I Don't Know?

About 2 weeks ago me and my therapist were once again talking about relationships.

To sum it up in a nutshell: I want relationships, good ones, ones that i haven't had the pleasure of being in as of late. But I fear that in those relationships i will be a disappointment. The risk seems to high because the loss is too great. So instead i surround myself with people and relationships that aren't ideal because there is no invested interest in it. I cannot get hurt in because I keep those relationships at a surface level.

The man is a genius.

I say that i am working on honesty in my writing, but i think i also i am trying to be more honest in real life. I am trying to exert what i want so that i can attain it. It's as simple as that really. Relationships should be founded on some sort of honesty. Not an extreme divulging of my secrets and passion, but i have to be true to myself if i wish to attract the relationships i want.

For the most part, i know what i don't want. Self indulgent, materialistic, rude, friends. I've had enough of them in my life. But i still manage to surround myself with these people. People who come to me to talk about their issues. I always tell my Dr. Phil that outside the walls of his office, i am the therapist and i do a pretty good job of it.

I shake my head, put my hand on my chin, give an empathetic ear, and then follow that up with some sound advice. I could start a practice (unlicensed of course), have a set fee, make a little money on the side, maybe even pay off these loans in a timely manner.

But...

These are not friendships.And people are slowly taking advantage of this quality.

I run away from stable people, because then i feel like i will be the friend with the "issue". I will come in with my big ol' anxiety, and scare them away. It's easier being the therapist because then i don't have to face myself. I don't have to face my own needs and wants, because there are too many people talking about their own shit, for me to get a word in otherwise.

"Maybe i don't feel i deserve relationships" I remember saying. I'm entirely too comfortable in his room. My feet are always tucked under me, i slouch in the big leathery seat so that i am almost resting my head against the pillow, and i drop more f bombs then necessary. I get so comfortable sometimes i admit things that i would like to keep to myself, mainly that i don't feel like i deserve relationships, like i am punishing myself with these bad ones.

I have yet to figure out why i my punishing myself, but it is an interesting path to follow.

Of course he challenges me with a question about feeling like don't deserve relationships. He wanted me to list things about myself that actually make people want to get to know me....you know the positive attributes that everyone has...that sort of shit.

And i couldn't think of one thing.

Not one.

I sat there for a least 3 minutes with a blankness. Like "why would someone want to be my friend" It should have been an easy answer but it wasn't. I cleared my throat, asked for a water break and only came up with:

"Well I'm funny sometimes"

Funny. Like a clown. Funny.

He chimed in after my lame attempt, and started listing for me. It was very nice and embarrassing that i can't even come up with things about myself that are good.

So when i saw him Friday it was the first thing i brought up. That i can't even list good things about myself, how i am ever suppose to get to know people, when the only thing i feel i can bring into a relationship is...laughter.

He says my lame attempt had nothing to do with low self esteem (which was reassuring) but that i spend so much time being a therapist to others that my my own identify is submerged. No wonder I'm anxious, because the spotlight is never on me and when people start paying attention i withdraw, hide away, suppress all the positive qualities because it's too risky.

I have to find a balance, because thinking back on it, i have a lot more to offer than just being..funny, but no one can ever see that if I'm hiding or solely listening.

Time for homework.

Oh and Marie started a blog...on Blogger. I have yet to find it (and i hope she never finds mine) but if i have to go incognito one of these days (privatizing my blog...which i DO NOT want to do) you'll know why.

She's crowded my space even in space. Geez.

Dear Jane Austen

Hey,

How's it going. I finally saw your movie the other day (even though i've had it since my birthday) and i just have one small question...

WHAT THE F*CK WERE YOU THINKING?

I admit i have said some negative things about you in the past, and i still cannot get through one of your books without wanting to kill myself...but come on.

I do not understand how you can give up the love of your life simply because his family may or may not have dependended on the money he recieved from an Uncle who was not too fond of you or your prospects and who would disowned Tom if he was to marry you.

I know, the real Tom LeFroy probably looked nothing like the wonderful James McAvoy, but the moment Jame--I mean Tom said "runaway with me" I would have done it. I would have ran so far away without a second guess.

It's love Jane. Pure, unadulterated love, and we don't come across those everyday. We don't find a love who challenges our talents while nourishing our nature. A love who looks at you with stricking and beautiful blue eyes and says that "he is yours". Your's Jane.

So you have your family to think about, and he has his....but I've would have run. For a day. For a week. Maybe a month . Or a lifetime. Just so i could live in complete splendor with someone i love and who loves back just as much.

We are much more alike than i would like to admit. We are bound to our families with a loyalty that sacrifices our own happiness sometimes, we are struggling to define our work with honest characters and sentiments, and we are constantly defying our roles and trying to be who we are in a world to harsh for our own good.

And that's why your situation so shittastic and yet so relatable.

I guess that is why i wanted you and Tom to end up together. Because if you can find love being who you are and not who someone wants you to be, than i can too. Even if that means that i wouldn't have grown up hating your books to no end. Even if the world wouldn't have characters like Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth to fall in love with. Even if we didn't have cool adaptations of your movies that i love much more than reading your books. At least you would have Tom.

Maybe happy endings can't occur, but i just wanted you to know that i was rooting for you.

I'll even re-read pride and prejudice, because i feel your pain.

Sincerely,

~Becks

Honeymoon is Over!!!

When me and my suitemate had that awesome talk at the beginning of the semester i was excited at the prospect of having a good neighbor.



But soon after out first conversation i began to suspect that she was a little more loony than i assumed.



First there was the "popping up every where thing" which annoyed me to know end. It was that friendly, hey we just manage to be in the same place at the same time thing. It was more like a "hey i see that you usually get to the dinning hall early, so I'll just get there super early so we can magically wait in line together"



Sometimes she is really loud in her room, as she if she wants me to hear that she is in then. Like if i hear her i will have the urge to knock on her door and ask her to hang out.



If i do see her walking down the street, her hi's are uber weird. She'll jump in my way and wave frantically with this huge Cheshire grin on her face.

I guess she can to a realization that i was not looking to be friends. Because she has become just more annoying in everything she does. She still comes early to the dining hall and talks so loudly in her conversations with other people, as i drift in Ipod land. She still continues to walk past my table several times, and out of all the tables and seats in this dining she picks the one directly in front of my table.

Weirdo.

I know, maybe i am the weird one. Maybe she's just trying to be a friend, but there is something about her that is off putting. Like if i let her into my life, i will have more shit to deal with. And not that good normal shit. But that crazy psycho friend shit.



I've been having a bad week, and trust me I've contemplating staying under the covers and letting the wave of unease pass me by.



Work has been less than fun. Kathleen is still a bitch. Amanda has been ignoring me. And Debbie Downer heard me say something about her to another co-worker. It wasn't anything incredibly damaging (like "hey i call my boss Debbie Downer behind her back"), but it was an uncomfortable situation nonetheless. Especially because she holds our friendship in such high regards.



