sum it up quickly a monk encounters a girl in a dark alley who is troubled and needs help, but she keeps denying his help because she is against religion. However the monk is persistent, and she finds her faith in life again.

It was completely corny and sweet, but because i like him i was not too harsh on him during workshop. I simply suggested that relationships in general are a lot more complex, and it's okay in writing to have your characters be angry, sexual, frustrated because that's what makes them real. I felt the monk should have been questioning his faith more (for some reason, maybe he has desires outside of the church) and that the artist should have been more complex.

I wrote a long suggestion on his paper, because the story had potential as long as he added more conflict between them.

He seemed to listen to my suggestions and i didn't think i was too harsh.

Because we have to write two short stories the monk had to turn in another story this week. He emailed us (the workshop group) his 2nd story of the semester yesterda and we are going to go over it tomorrow in class.

I don't know if he took my suggestions to heart, or perhaps he was approaching his new story differently...but my sweet dear monk wrote the most sexually explicit story i have read in a while!!!!!

Oh he inserted some conflict, along with masturbating mistresses and hardons. I had the unfortunate pleasure of reading this story at work, and my face was so embarrassed that i had to take breaks to get through the damn thing.

The story is a little cliche but here's the plot: a married man sets up a "meeting" with an old flame in a hotel. He is not happy in his marriage, and is looking for a lay. At the hotel with the mistress he contemplates why is there, questioning his morals in the process. The mistress, a very sexual vixen who must represent carnal sin, taunts him with her sexuality.

At the end, he decides he loves his wife despite their problems, and has made a mistake. THE END.

It wouldn't have been so bad if phrases like " I could still get hard" , "fingering herself" and my favorite "Do you think you need to get inside me to let go of her" weren't in it.

Holy Mother of Saint Theresa. I have been corrupted by a monk. I need a long shower after this one. I have no idea why there is so much explicit (almost) sex in it , but i was and still am very uncomfortable with the story.

I feel dirty, very dirty. No more suggestions from me.

Cancelled!!!!

Having a cancelled class in awesome. You get to sleep in late, catch up on homework you should have finished, and watch shows that you usually don't get to watch.

Having a cancelled class isn't fun however, when you don't get the email that class is cancelled, and you show up anyway...waiting like an idiot....in a near empty class.

Luckily I wasn't the only one who showed up to my very empty creative writing class this morning. Some girl, whose name i don't know but it's probably something really preppy, and a boy who is also in my Environmental lit class, showed up also to wait until we all agreed that we showed up for no reason, and class was probably cancelled.

The Boy, Michael, intimidates the shit out of me. He has this very abrasive, aggressive attitude which makes him a pain to be around. Not in the annoying guy way, or the annoying girl way...but in the "take it to the EXTREME sort of way".

He's always making suggestion on how the teachers can teach better, to make the class more efficient. One day when my very nice Environmental Lit professor handed out a set of questions he wanted the class to work on in small groups, Michael protested that the questions were difficult and we didn't have enough time to answer them thoroughly.

???

In my creative writing class he makes very hard critiques, almost bordering on rude. I heard him tell one girl that her poem was utter garbage. Not in those exact words, but with a tone that conveyed it. Needless to say, i avoid him at all cost, though sometimes(because he sits right in front of me ) he turns around in his seat and tries to make conversation with me.

Because there was only three of us today, i had to brace myself as he interrogated me for ten minutes. Did you do the readings for today? I wonder where everyone is. Did you check your email? Maybe i should go to his office and see what is up. Did we have any homework for Environmental Lit?

He was so close to my face as he was asking these questions i had to back up a little. He even went in my book bag (after i made a reference to a book are reading) and grabbed a book out to thumb through it. If i wasn't so shocked i would have cleared my throat, but i just stared as he went through my book, and then put it back in my book bag.

As i stared at "invader of my book bag" i instantly "geez i could never date an aggressive guy like this. I'd be on ends all day with him"

My mom keeps hinting on my nonexistent boy situation. At this point i think she either a) thinks I'm secretly a lesbian(not that there's anything wrong with that) or b) that I'm planning on becoming a nun (not that there's anything wrong with that)

I don't know how to tell her that a) I'm not a lesbian or a nun and b) that most of the guys on campus are abrasive and scary or I'm just filled with so much anxiety about relationships that i stray away from them.