On the home front my mom is minutes away from murdering my brother. He is finally about to move out, but still he's annoying as sin itself. She resorts to talking about him to me in her closet, so she can rant and rave about him. My cats are shitting all over the house, in regards to my absence (I'm beginning to suspect) and Marie is conveying (over the phone) that she is depressed and angry about certain aspects of her life which i get to hear over and over again.



Socially, i feel like the privacy that i love is being invaded. I have opened the dam at work by being social with my co-workers. Now everyone wants to know everything about me, or criticize me. The private aspects of myself are being investigated and probed, and i feel all exposed or the brink of being consumed. This blog is the only privacy i have now and i cannot even begin to express how i treasure this place/domain/sanctuary/ and haven.



When I'm stressed i can't sleep. And when i can't sleep I'm grouchy. I could write a creative non-fiction piece alone about my relationships with beds and sleep. It's where i do all my thinking, resting, an re-energizing. It's where I've shared secrets, and snuggled with stuffed animals.



But instead of doing that in bed this week I've been staring at the ceiling because insomnia has set in.



So last night to relieve some of my stress from this week and perhaps tire myself out so i could get some sleep, i played some music in my room. Dancing always works along lip syncing. It was only 10:25 , and Nikka Costa was singing in the background. I don't think it was terribly loud, not as loud as loud as the boys across the halls emo music is, but i heard a knock at the bathroom door and thought "oh lord what the hell does she want now".



Crazy suitemate informs me that a weird noise is coming from my room and that she has some test tomorrow. If she would have stopped here, simply asked me to turn it down, and than said thanks, i wouldn't have had a problem with it.



But no. She went on in this condescending voice.She's much taller than me, so she sort of hunched over, clasped her hand together as if she was talking to a kindergartner and said:



Crazy Suitemate: So if we can be just a little more quiet over here (pinching her thumb and pointer finger together) for the remainder of the night so i can study, that would be greatly appreciated.



Me: ?????



Who does that. Who say's that. Who stands like that. It was like the most uncool way to ask me to turn down my music. Or excuse me, it was the most uncool way to ask me to turn down the weird noise coming from my room, as if i was housing a cat in heat over here which disrupted her studying. She stood with her hands clasped together as if i were a kid, and her tone was totally authoritative.

Was my music loud. Hell to the No. Not as loud as her talking on the phone. Not as loud as it was any other night, at any other time. Exam or no Exam.


Perhaps i was in a shittastic mood, or maybe i am just so over pretending like she doesn't creep me out, but i was seconds away from slamming the door in her face.

Even my dancing was being invaded. It's the invasion of Beckett week or something. I like that people have an interest in me, but apart of me is this private person. I love keeping some things to myself. I love that room is like my sanctuary, i love hidden places and secrets and being elusive sometimes. I love love love silence sometimes. Dancing sometimes. Or even just contemplative moments in bed where the sun is coming through the blinds.

I hate being pulled away from that, especially when it is in conformity to someone else. I feel like can't be who i am without someone questioning it, or consuming it.

So this weekend, I'm staying under the covers. It's much warmer and safer there.

6 more weeks.

Six more weeks of classes. And then i will sort of be done with school. It doesn't seem real.

I'm going to be a college graduate with loans and a degree to prove it. I'm going to be living in a small apartment, paying bills, and surviving off of pizza and beer (though i don't drink beer but it's sounds way better than pizza and juice.)

I'm kind of excited after some revelation from spring break (which will of course be documented in due time)

New haven is my definite destination now. Especially since I received my 2nd rejection letter today. I actually liked having the letter saying i wasn't accepted, it makes it easier to accept the rejection and move on. It wasn't so painful this time. I'm actually looking forward to new haven, though I've never been there.

Six more weeks of school, and then life is suddenly suppose to begin. I'm beginning to realize that everyone is freaked out about the future. No one has this grand idea of who they want to be or where they see themselves in five years. If they say they do, they're liars. I'm sure of it now.

Everyone is just hoping that their dreams and aspirations don't sink below the surface. That we don't become to complacent in our lives that we abandoned the person we've always wanted to be.

Six more weeks and then there is no restriction on my life. I can attempt to do and be anything. It's scary and freeing.

Six more weeks...seems so far away and yet on my heels.

Back to regular posting after 2 papers and a project. Damn you professors and your assignments that could have been completed over spring break.

Kerouac and I

When i find an author that i really like, i get every book written by them and indulge myself until i can't turn another page.



When i get older, i don't think I'll regret never having an MTV-isque spring break. No sand for me. No rendezvous with guys name Brad, Chad, or Matty. No drunken escapades, dancing on tables, or club hopping in Cancun.



I'm glad I'm not one of "those" people. Not that's there anything wrong with it, but i would rather spend my spring break lounging, reading, and snapping photos. If i had a car I'd be in it driving around until i was kind of lost. That's my idea of a good time.



I was at the book store the other day looking for My Sweet Audrina by V.C Andrews. I don't recommend 13 year olds reading any of her stuff. I first discovered V.C in the adult section of the library. I figured that since the cover had a kid on it and the title was FLOWERS in the ATTIC, that it could only be a fantasy filled fest of love. Instead i found out it was an incestuous family filled fest of love. After that i think i racked up all her books just to see how much more she could shock me. After i got through all her books (before the ghost writer started writing for her) i was a) freaked the hell out about ever having a step father and b) in love with My Sweet Audrina (the only book not about incest though it had something to do with rape)



I hadn't read it since high school and had this sudden urge just to spend the whole week with My Sweet Audrina and all it's characters. I have that sort of connection to books. Under the covers, Ipod playlist playing, cats at the edge of the bed, and some books next to me. I wish that was a job, because I'm really good at doing that.


So when i got to the bookstore MSA was waiting for me, much to my delight, and i was pretty much ready to go until i wondered over to the K section.


Me and Kerouac have had a complex relationship. When you read books when you are younger they don't always have such a profound affect on you. Hence Charles Dickens, who I've only just begun to respect. For the most part i only knew of Kerouac through my father, who i swear adopted Kerouac's swagger (and love of liquor). I knew of On the Road, and Dharma Bums. I knew of The Beat Generation and Allen Ginsberg, but i brushed them aside for well...Romance novels and My Sweet Audrina.


But i guess I'm in a different place now far from "that" land of fantasy.


I've been thinking about writing a lot lately. Ever since my rejection from writing school and soon to be new adventures in New Haven. I think a lot of times my writing reflects my state of mind. It's completely this extension of myself, which is why i struggled so hard with writing fiction. I can't begin to explain that anxiety that arose from having to create and write. I don't know yet if fiction is particularly my genre because it didn't come naturally to me like poetry or journal writing did.

Every seems to say the same thing "Your poetic Beckett" "Prosy" or my dreaded and least favorite "flowery" and i struggle with finding the balance between technical and dreamy.Which is sort why i am struggling with fiction.


I kick myself in the ass daily because i believe now that Creative Nonfiction is probably what i am best at doing. If anything else telling stories about my own life is not only a little easier but more honest to who i am .


When i say that i want to emerge myself more in reality, it's not at all about abandoning the idyllic aspects of my nature it's about being more honest in everything i do. For honesty is about acceptance of every aspect of yourself. Your past, your present, and anything that emerges from it.



Sometimes i don't feel like an honest person, because i hold back in fear of how people will view me. I am self conscious. And what i present to the world almost seems like particles instead of this whole unified person. Instead i feel cracked, and the cracks seem to be a hindrance more than a guard.



If i was more honest, i wonder, who i could really be. I wonder what stories could really emerge.The only place where i completely open is on this blog. Where i can let everything out, without too much regard on if it makes me look silly, crazy or everything in between.



For a couple of days it's just been me and Kerouac with some Stevie Nicks in the background. I like his style, his openness, and even his swagger. There is something brutality honest about him (in BIG SUR). He says what he feels but also what he means. There is nothing guarded in his words despite the vulnerability of him. He's the most honest man I've ever encountered (besides my dad) and I now know what my teachers mean when they say i write flowery. I guard my thoughts with complex and almost indecipherable language. It's pretty hard to read because i am protecting my words and thoughts.

What i am learning is that if i wish to write and be successful at it there has to be an honesty in the things that i write outside of this blog. I just need to let the words come up, and give way of the self conscious me. My words or life cannot be so guarded because it takes away from what i wish to convey and who i wish to be. Honesty is where the truth of who you are resides, and even if it's a gritty and vulnerable there is something compelling and relatable to it.

I'd like to be more honest in both my writing and my life. I know it's a vulnerable sort of action but it's a lot more true to who i am. I guess I'm just tired of hiding all the time.

Reality doesn't Bite.

Sorry for the lack of posts this week. I was set back by the whole wine festival thing and had to magically write an 8 page paper and study for philosophy exam all in one week. Then i have this weird flu like thing which does not make me a happy blogger. Being sick sucks. Really sucks. But it didn't stop me from hanging out with Marie last night.





We have been friends for forever and even though she gets on my nerves sometimes, i don't turn my back on friends. We can go without weeks for talking (mainly because i ignore her calls) but when i do pick up the phone, it's sort of like old times. It's weird to imagine that i have a history with this person. But every time i am with her, it is made apparent that history ties us together. We end up talking about high school and middle school, and i see the great change in both of us.





Despite feeling like crap yesterday, i said i would hang out with her when she called me. I was in the middle of this awesome lifetime movie about a psycho foster mother from hell. Me and mom were dressed in pajama's, eating leftover pizza, and yelling "that bitch is crazy" at the television, when Marie called. For a split second i was like "don't pick up the phone", but i was reminded of skipping prom with Marie to grab food 45 minutes out of town, arguing with people with her by my side, and generally being misfits together at our high school. And i guess history with another person won over my lifetime marathon and i said "sure" when she asked if i wanted to do something.





Apparently her senior year in college is not going well. After her breakup with the Ex which ended badly (he flirted with other girls, talk about her behind other people's back, and probably used her in more ways than one. He moved to NYC this semester, and is going to art), her 70 lb weight gain, and friend problems...her stress level is pretty high. And now all of a sudden, after years of talking about vet school, she has "decided" she doesn't want to go (though secretly i think she didn't get accepted). I mean unlike me, she is actually good with science and math, has recommendations out of her ass, and talked so much about vet school that not getting in wasn't an option. And now of all of a sudden she "doesn't" want to go and instead is going for a job interview where she will be dealing with farm animals. It seems a little weird, but i didn't push it.





She called her friend Whitney and asked if she wanted to hang out with us too. It's kind of weird meeting your friends new friends, but Whitney tagged along with us, and she wasn't that bad. She's really smart and Chic, soft spoken and has a nice dog named Oscar. We all went to a Mexican restaurant near their campus, where my already full stomach (pizza) was feuding with my chicken burrito. It was like WWIII between Mexico and Italy was occurring in my belly, and before both countries decided to nuke each other, we got the check and headed back to Whitney's place.





The next three hours was this pleasant talk fest. Marie talked endlessly about The Ex, her weight, and her shitty friend. Me and Whitney chimed in from time to time while she then insisted she was over all three of those things.





I recommended that she should start dating a lumber jack. Whitney agreed as long as he doesn't rock the plaid shirts everyday.





Some where in between Marie's tribulations we started talking about how much has changed since we where in high school. I mean we are actually the same people, i have figured that out. She is still loud and outspoken and i am still...well me. In the short time i have been home, i have ran into old ( and i mean old ) faces from High school and Middle school, who all seem to say that I haven't changed at all even though I have changed so much. It's paradoxical, "you are who you are except you are so different then who i remember" and i think it doesn't have anything to do with my personality but it's just that my wants when I was an 14 year old middle schooler in love with someone from the Backstreet boys, or the 16 year who hated my math professor like no one else's business, are so different now from then, that I don't even recognize that girl anymore.





I mean maybe that's the whole secret of growing up. For the most part, you remain essentially the same person your whole life (i mean of course change is inevitably, but the core of who you are remains the same) just your wants evolve with your experience and age. It was like this huge light bulb went off in my head, as the nice dog Oscar licked my hand and then returned to licking the couch. I am not this different person from several years ago, just what i aspire to be and become are very different.





Marie said that her major change from high school is that she is no longer is setting her standards low. That she dated the Ex because she compromised important values in her life for him.





Mine isn't so boy based (surprising i know). I think the biggest change for me is that I am slowly accepting myself, and realizing that my wants/needs are so different from that girl i use to know. I think before i was living up to this expectation of a life that i felt like i was suppose to lead. It was terribly unrealistic and so out of reach and conflict arose because i didn't have any idea what i really wanted.





I'm a dreamer don't get me wrong, but i have to function in the real world too. And I've let some of those fake aspirations go in search for more realistic ones. Or at least that is what i am trying to do. Perhaps this is where i am struggling now, taking everything down from the pedestal i have placed it on. I am learning that relationships, people, and everything in between are complex and hard things because they aren't some ideal fairy tale thing. That i being a doctor was out of want i wanted for myself, and i have always been a writer, even though I've denied i for some years. The person i am today, the things that i want for myself right now, are always the things i have wanted. This is the person i have always wanted to be, underneath the insecurity and vulnerability.