It's so stupid that the one thing I want (and by one i mean several), which is companionship, is also the biggest thing i struggleg with. I know that i am this functioning person who is capable of relationships. The few that i do have are good, and my interactions with people prove that i am not this boring girl who repulses people. But i still have this lingering fear in situations like I just out of place and awkward

I've spent so much time in therapy harping about my recent writing lag that i have avoided the whole "social anxiety, stunting my social life" thing. And it would be really good to get my mother off my back about boys. I was talking on the phone with her the other day about The Constant Gardner, and that quickly turned into a "why don't you have a boyfriend conversation".

It was during my explantaion of why I have a thing against long movie's (I feel asleep during the Matrix and have yet to see any Harry Potter Movies because of the length) Anyway as we were talking my mother said "whenever you get a boyfriend i'll make sure to tell him not to drag you to any long movies"

It looks worse than it sounds, but it still stung. Geez.

Let me make some real friends first, and then i handle my nonexistant dating life.

Getting my Mojo Back

I think i may have suffered from exhaustion last week. I thought exhaustion was just some bullshit excuse people (particularly Celebrities) used to take time off from their lives. I mean every time i have heard the word it usually came after " (Insert Singer or Actor) has cancelled their tour or public experience from EXHAUSTION"

But after last week, i am not calling exhaustion a bullshit excuse anymore because i was completely drained and irritable. This semester is kicking my ass. Seriously. Sometimes i feel like i am drowning under the weight of everything. Simple task these last couple of weeks have been harder to finish, and i knew at any moment i was going to crash.

Reading assignments have gone unfinished, i slept in a corner at work ( and didn't caught), i missed my Film class cause i over slept...you get the picture.

My bubbly disposition was gone and replaced with an irritated one. I'm not one of those happy smiley people, but i am a relaxed person to be around. I rarely get angry, i don't like arguments, and i have about 5 years of jokes stocked up to keep people pretty entertained.

But lately i have been so drained, that i just haven't felt like myself. I felt like a train going top speeds, and suddenly I derailed.

2 weeks ago i had a short story due, and at 2 in the morning i literally was still at my computer nearly in a panic saying quietly to myself "I have no idea what i am doing"

It's weird because i know I'm a smart kid, i know my strengths and weaknesses: I'm sensitive, intuitive, funny, and sometimes even charming. I'm also a constant worrier, procrastinator, and self conscious. But sometimes out of nowhere, even though i know what i am capable of, i get this frightening thought that "I have no idea what i am doing" with my life, school, the future, and as of late writing.

I have to admit something....something i never thought i would write...but lately writing has become a drag. Don't get me wrong, it's everything to me, i wouldn't be the person i am without being able to write. I still am going to be a writer, become prolific and marry Sufjan Stevens. But my creative writing class is killing my love of writing lately.

I'm not use to this whole criticism thing. From teachers or professionals in the field i don't mind getting some suggestions about my writing. But from peers, i think it is utter bull crap to have them look at my work and then try to give me feedback on it. So far i have been working with people who don't give suggestions but instead ask stupid questions as to "why did you put this in here, the grammar is off, i would put a comma here instead of there".

Not only do i have their criticism to listen too, but then i have to read their craptastic work which is very disappointing and bland.

I now feel constricted with my writing, like i have to write either a) how i think people want me to write or b) simplified as to not confuse or overwhelm my peers. Writing has not become fun anymore, I've ditched all my cheesy story ideas for "the proper" writing style, I haven't written one piece of work that i actually like, and even blogging has become hard.

I hate admitting this, but it's the truth. Being surrounded by so called "writers" who worry more about comma splices than content, has sucked all the life out of what makes writing beautiful for me.

Writing was always a way for me to connect to people. In the 4th grade when i was in love with a boy named Nicholas, i'd spend most of the school day bouncing off ideas with him. We wrote a movie along with my best friend about some kids who were spies. It majorly sucked, when i think back on it, but it was fun and natural. We didn't care that 10 year olds couldn't possibly be spies, or that production of the movie would cost more than our allowance, but we just liked creating something together because it connected us.