And realizing that makes my wants and needs, something worth fighting for because they are tangible





And there is something freeing in that. Knowing that i am completely the same person yet so different. That the wants that am fighting for right now, are all my own. That they are tangible as long as i don't stop here. Don't give up and return to Anxiety, or hide behind a mask of unrealistic aspirations.





Reality doesn't bite so much, it's just this place where you get cut and scrapped up in because something is on the line. Your happiness. Your sanity. Your security. But it's worth in the long run, at least that's what 22 year old me is saying.

Time for some Kerouac

I HAVE...

The Flu.

Damn.

A day before my mom is suppose to pick me up, and i'm coughing like no one else's business.

I need a warm bed, orange juice, and a remote controller for all the channel surfing possible. Instead (and i know this is horrible because of how many people i may infect) i have to go to work and class.

Yesterday i was coughing so loud in my Shakespeare class, he let us out early saying "you guys sound pretty rough". Swear. To. Bob.

Feeling like shit is shitty, especially before spring break.

Time for Work. Class. Therapy. Thouh all i want to do is sleep.

Best. Day. Ever.

So i had a pretty amazing birthday filled with wine tasting and cake.

I may have gotten drunk off both by the end of the day, but i was pleasantly happy as i passed out into dream land in a nice hotel, with presents from my mom by my side, emails that made my night, and the smell of wine somewhere in the room.

I had enough wine for a lifetime and i don't plan on picking up any alcohol soon. My mom and i drove about four hours to this event. We booked a hotel in advance, because she was told that there was going to be a festival and that ticket's were still available (though limited). Plus you can't really drive back home liquored up, and having the whole day in a nice town is better than staying for a while and then heading home.

We haven't been able to spend a birthday together in a long while. We usually just wait until i return home for spring break and celebrate, which is always a little weird since spring break is a week after our birthday.

Despite having a paper due(Wednesday) and Philosophy midterm (TOMORROW!!!), i opted to hang out with my mom on our birthday weekend, and to cram for test and paper this week.

I don't particularly have a taste for the stuff, but it cost money to get in...and why waste all that money, if you aren't going to drink anything. Basically in this large park, there were these big tents with vendors from all over the place, letting you taste some of their finest wine.

You got a wine glass as soon as you paid your money, and then all you had to do was ask for a drink and away you go.

They only had tickets available from the 10-2 sessions and by 1:30 me, my mom, and about 100 other people were stumbling out of the tents looking for a place to rest our heads. It was a classy drunken event to say the least. Old ladies hanging on to their old husbands who had too many red wine, young couples dressed in polo shirts or cute skirts stumbling down the street with goodie bags, and me and my mom walking aimlessly until we reached the hotel.

I couldn't have asked for more. We rested for an hour, before going on some corny tour that I honestly i do not remember going on. But my camera says otherwise, proof that one of us was taking pictures.

We had Italian for dinner, with another glass of wine (since we felt so educated in our alcoholic state) which literally made my feet wobbly. For some reason the last drink got to us, and we called it night. I think there was some stumbling down the street, but we made it back to the hotel in time before completely embarrassing ourselves.

Some people think it's weird that me and mom are such good friends. There is a lot of co -dependency in our relationship, but she is like my best friend in that corny cheesy Gilmore Girls kind of way. Except my mom didn't have me when she was 16, and we don't have relevant pop culture conversations. And i'm not dating or was dating Milo Ventimilgia. Though i wish i was (thanks Cheerleader from heroes)

So coming back to work today, i told Debbie Downer of my fun filled escapades with my mom. And then everyone else started listening. Amanda with her rudeness and Kathleen with her dry and annoying voice chimed in about every thing Poking fun and prodding at my tales of wine tasting. I don't know why I tell Debbie Downer things about myself, or anyone else for that matter of fact. Because as soon as they get some info into my very private life, they seem to talk it about forever. But in a prodding, poking fun sort of way that actually isn't that funny. It's sort of annoying though, because i feel like they are three hyena's or something. Looking and searching for dirt so they can have something to talk about in the office.

I know it's just a sign that they are interested in me, but i must admit it was so much easier at work when i didn't talk to anyone. No one asked questions because i didn't open up to them. I didn't say anything back, because i didn't care.

It's a little bit different now. I feel like i'm on display, front and center. I was telling them about my day, and they just kept going on and on about. Kathleen and Amanda criticizing it in some way, or Debbie Downer acting like i had done something terribly embarrassing on the trip. Like she was secretly there with binoculars or something. When i showed them the new bag i got, they wouldn't stop talking about how i didn't have anything in it. Like real girls carry more than just keys and a wallet and i'm a big weirdo.

I know it's just simple joking around, but sometimes i feel like i am being fed to some mood sucking animals, and i'd rather spend time by myself than listen to them all day.

Regardless of today and the three hyena's, my birthday was really really awesome. I thank all of who wished me a happy birthday and who sent emails my way (still deciding on what book i should get K!) It meant a lot more than that i received bday wishes from my friends here than any one who wished me a happy birthday outside of this blog.

Time to catch up on some studying. This cram session tonight is going to be horrible i can tell. Philosophy is way harder than i thought. Damn you Kant.

Leap Day You're Messing With My Birthday.

Were it not for this leap year, today would be my birthday. So for the purpose of this blog today is MARCH 1st. Sorry Feb 29th.

I'm still a sore from rejection but the wounds are healing nicely and soon the cast will come off and the scars will fade away.

I can't feel horrible on my birthday, though sulking is desirable. Like every year, turning a new age makes me feel like i am starting something...new. I don't particularly know what that new thing is, but it feels good.

I started this blog when i was nineteen, and three years later i must say i see a huge difference.

At 19 i wanted to be doctor, was in love with an art boy, was confused about life, love and general direction of my life.

At 22 i want to be a writer, am not "so" in love with an art boy, and am still confused about life, love, and my future.

Wow maybe nothing has changed.

Happy Early Birthday to me anyway. I'm happy to have gotten this far without being committed yet =).

Oh, and because i probably won't be able to post tomorrow ( my mouth will be full of cake, and my hands will be too sticky to post) I hope everyone has a really Good MARCH 1St. There is something really awesome about being born on the first of the month. Like i am silently ushering not only a new month in, but a new phase.

Dance, laugh, and drink some alcoholic beverage for me.

~Beckett.

New School....A New Bust.

Well the results are in. I think. And i was not accepted into the writing program on my dreams. Seriously.


I've been checking the website The New School gave me religiously everyday to see the status of my application. Some days i am confidant that going to grad school is for me. Other days i couldn't give a shit "I'll apply next year" I say "here i come New Haven and loan payments".


Though i was slightly leaning on the latter of the two emotions, seeing a nice "ACCEPTED" next to my application, would have been a ego booster. And who doesn't need an ego booster every once in a while.


So today i checked again, without much hope that i would get an answer of whether i was "in" or "out". But i happened to see something new attached to my application today, and a few clicks later:


APPLICATION STATUS: Complete ready for review
APPLICATION PREFERENCE: Not entered.


Exiled to New Haven. Better prepare my bags now.


I don't think I've fully ingested it yet. And i probably wont until i graduate and realize that i don't particularly have any where to go, for a whole year anyway.


I think I'm more torn up about rejection in any regards, rather than rejection from graduate school.


The weird thing is, is that i have been in a writing frenzy as of late. After getting back some shittastic papers from my professors all giving me pretty the same critique "good ideas. complicated to read. Work on passive voice and stating ideas clearly. Avoid prosy language", i figured "hey maybe they all aren't drinking some crazy juice, i seriously need to work on this"


Writing in a blog and writing for school (or graduate school) are two very different things for me. I am good at writing what i feel. My everyday decisions are based solely on what i feel about a certain thing, and that's why ( i think) i convey my feelings with as much clarity so people can connect to what i write.


I do struggle writing about what "I think" because for me that is based more on reason than feeling. It's not that i don't have these wonderful thoughts floating around in my head, but having to critically write it, is a struggle. Even when i approached short stories, i found it difficult to convey things outside of my own feeling.


I'm not really a fan of details, descriptions, or analysis outside of feelings. And as a writer, i need to find the balance or they will have to add "without a good job in writing" next to my "not entered" status.


I guess I am not so completely devastated because i sort of already know why i was rejected. For the same reasons i get B's and C's on otherwise interesting concepts and papers. I have not tuned the mechanics of writing to write...successfully. And i can't just rely on good ideas, or talent to get me where i want to go. I need the basics or as Kbyrna called it

" the accessories to the great outfit. Like, you're wearing totally kickass clothes, and have a fab hairdo, but your shoes are old lady orthopedics, and you're wearing weird plastic jewelry that NEVER looked good. and you're carrying a plastic grocery bag with all your shit in it, instead of chic and trendy totebag or backpack or whatever. everyone says: gosh, too bad about those shoes....bad grammar and spelling distract from the overall look. it's dumb, but so is wearing navy blue shoes with an all-black outfit. you just have to say: okay, this is something i have to do. and then you learn that the semi-colon is as awesome as a pair of kittycat shoes. and you rock it ALL"

Favorite comment ever!

Like most things it sometimes takes me a while to see the whole picture. I resisted all of Mr.McNiceGuy's comments until the end of the semester, and am just implementing them now. I've had this sudden "Oh i finally get it" moment. That "this" is what everyone is saying about my writing. There comments are actually going to make me better, even if it stings to hear it.

Like i mentioned, i have been on a writing frenzy since last week. I've been getting loads of inspiration from the gargoyles on top of buildings to people blowing out cold air from their pursed mouths. I just get this idea, slowly mold it into a story, and then have this need to just write it all down.

In a matter of one week I've envisioned several different novels, scripts, short stories, and even creative non fiction. I mean i obviously do not have the time to do much with them (since i am trying to graduate and fail all my classes) , but the mojo i thought i lost is alive again and i am in a chaotic creative place.

A part of what will make me a writer, doesn't have a lot to do with grad school, it has a lot to do with tuning my problem areas, finishing the stories that i wish to write, balancing the creative with the mechanical, and having the self confidence in both my work and myself to succeed. And i don't think they can teach me that in grad school, and it's probably something they look for in a applicant. And honestly in December and even right now, i wouldn't even accept me.

It still sucks being REJECTED, but i have a whole year to work on developing my craft. I might even learn something in the process.

No time to week for i have a test tomorrow and i must prepare for birthday festivities. Tomorrow my mom is stealing me away to a place with lots of cake, food and possibly wine. What more can a girl ask for.

Dance. Dance

Before i took a class with Mr. Mc[insert name here] i had a dream about him which involved dancing.

From what i remember, i was taking a creative writing class with Mr. Mc[___] (go figure). He wanted the class to get up, and learn some dance moves, to get the creative side of us up and jumping.

There were these painted shoe imprints on the floor, that we were suppose to follow. I was following the moves pretty well, freely dancing to the music playing only in my head. Mr. McNotSoBadOfAGuy started walking through the aisles complementing everyone on their moves. When he got to me however, he began kicking at my feet, messing up my perfectly coordinated moves. It was rather frustrating and irritating.

And then i woke up.

I remember wanting to figure out what the dream meant because it was the first dancing dream i remember having. And Plus My dream guy made an appearance. I learned that to dream of dancing signifies: freedom from constraints and harmony/balance with yourself. You are working in cooperation with yourself. It also represents frivolity, happiness, gracefulness, sensuality and sexual desires. Alternatively, it may signify intimacy and a union of the masculine and feminine aspects of yourself.

I was content with the definition of the dancing part but i still wanted to know why Mr.McNotSoBadOfAGuyButQuestionableAsTeacher, was kicking at my feet. Especially since up to that point, i had only seen him walking around campus and was madly in love with his face. When i went to therapy later that week, Casey said that the professor was probably a symbol for anxiety. That having the disorder is attractive because it promises security by making me so distant from people ( i had talked about anxiety resembling a person once) and that this alluring thing was causing me to be off balance, causing a great disconnect.

Her analysis sounded good to me and i bought it.

Today i felt off balanced, more than unusual. I was ready to hide my head under some covers and call it wrap. I went to my religion class where i got my test back. I didn't fail it, but it was sucktastic. An A was demoted to a C because i either a) over looked the directions or b) my professor is old and senile. I wish i could say it were the latter but he took the exams back and i just don't remember if he or I was at fault. Either way, i was pretty pissed after i got my test back and wanted to sulk for a little while.

After the disappointing grade, i had to go to work today. I just wanted to be by myself. Some days i'm just in my head. I like to camp out in my thoughts, and have some time to collect myself. But Amanda came over to my section during mid "introspective moment" and started talking about her boyfriend. She did ask me how i was doing, but then quickly changed the conversation to herself.

After that, i couldn't even be sad, mad or angry...because i had to have a smile on my face or everyone would ask what was wrong. I don't have melancholy days, but sometimes i just want to be in my own head. It's the whole introverted part of me, where i just want to float around in my own thoughts. I'll come up for air eventually, if you give me time.

But i was sort of forced into happiness today, and i hated it. They still joked around and gently teased me, as i was completely not feeling it. Amanda was sort of rude as usual, and i was on defense like always. I did a horrible time training this new dude who is potentially crush worthy (GREY EYES!!!!) in that "i am sort of emo way". I'm not into emo kids, but whatever. And tomorrow i have to see the result of my horrible training and then probably be teased about it.

After work, i went to Shakespeare. I'm performing average in that class and i don't know why. Yes, my professor is very nice but the class is dragging (much to our fault). Then i got my paper back on Titus Andronicus. It was pretty wicked awesome, i thought, on why Rome is a wilderness. When i got the paper back however, a big ol' B- was on it Followed by:

You are too prosy! Nice argument but prose gets in the way.