As a teenager writing was my escape. I have middle school and high school journals full of entries about shit days and crushes on teachers(pretty much like now). Instead of writing being a way to connect to people, it became a way i connected to myself. Putting into words what i couldn't seem to vocalize.

Writing is like this natural thing, i don't try to over think it, i don't care about grammar(clearly) and I could give a shit about spelling. I just do it, because it's who i am. It calms me, restores me, and reminds me of my natural self...not the anxious girl on the outside who is constantly worried about what people will see.

But lately i have been anxious about writing , as i am about everything else, that it's wearing me out. Writing is my one relief and if don't that have that what do i have?

I went over this today in therapy with Toby. I have a tendency of rambling with him, cursing a lot, and expressing my real sort of anxious side. He's never read any of my stuff, but he seems to believe me when i say that i'm a good writer. He thinks that i am too conscious about writing, that i'm making it more mental art than a...natural one. And he wants me to return to a state when it wasn't a task.

I haven't been devoting time to actually writing what i want to write, and for this reason i am so frustrated and stressed because my relief has all been sucked out of me. I don't know how to return to that state when writing was fun, and not a chore as Mr. McSoulSucker seems to keep drilling into us.

Toby thinks i should give more time the writings i like to invest in, so it can become natural and free again.

So no more writing about how hard writing is. No more grad school talk, grades, or any of that stuff. Back to the natural, so i can be stress free again.

I took a three day weekend (yes i totally skipped class, wrote in bed with my pj's and slippers, and ate cereal) so i could get into the writing mood again. I think it worked, because writing doesn't seem so daunting anymore.

I just need to get my mojo back.

Senior Checklist

Senior year...how do i say this....

I'm stressed the fuck out. That about sums it up.

In high school i got the speech from my guidance counselor on how to make my college years go by smoothly. This is of course is what they tell all college bound students:

Freshman Year: Take all the intro classes. Get that shit out of the way. 101's, Elementary _____. The sooner you get those out the way the better.

Sophmore Year: Get to know your professors. By then maybe you'll have some interest in what you want to do, so take the classes that interest you. Make good grades, join a club or too. Yadda.

Junior Year: Hardest year by far. Start thinking about grad school. Keep the grades up, keep schmoozing the professors. Practice the GRE. Stay on top of things.

Senior Year: If all has gone well then you will ace the GRE, Have a solid GPA, Have some Recommendations in the bag, and Grad School "HERE YOU COME"

Unfortunately being someone who doesn't particularly follow the rules, i have come upon my senior year freaked out about Grad School, struggling to get the courage to ask for recommendations, finally pulling up my GPA, and that whole "staying on top of things"....Out the window.

The truth is I have no idea what i want to do. I want to write, i want to make money, i want to travel, and i want to have a love affair with Sufjan Stevens...sign me up for that.

The closer i get to the end of this semester the more i am kind of taking the whole "a year off wouldn't be so bad" mantra to heart. The only reason i want to go to grad school is because I feel like i have to. Like that's the next logical step. But when i sit back and think about it, a part of me would love nothing more than to take some time off, collect my thoughts, figure out what i can do with my writing abilities, and go on from there.

My mom says i came out of the womb rushing. I was born two days early because as she says "I wanted a birthday all for myself". Not only was i born early, but the doctor who delivered complained (jokingly of course) that i had pulled him out of a very important dinner. My mom says he was still decked in his suit at the hospital.

I've been a person who never likes to sit still for too long. I like getting my hands dirty, i like things right here and right now. It's not that i don't have patience, i just like to get things done quickly...so i can have fun later

But as of late this personality trait has been running me into the ground, i am literally wiped out, and struggling to pick myself up. I'm stressed out about a million and one things, and i am no where close to sorting it all out.

I need a vacation. A long extended vacation that may span a whole year. Like to England or something. That would be neat. A whole year traveling. Or interning. Or not being couped up in a classroom all day.

Sticking it to the Man

I know I'm avoiding the pink elephant in the room ( my dad, my dad, my dad) and that i should probably write about my very tearful breakdown in therapy ( I think i even made him cry) but because i am good at avoiding things...i digress.

Today I stuck it to my arch nemesis(from last semester), and that's clearly blog worthy.