After that i was pretty much done with him and that class, because he was telling the truth and it hurt.

By the time Shakespeare was over, i was tense from the whole day. So tense that i felt like i couldn't breathe. I had to go to the dinning hall after class, where crazy suite mate was hamming it up with the people next to me. There just something about her that creeps me out. I don't know what it is. She continued her sort of running into me, "excuse me" "hey Beckett" "excuse me again" thing. Eagerness is just not attractive. The day had already sucked, and i sprinted out of the dinning hall with a cookie hanging from my mouth, and GQ magazine on my mind (Hell Eric Bana).

When i got back to my room, i sort of wanted to collapse on the bed. Hide under the covers. And weep. I don't find crying so embarrassing anymore. It's sort of a relief. My day wasn't terrible but i was so tense i needed some relief and crying seemed the best thing to do.

I hate those days when I feel like my best isn't the best. On a test, at work, in front of other people. I hate feeling embarrassed about who i am, or who i aspire to be. I hate being awkward and withdrawn some days and so introspective that it comes off as distant. I hate that all those things made me tense today. So tense that i wanted to cry for some release.

And then i thought back to the dream. Mr.McOkayGuy kicking at my feet, throwing me off balance and having a hell of a time doing it, with his gorgeous face. And i realized that today i was relying on anxiety to protect me. I wanted to hide from the day and myself, and let anxiety tell me that everything was going to be okay. Some days anxiety isn't a big deal and other days it lures me back in with promises of safety.

Damn Anxiety.

I want to feel balanced. I don't want to feel disconnected or self consciousness anymore. I am proving everyday that I'm more blooming flower than wilting stem. And yet i don't implement that into my everyday life. But instead of crying about every thing...i danced. Because i don't want to be constricted by self doubt everyday.

I twirled, stomped, moved, and jumped. Not in any particular way or rhythm just in a "i don't want to be embarrassed with who" i am way. In all the parts of me. The prosy part, the introspective part, and the sullen part. I just want to be congruent and connected, and not so unbalanced. I don't want anxiety kicking at my feet anymore, no matter how attractive "he" is.

It was like footloose and Flashdance, but at least i didn't almost sprain my ankle this time.

I just wanted to throw it in anxiety's face, that even though it's kicking me and knocking me off balance some days, I'm still moving, I'm still dancing, cause I'm still looking for the balance in life i desire.

I don't know if it worked, but dancing sure was fun and at least for a moment i felt balanced in the chaos of moving freely.

I'd recommend it for those Monday blues.

The Masquerade Ball.

I'm beginning to think that everyone is lying about there so called happy lives. Or at least that is what i am telling myself, to convince me of my own happiness with my life. Who knows.

It's been a frustrating week, and my therapist got to hear all of my frustrations yesterday afternoon.

Sometimes I think it is weird that i go to therapy. That i have social anxiety, that I'm self conscious, and worrisome. Especially when some days I don't see myself as this horribly screwed up person. Not compared to everyone else i encounter throughout the day.

There is a part of me that is introverted and reserved. I like staying in bed longer than i need too. On weekends, i don't need some excuse to leave the comfort of my room. I like staying under the covers and lying in bed, until my bones feel ready to get up. It's warm under the comforter. That sort of warm that reminds you of a first sip of cocoa or something. With a book i swear that i am going to finish eventually (Atlas Shrugged) or a note pad to write my thoughts on, i like the quiet moments of life, especially in the morning. I just pull up the blinds, so my room can get some sun, turn on some Sufjan Stevens and enjoy my time alone. The beauty of it is only broken when a voice from the hallway breaks the solitude.

I am happy with the simple aspects of life. I don't call it mediocre. But simple. And i guess the friends that i am looking for will be as content with the simple aspects of their life too. Of course people are complicated, that's what is alluring about us, but i want friends who enjoy the silence as much as the big bang.

There of course are the other parts of me that are extroverted. I'm silly and goofy and tad bit adventurous. But i cherish the contemplative side more. Because it's more intimate and real.

But this week, it seems like people are flaunting there lives in my face, as if i should take note, and follow suit and I too will live the "wonderful life".

Despite my anxiety, self consciousness, and all the in betweens, some days i am pleasantly happy with my life. Those days don't come often, but lately I've been feeling that high. Even with the bullshit parts of my life, i can find an element of it that makes me happy. I understand that i don't have the relationships that i desire, but the person i have been able to become from my alone time, is pretty amazing.

Unfortunately this content high with the solitary life isn't catching on.


Amanda has extremely been bitchy this week. With the introduction of Chad, and this other guy at work (Alex), she has ditched me hard core for inappropriate elevator rides and giggles. Yes it's been only three days (including Wednesday) since he's (the Chad) been there but the bitch has come out. In front of any guy she finds attractive at the office, she has this need to antagonize me in front of them. Why do you wear your hair like that? Why are you wearing that shirt? Yadda, yadda, yadda. In place of my "non femininity" she asserts her own, after she makes her comments about me. As if she is better than me in some way, because i'm not a girl whose flashy.


The suitemate, who i had an amazing conversation with at the beginning of this semester, is a total loony bird. Other than that night, i've haven't said much too her just hi whenever i see her. But sometimes i feel like i see her too much, like those accidental bump in's aren't really accidental. One weekend i saw her at least five times, and all five times we said hi. At first i was like, yeah she wants to be my friend, that's cool, but now i'm like "this bitch is crazy".

I have to eat in a dinning hall four days out of the week to live in my dorm. It sucks hard core. Not only do i not want to be there, but i have to force myself to eat. I have come to a point where i don't mind sitting alone. One day when we were both waiting for the door to open i started a conversation with her. To be friendly. As soon as we get into the dinning, and i take my seat she keeps walking in front of my table as if i was suppose to wave her over. She did it so many times, trying to get my attention but i just kept pretending like i was eating.

She has also begun talking loudly on her phone in her room, as to signify she is in there and having a blast talking to whoever is on the other end (which i suspect is no one). Then on Wednesday,we were waiting outside again. We were sort of talking, and then I started listening to my music again. She looked over at this girl who was standing next to her and complimented her on the shirt she was wearing. The girl said thank you, and then returned talking to her friend. When i took my seat a couple of minutes later, the suitemate made a note of passing right by me, and sitting next to the girl who she complimented. The girl and her friends made a weird look, like "who they hell are you". It was as if she throwing it in my face, this fake pseudo happiness with friends, as i sat down by myself thoroughly enjoying my book and salad.

It's been a week of people throwing their lives in my face, even if they don't realize it. And as it happens, I wonder what's so wrong with my life that people criticize it. I mean Amanda has such a shittastic relationship and loony bird, recently had the campus police over because some girl threatened to kick her ass.