Last year i took a English Class with Josh , this dude who would not shut up about how much he was really into English. He was sort of cute in that "I wear shirts with collars, and dress shoes to look smart" way, but i just couldn't get over his...sucking up. Maybe he really does like English, but he just kept going on and on about it.

Throughout the semester i kept running into him, shooing him the arch nemesis glare the whole time. If college has taught me anything, it's that i am hella competitive, and i kind of drive off of that. I hate when people say "hey I'm really great at this" only to prove that they aren't pretty great at anything (I'm having this problem in my creative writing class). So I put my guard up, and my fighting stance on as soon as someone starts talking pompously about something they may or may not be good at (however if their actions do back up their word, all is forgiven...and then i love them)

Anyway, me and Josh have the same weird advisor lady. She talks a mile a minute, has no concept of having a linear conversation, and gossips on the staff. I love this her. However her flightiness was a small problem today since it's advisement time.

Basically we have to sign up for a time with our advisor, pick classes we want to take, and then head on our way. It's suppose to take 15 minutes, and then the next student will come in and repeat the process.

I went to her office on Monday to sign up on the advisement sheet on her board. As i rounded the corner F*cking Josh had gotten there first. I stood back and watched him sign up for a time (scowling of course).

I signed up for 11:30, right after Josh's appointment. I wish i could say it was because i wanted to scowl some more at him on advisement day...but the time simply fit my schedule best.

So today was advisement day, and as i figured me and Josh were a) the only ones waiting outside her office because b) we were the only two who had signed up on Thursday. Unfortunately as 11:15 rolled around, crazy insane but funny advisor lady had not shown up. At first i was like, she'll be here in a few minutes don't worry about it, but the closer it got to 11:30, i was like " We'll who between the two of us is going to get advised if she doesn't show up. I mean my time is at 11:30 but technically he should go before me"

Feeling a little brave (because for some reason lack of sleep, worry, and headaches gives me a "i don't give a shit attitude" ) i walked up to Josh and was like "what time were you suppose to get advised". He was leaning against the wall looking at his file " 11:15" he said in another stupid collared shirt " but I've been waiting for a while, and she just hasn't shown up"

Being a person who just can't sit around and do nothing, i told him I'd go to the main floor and see if they had any clue where she was, and what we should do since she wasn't here. After a short chat with someone in an office, I was told me that we should wait a little bit, but if she didn't come after that time, to reschedule for another day.

Being the nice person that i am, despite disliking him, i told Josh he should probably wait a little while but reschedule if he didn't feel like waiting. Maybe i was making him nervous, or maybe he just had some where to be, because of instead of waiting...he rescheduled and then left.

I of course was going to give her a few minutes, before leaving a comment that would have went something like "where the hell were you?". After about 5 minutes, when i too was becoming fed up with waiting, i started packing my shit to go. But patience paid off, because as soon as i put my ipod on, she came strolling around the corner, apologizing for being late.

Me: It's okay, there was another kid waiting though, but he just rescheduled

Lady: He should have stayed, he could have still been advised.

At the time i didn't think much of it, but as i was walking back to my dorm, i was like "shit i totally delayed his advisement process by suggesting him to move his time. If i had kept my mouth shut, he wouldn't have to come back in a week, wait in the hallway, take time out of his schedule just to do the whole thing all over again..."

Of course i was saying it the guilt turned into a little happiness.

I inadvertently stuck it to him.

A Meeting With Mr. DoucheBag---Shit

So i know I'm suppose to hate my very hot but very boring creative nonfiction teacher (who I call Mr. Douchebag), but after a terrible weekend(slowly recovering, thanks for the reassurances) i was too tired to even hate him the last couple of days...especially since i emailed him about helping me with my short story.

Last week i went to an old professor asking for a recommendation and to read my story for any suggestion. She didn't seem to mind about the recommendation part, but reminded me that she was more of critical essay person than a creative writing woman, so she would be not really helpful in critiquing my work.

She then mentioned that i should probably talk to this professor on campus, whose won a buttload of awards and is really talented. My ears perked up, until she said "His name is Mr. Douchebag"

After cursing that I'd have to go back to most boring human being in the world,i caved and wrote him an email asking if i could talk to him about my short story and the writing process in general.

Less than an hour later, we had set up a meeting time via email(scheduled for today), and the buildup has been tense since then, like some old western where two foes are going to meet for a showdown.

I felt it on Monday, as i walked into class(still depressed and the verge of tears) as Mr. Douchebag kept shooting me a look Like just because i wrote him an email I would suddenly be attentive in his class...big shock on Monday when i laid my head down and spaced out.

So today i marched up to his office, armed with my version of the short story i emailed him, and waited for some shit to break loose(since he is a fan of tearing my stuff up)

Instead, he spent an hour proving why he may not be such a douchebag. I grilled him, like the rent was due, and he came back with really helpful suggestion. He says I'm getting the rhythm of the whole short story thing and that it takes a couple of drafts before i will be happy with it.

He was actually really nice, and gave me some sound advice. We spent an hour thinking of where my story could go, how to end it, and how to keep the reader interested.

Now i don't know what to do,he's still boring ass hell, and i still wish i had taken someones class...but dammit he actually helped. This throws my whole arch Nemesis thing out the window. That SOB.

Time to finish this story, it's due Thursday and I'm just in the middle.

More to come after a short word from my sponsors

Death Be Not Proud

I'm a wreck.

My dad called me last night, and ever since i have been crying like crazy.

Ever since my grandma died there has been this constant worry over my dad's health. His years of alcohol have no doubt taken a toll on his liver and his recent heart attack has made the once fearless man a little more careful.

He's one of those guys who doesn't really tell you what's wrong with him, until something bad happens. Which is frightening because i'm not there to take care of him, even though there is probably nothing i can do.

There was certain immediacy in his voice the other night, like he had to tell me right then and there that he loved me with all that he was able to give. "If anything ever happens" he kept repeating "i just want you to know that you, and your, brother and your mother were the most important thing to me. I never left you, and i never will"

My dad is like the strongest person i know, when i was a kid i swore he could lift cars, bend steel, and conquer the whole entire world. There is this picture that i hold on to with my whole life, it was taken moments before my mom came to pick me and Morgan up from our weekend stays. He is wearing this green army hat flexing his muscle with me and Morgan imitating the same thing. I am kneeling on his lap, with a huge grin on my face, as my pigtails are moments from hitting him in the face. But i remember it being the best night of my whole entire life, and i never wanted to leave.

I don't know what i'd do if my dad were to die. If i couldn't call him up just to hear him say that he was proud of me. I'd feel so guilty for not being there and for not having the words to say that i was proud of him too. Despite the divorce, and shit like that, I was just glad and proud that he thinks i'm the best thing that has ever happened to him.

I'm trying to put my worries behind me, but my tears are not letting that happen.

Creative Writing.

We have moved on to the short story portion of class...and so far....not so good.

I'm beginning to question if i am actually a good writer, or compared to the quality of the other students my teachers think my work is marginally good.

The drawback of taking a writing class is that i have to read 20 or so different papers in a limited amount of time. I could never be a teacher, i have so much respect for them, but if i had to read the garbage I've been reading lately every year, i may jump out a window.

It's like they grew up and their imagination flew out the window. I've been reading page after page of static, nonsensical, lacking emotion...work. And it is bringing me down. It's pretty hard to critique someones work, especially bad work, and then tell them how to fix it.

For some out of the way reason, i am actually pretty bummed...Like this is how you see the world, this is how you wish to convey it, is there nothing beautiful and inspiring in your words.

I don't know, but i have about 6 more papers to read, give critiques on and then return. I'm going to need a Sufjan Stevens break to complete this task. The have sucked all the creativity out of me, leaving a bland mess.

Thanks Dr. Phil

Thanks to a very special episode on Dr. Phil, i finally have an idea for my short story (both for my creative writing class and for grad schools). Trust me i usually turn the channel when him and his crazy looking wife are on, but because it was fall break (and because i couldn't find the controller) i figured I'd watch him for a little bit or until i found the controller.

I had some idea of what i was going to write, but needed some major details to make my story interesting. Our writing prompt is: 2 people who don't know each come into contact and find out that they are actually connected by one person. It sounds easy but I've been racking my brain over it for the longest time. All i knew is that i wanted it to take place at funeral or a wake, but the details were a little fuzzy after that.