Whether it be a girl who decides to grab her boyfriends had and tenderly draw into him as i approach, or two people who decide to get rather chatty as soon I step into line. I'm to think that everyone is just lying. That some aspects of relationships are just for show. Like people validate themselves the presence of others. Because if you are seen with someone, then that means you are loved, and you are special, and a loner like me.

A loner who sometimes doesn't mind being alone.

Liars. Pleasantly content liars.

I'm not saying that everyone is liar. But there is something odd about having to validate your normalcy in public. And maybe it's because i'm a private and reserved person, i just don't get the need to do so. I would rather have the strong friendships behind closed doors, than fake one's that everyone can see and envy.

Sometimes i feel like everyone is wearing a mask. Like i'm attending a masquerade ball, but i'm the only one who didn't get the memo. Everyone is wearing the my life is beautiful mask. Because i have friends, and a boyfriend, and smiles and laughs. And it's fucking irritating. Very irritating, because even though i know under those fake smiling faces, is a complicated person afraid to be flawed, i want too want to slip on that mask every once in a while, and pretend just like everyone else that "everything is beautiful and nothing hurts".

But i guess i'm not that good of a liar.

The Chad.

Today The Chad should up (i'll explain the nickname later. Unless you already know the Seinfeld connection).

After disappointing a handful of girls yesterday with his absence, i figured Chad wanted more with his college life than to be stuck in a library most of the day shelving books. Like Amanda's proclamation yesterday morning "i was pretty much over the whole Chad thing". Well except for continuing to write about him in my blog, but i find this situation extremely funny and interesting.

After my Buddhism class, i headed to the library and again as soon as i walked in i heard "Beckett your boyfriend is outside". Apparently i am the only single person (besides Debbie Downer) in our department and they assumed i would be the one trying to get his attention. I don't know if they are just teasing me about it, because i am not a flitartous person or they wish they were in my position to flirt with him openly without getting in trouble with their boyfriends. Either way i was pretty annoyed with everyone assuming i would go after him. Or that there would be this mutual attraction that compelled us to each other.

"My who/what is outside" i asked, like i didn't know what they were talking about. My boss went on to say that Chad was outside, and it would nice if I introduced myself to him, because apparently that is what i normally do (NOT). There is this guy who works with me named Britton (no seriously), he's sort of your slightly over weight best friend. Sarcastic, dry humor, that sort of the thing. Until recently, i didn't really talk to him. But we bonded over this horribly "not suppose to be funny-but actually sort of is funny in the i'm going to hell way" cover of a book. Ever since then whenever we see each we make reference to the book and laugh.

Anyway. Britton was in there, stalling because he didn't want to get to work so he was listening to Debbie Downer talk about Chad. Maybe it's because she hasn't had much love in a while, but she has a thing bad for Chad. My boss does this thing where she exerts her personality traits on me, just because we share some things in common. Sometimes i feel like she puts words or experiences in my mouth just so we can relate. I understand that she sees something in me that reminds her of her youth. But after a while it's sort of weird. Like she is trying to live out her fantasy though other people.

So when i walked in, she wanted me to go say hi to Chad. She said it with a wink and a blush. I hadn't had my coffee yet, and was not into seeing anyone until i got it in my system. As i was walking out to go get my coffee before seeing Chad, Britton said he would come with me so i didn't have to introduce myself to him alone.

As we headed through the aisle looking for Chad, Britton said: I've seen him. And i'm just saying. He's no Fabio.

Fabio? Really. Clearly a boys answer.

When we went to the area he was suppose to be in, the other newbie's said Amanda had taken him upstairs to find him a cart. Though there were two of them near by. I did mention that Amanda has a boyfriend. Who she claims to be madly deeply in love with. Yet the moment Chad comes, she is no where to be found.

We all make a face like "that's strange" even though we knew she just wanted some alone time with him. I was resigned to just getting my coffee and not introducing myself to anyone.

Listen i'm boy crazy, but unless James McAcoy or Sufjan Stevens was hired, i truly didn't give a shit about Chad anymore. I didn't care if he was a ten, gorgeous, built like a god, with dreamy sultry eyes. I didn't care if his accent made me swoon, or he was so nice and gentle that i too might have thrown myself at him. I was tried, needing some coffee and a muffin. And unless Chad had all of those things in his hands, i was just ready to see him already. F*ck Chad, is what i thought, until the elevator door open.

As soon as we turned the corner to head towards the elevator Amanda's flirtatious laughter rang from the now opening doors. I knew that Chad would be right next to her, and my heart for a moment stop and all those bad things i thought, sort of faded away....

[Dramatic Pause.]

I was reminded (i'm sorry for doing this too, but i love the buildup) of the moment when i went to Art Boy's club for the first time. When me and Katherine turned the corner to Art Boy sitting in front of the door. He had he his hands on his face, pissed about having the room he asked for occupied by another class. It was like slow motion, from the time i spotted him, until we approached him, time didn't stop, it just cruised a little. I realize now, it was only seemed slow because i was petrified and walking like an old peson. Anyway.

So as the elevator door opened, I for a brief moment thought, once again, that the heavens would part, a ray of light would shine on the beautiful chad, and i would be as taken aback as i was with Art Boy.

But....I was not. Oh Chad. Poor Chad.

Once Britton stepped out of my way, i came face to face with this normal looking dude. I mean he wasn't ugly, but he wasn't my type i guess. He had that pretty boy thing. Like his face is just naturally pretty but there was nothing unique or compelling about. He had all this gel in his hair to make it stand up, and was just normal beyond normal. Amanda was so glued to him that i thought she was going to bark if i got too close. I said hi, and then excused myself to get coffee.

Coffee was more attractive to me at this point. That's pretty much a clear sign you're not attracted to someone when you are dreaming of a blueberry muffin more than them.

Before i left Britton said "i told you no Fabio"

And boy was he right. When i got back to the office, Amanda was sitting down with a glow to her face. She asked me what i thought of him and i said that i didn't see what everyone else saw. She rolled her eyes and then brought up this comment i said awhile ago, that i like interesting faces. I don't like the obviously beautiful face, but the guy who can wake up in the morning, still look a little scruffy and have a charm to his features. I like faces to be a little off. Not ugly but imperfect so i can be the one who finds the beauty in it. I know. Weird. But whatever.

"You just don't have good taste" was all she could say. And then everyone laughed. It was like i had offended her, and everyone in the office just because i didn't agree that he was hot. They looked at me as if i was a huge weirdo, who couldn't see the beauty in the obvious.

I was pretty much dismissed after that. Everyone going on about Chad as i left quietly. I guess i would have been really offended if i knew my eyes were betraying. But they weren't. Chad is just this nice looking preppy dude, with gelled hair. I know, I can feel the disappointment from here. Blame Chad. I am.