Dr. Phil had some crazy story about a messed up family, small towns, a dead baby, and screwed up mothers. My story will not nearly be as dysfunctional as that poor family, but i was inspired to change some major details in the story and make it my own. If i get into any grad school based on this story i literally may have Dr. Phil to thank. That's a very scary thought.

I've been busy these last couple of weeks because of the amount of writing and reading that is consuming my life. If my nose isn't in a book, it should be. And if my hands aren't typing some short story, poem, or essay...well then they need to be. My mind is wiped out from all this work, and some days i feel like i may faint from sheer exhaustion.

I have to find two professors to write me a recommendation, and because i hate asking people for things this search has gone nowhere. My Realism teacher really liked me when i was in her class, so i emailed her a couple of hours ago to schedule a meeting so we can talk about this recommendation. I hate when students, just go up to a professor after class or something and go "can you write me a recommendation" and then them leave the high and dry for the rest of teh semester until the next time they need something.

I feel like if someone is going to write me a recommendation, they should totally be involved in the process. So anyone i ask a recommendation from it will be face to face, in their office as i discuss my plans and aspiration. I want them to feel like i came to them for a reason, rather than out of convenience. Maybe it's just me though.

I know i can probably get my Realism professor, and I have to stop by my American Lit Professor who totally dug my work this summer. I need one back up professor though, just in case one of my schools ask for 3 rather than 2 recommendations. I figured the back of professor either has to be my Creative Writing teacher, or Mr.DoucheBag.

I think i have one over Creative Writing teacher. His comments on my poems have been "i like this a lot but...", which is a little unnerving. But on the last poetry assignment, where i had to write a sonnet he simply wrote "Beautiful. Good Job".

I have contemplated going to Mr.Douchebag but i just don't see the point in going. He wanted us all to have a one on one with him last week, so he could get some idea about our progress in his class. Despite disliking him immensely i was hoping that outside of the classroom setting he would be witty and funny. He has the most beautiful face ever, he just has to be witty and funny. I spent all last semester dreaming that he would be charming and intellectual.

But i was proven wrong once again. Not only is he absolutely boring but i think he also may have been born without a personality. Most professors decorate their office with pictures of family and friends, or even with posters, magazine clippings...SOMETHING. I walked into the blandest office i have ever seen. No photos, no calendars, no pictures. Just a plan office with a very old computer in the corner and two chairs.

I was trying to my very charming self, but i couldn't crack him. He just stared with a blank look, nodding his head. I thought i was talking to wall. a very cute wall, but a wall nonetheless.

He wanted to know if i liked his class....and i lied like the rent was due "yeah it's really interesting, and I'm learning a lot"

I told him i was taking another writing classes, and he seemed to perk up. He wanted to know who i was taking...but for the life of me i couldn't remember, because i've been calling him Creative Writing Professor in my head. So i told him that i had no idea what his name was (it's professor Wright). He looked at me like "you don't know your professors name" and i shot him a look back that read "you just learned mine".

The meeting last 20 minutes and i was ready to go. He was boring me, the room was boring me, and his old computer was making noises. Before i could leave though, i got smile out of him when i told him i was going to write my "2 week experiment thing" in journal form. He smiled and then said "i'm really looking forward to reading it". This is the dude who tore my paper to shit, but he's looking forward to reading my paper.

Whatever.

Time to write my Dr. Phil Inspired story.

Thoreau Would Be Proud.

Pictures from my walk today. I'm totally becoming a nature loving tree hugger. Damn you Henry Thoreau. Damn you and your idealism.

Rubbing Salt in the Wound

I found this little thing this morning, which was slid under my door sometime last night.

Jeepers, Housing just doesn't give up. I am on a decorating mission for fall break. This is bullcrap, my room will be beautiful when i get back.

Until Sunday

Beckett

PigSty

Apparently my room is a pig pen.



When you live in a dorm you have to get your room checked yearly by RA's (otherwise known as kids who do nothing all year until the shit hits the fan and they really have to step in).



They are suppose to check to see if you don't have any illegal items in the room and if you do you are written up. I don't know what happens when your name is written down on the violation sheet...but in my mind they drag you off to some place and you are never seen again. NEVER.



Apparently everyone who is anyone in college leaves there door open, which is some sort of welcoming gesture for friends and neighbors to socialize ( i course do not do this, because then how am i suppose to dance to Justin Timberlake.). Sometimes when i walk down the halls i get a sneak peak into other people's room. Most of the rooms i have encountered are very crowded with stuff, not particulary messy, as it is FULL.



Because of my hectic start of a semester (read "I F*cking moved to escape noisy roommates and fire alarm) i haven't spent anytime decorating. I finally put up 2 of my poster this weekend and purchased this groovy footstool to relax my legs on. Other than that, i have the bare essentials(during fall break i am totally buying crap to deck this room out and make it home )



Anyway. The perks of having a single room is that i feel i can be as messy as i want to be. I mean I don't have another person sharing the room with me, and my mess is a contained one. Clothes in one corner, bottles of water in the other corner( i try to recycle), paper on desk i don't use, and misc. stuff under the bed. So i may have some clothes on the floor, and a open cereal box or two... but it isn't that bad. Or so i thought.



10 minutes ago, while i was packing for Fall Break, i had my first routine room check with two very prime and proper RA's. After looking around my room and asking a few questions, they went out into the hallway to discuss something (always a bad sign). When they came back in to my room i got this conversation



Girl: I don't mean to sound rude---
Me: [which of course now means you are going to say something rude]
Girl: Are you always this messy?



Wow.



Me: I mean kind of, Combined with the whole packing thing.
Girl: Yeah i know but we just want to make sure there aren't any cockroaches
Me: [Jesus Christ lady, i have one unopened box of cereal. Give me a F*cking Break] Well beside the spider i killed in the bathroom there haven't been any roaches.
Girl: You'd be surprised



At this point I'm like, are they really going to drag me off into the unknown for a few clothes on the floor and an open Apple Jack Box.



Girl: We just want to make sure that you keep your room tidy.
Me: I mean how tidy is tidy?
Girl: [looks at the box of cereal] A little bit cleaner than now.
Me: [wow anytime you want to get the f*ck out of my room would be fine by me]
Girl: I'm not going to write you up or anything since it is just you in the room but...
Me: I know keep it clean. Thanks.



Despite her "I'm not trying to be rude" statement....I'm totally fucking offended. She basically called my very contained mess a pigsty. Now i have, for the moment, this very puzzled look permanently placed on my face as i look around my pigsty of a room, and try to redeem some dignity to my space.



I feel so violated.



What a rude B*tch.


My mom would totally agree with her though.

Above picture is the scene of the crime. You be the judge.

Fall Break tomorrow!!!!!

Running on Empty.

Only 2 more days until Fall Break... i don't know if i can wait that long.

In the last couple of days i have become extremely stressed. Mr. McContinuesToSuckAtLife is assigning way too much work for a class that simply does not require it. Personal Essay, Interview someone to write a personal essay on, a presentation, a two week experiment to write about, and then revising all of this shit.

Now is making us have a one on one with him so we can discuss our progress and concerns in his class and i must admit i am going to mention that he has assigned a lot, especially since this isn't my only class or cause of stress.

Cranking out a short story is harder than i thought. I have to complete two for my creative writing class and to kill two birds with one stone ( i hate that phrase cause i really like birds) i am going to use one of those short stories for my writing portfolio for grad school.

All i have is a few scribbled thoughts on character, plot and setting but no idea where i am going with it. 20 pages seems like the longest thing in the whole entire world, and yet it holds sort of my future in it's formation.

Despite the stress i still managed some how to procrastinate this whole weekend thanks to Justin Timberlake and a stroll in the park. I do work better under pressure but this pressure is a little overwhelming and i am looking for a little relief in the days to come.

I am sure all this stressful mess will come out in therapy tomorrow. Therapy is going well, i know i haven't talked about it a lot but it's mainly cause i have so much i want to say about it, but not enough time to do so.

We don't really talk about anxiety anymore, but more of my relationships with people. I'm having a hard time connecting cause i always feel...distant. I am still in my thoughts entirely too much, daydreaming about everything and afraid to come out of my shell or let someone else in.

Tobey "NotSoMcGuire" has a different approach to therapy than Casey. He is more "get out there, try it and if it doesn't work...get out there and try it again. No big deal". I thought i would hate this approach the whole "if you fall off a horse get back up on it and try it again" but he's so nice about it when he says it that i totally believe him.

I told him about feeling to "mature" to hang out with people my age. That despite being goofy and silly, i always get this label of "wise" because i happen to read and write a lot. It's like the moment you walk in a room with a book in your hand people assume you quote Wordsworth in your free time.

He asked that if i felt more comfortable around with people older tham me, why i never made an attempt to make friends with them. As i was sitting there, feet folded in a nice leather chair i was wondering the same thing. Why don't i just hang out with who i am comfortable with and if they are older than me...so what. Right? He asks the simplest questions but of course they are ones i never think about. So i think he's helping me get out of my shell or at least teaching me how to to.

In an attempt to make try this mingling thing, I started a conversation with someone in my class on Thursday, and i think I semi flirted with the South African boy i use to work with (he only worked there for a couple of months before getting a position as a professor for a Computer Science class on campus. He's cute and he's smart).

I know my amazing group of friends is out there somewhere, hiding perhaps in a very cute coffee shop with one seat open just for me. I imagine my great group of friends will be a good mix of silly and intelligence. Nerdy but Cool. Book Smart but with knowledge on Popular Culture. And having some interest in Curb Your Enthusiasm wouldn't hurt either.


Until then though i have to play the friend field, and so far it's not as easy as i thought.

Getting the Athletic Department in Trouble.

To make extra money before fall break i agreed to work 4 extra hours this week at the library.

The library has the yearly thing called statistics in which they try to get some idea of how many people use the library at certain times of the day. So for two weeks throughout the school year someone has to walk around and basically count how many people are on each floor. It's a shit task but for an hour a day i don't have to shelve books, and plus the task of counting people doesn't take long so i get to hang out and not do work after i've finished.

The library recently added this called the athletic learning center, where the university basically decided to convert a whole section of the library specifically for athletics to use. Go figure. This athletic center is "designed" to make smart and sporty athletics, by providing tutoring and resources for them not privy to the rest of us. while we use old computers and sit in chairs that make noices, the athletic learning center has these cool black chairs and Macs.

My boss is pissed, because the space they gave the athletics was the space she had been trying to get for the past five years.

So anyway on the list of "places to count people" the athletic center was included. I was uncomfortable walking in there, but i'm not afraid of 6'5, +220lbs guys....i can hold my own. I think? When i walked in there a dude at the desk gave me a "what the hell is she doing in here look", as i attempted to make my way around the corner to count how many people were in the room he cleared his throat and asked me politely "what the hell i was doing with a clipboard and pen in my hand"

After explaining to him the "inventory of people" the library conducts each year, he continued to stare at me suspiciously but gave me a head count of people from his desk. For the last 3 days i have basically encountered the same "cold shoulder indifference" as i entered the room.

So today before i went off to do statistics I decided to ask my boss what the guy downstairs issue was with me doing a job i was asked by her to do. As i was telling my story of the guys kind of rudeness i could see her getting concerned and then pissed at the way the guy was addressing me. I mean he wasn't a jackass or anything, and i thought he was nice enough to give me the number of people in the room without me having to count, but because she is already annoyed with the athletic department being in THE LIBRARY she was willing to use any excuse to protest them being there...and i guess one guy being rude to me was her first attempt to bring down the atheltic department

Before i could even say "you know what it isn't even a big deal" she was calling the huge boss in the main office to tattle-tale on the guy downstairs. I just sat there like "what the hell is going on" as she was telling the very now exaggerated events of the past few days to her. I periodically had to insert "he didn't yell he just was a little rude" "He didn't kick me out, i just really didn't go in"

Luckily the situation didn't esculate that much and i was simply told to avoid the athletic department because they don't need a "head count" in that department of the library.

I now know how it feels for things to go from zero to 100. I feel like i almost got the whole athletic department in trouble for a simple queston. And though i can hold my own...i don't know how much of my own i can hold against big ass football players.

Another disaster avoided..but barely.