Me and Britton have decided to nickname him The Chad. Since so many people are talking about him with hushed voices. He just isn't this person anymore he's THE CHAD. Plus he probably looks at himself in the mirror everyday, telling himself how beautiful he is.

Speaking of Art Boy, i saw him walking down the street today. Surprisingly it was right after work and the disappointment with the Chad. He was decked out in a black sweater and jogging pants. But for reason i still could make out his face beneath his hat. For a moment i think the heavens parted, a little ray of light came down, and time slowed just a little for us to catch each others eye.

If only he would work at the library. All my dreams would come true.

The Prom King

My mom hates this movie.


She has valid reasons though. It's pretty slow in observation of regular people. There's a lot of things going on, and yet it is still pretty drawn out. The drama is subtle, and the tone is one to get use to.


She fell asleep mid way through the movie. And woke up towards the end, only to say "What the hell was this about"


I have my pro's and con's about the movie, but for the most part any adaptation of a Tom Perrotta book, i generally will come to love.
Eventually.


My favorite part of the whole movie is the introduction of Brad (the sort of Naked Patrick Wilson on the left). When the camera pans on the women glaring at the sexy stay at home dad with the toddler on his shoulders, you kind of fall for him. Being a fan of nicknames i was particulary in love with the one the women gave him "The Prom King". For apparently he's perfect in every single way (except for the whole cheating on wife thing).


On Friday after hearing about the new co-worker Chad, this scene came into my mind. He'd only been there for an interview but he stirred enough interest in everyone that we were all sort of was for today to get here, when our "Prom King" would grace the office.



When i came into the office today, there was a nervous energy in the air. Debbie Downer (the boss) was sitting at the desk, looking at her ex boyfriends myspace page. We talked about men's idea of the perfect women for a while (because she always talks about that and then bitches about all the young women getting older men), and i think she called me a wallflower (apparently that means because i am shy, i am unassuming even though i'm smart and interesting)



Amanda came in early, dressed in a hot pink shirt bringing with her a small box. Because i'm naturally curious, i asked her what was in it. It was this sparkly pink box with a purple things on it. And my excitement was stirred.



Early Birthday present. No.



Instead it was perfume. Antonio Banderas women's perfume to be exact. She bought it this weekend "for no particular reason", and i guess she just wanted to bring with her to work to show everyone. We then spent the next couple of minutes spraying it on ourselves, until i realized that she only brought the perfume to allure Chad with her scent, and that Antonio Banderas was giving me a headache.



The wheels of everyone's imagination was turning as we waited until 9:30 when he was scheduled to come in for his first day of work. We normally give the new employee a tour of the library and show him some of the stuff we have to do.



We don't normally anxiously wait around, looking at the door every few minutes to see if it is opening. It was pretty pathetic and interesting to watch or be apart of. There was another new guy there, but no one really said anything to him. He just sort of sat to the side, while Debbie Downer kept asking what was keeping Chad.



30 minutes had passed from the time he was schedule to come in. But yet she made us wait a little while longer, before at least giving the other guy a tour.



The Prom King seems to represent something for everyone. An unattainable person for Debbie Downer. A flirtatious conquest for Amanda. A resolution to Kathleen that her married life and new baby are all she needs in this world. And i haven't yet figured out what he represents for me seeing that i haven't seen his face.


I don't know what it is about our image of the ideal masculine male which pulls women in. I think we have this idea that unhappiness is not something that they have. That there perfection is written on their scuplted faces. There are no such things as bad days for them. Their family life is perfect, their social life is more perfect, and his beauty only proves all of that. We (as in everyone) wish to attain his charm and assumed perfections by associating ourselves with him. Because maybe once we do, our own sort of complacency and dissatisfaction of our lives will fade away. Or at least that is what we imagine.

I mean for the most part we didn't know anything about him about ( i didn't even see his face) except that he dressed nicely and smelled good. Oh and he had a gorgeous face. But we had created this idol from that, and it didn't matter if he couldn't live up to it.

Unfortunately "The Prom King" didn't even show up today. His first day and he wasn't even there. Amanda said she was over him, as she put her perfume up. Debbie Downer, returned to myspace where she went on and on about her ex boyfriend denying her the family she wanted, and Kathleen said everyone was stupid any way for creating an imaginary boyfriend from some guy no one really knew.

I think she's the smartest one of us all. And that's hard to say seeing most days i don't like her.

The Letter

On Friday i received letters from both the schools i applied too. Two very small letters, in very small envelopes, in my very small mailbox, with my name on it.

I must admit, when i saw the letters in the pile of misc. mail, my heart dropped. Literally.

I wasn't expecting that reaction, because ever since i turned in my sucktastic story i have been feeling good about taking a year off, moving to New Haven (or some place else), and having to the time to write freely for a while. The year is suppose to be my mental, physical, and creative restoration. I'm not expecting some Hollywood-isque journey(though that would be interesting material), just a rest from this.

I'm not the kind of girl who gets complacent. I would never get so stuck in my physical routine that returning to grad school would fall to the wayside. Unless i miraculously got the job i always wanted in my year off, grad school is where i see myself going. The problem with me is that i am always on the move, from one thing to another. I have an abundance of energy that comes from who knows where, and i like doing a million things at once. Trust me it isn't ADHD, it's just my love of sort of moving from one thing to another. This "break", this new haven for me, is suppose to be the detour from my usually rushed self, just so i can reclaim the things that i love. Which is writing.

But when i stared at both those letters. Emerson College in one hand . And the New School in the other, my ideas of new haven and a break went in the background of my mind. I was just crushed because i knew somewhere in my heart that they were letters telling me "we are sorry to inform you that you have not been accepted, thanks for considering our school and we look forward to you reapplying next year".

I just held the letters for a while, staring at them the whole walk to work. I was trying to prepare myself for rejection. I was trying to prepare my heart for the tears that were sure to follow. I had no idea where this emotion came from. In therapy I’ve nonchalantly tossed around the idea of being rejected. Toby, the therapist, has a way of staring at me as if he knows my smiles and laughs are covering up something else. He does this hand near his mouth thing, followed by the look that perhaps says "she is breaking inside, but masking it nicely with a cool demeanor"

I struggled so much the whole month of December and part of January typing out that story. It was as if every sentence, period, and piece of dialogue was a break or make it sort of thing. I must admit that it's easier to be absolutely no one, content in your unhappiness, settling for mediocre than to be someone. Than to be the someone you've always wanted to be.

I fucked up. Freaked out with the thought of following what i am good at, because a part of me has this fear that it may not work out. It was easier with medicine, only because i knew that my poor grades and general disinterest would be my downfall (which it was). But writing is so much more to me than anything else, and the idea of that not working out, borders on being a painful thing. I wonder how many people are out there, whose dreams never worked out, and they had no other choice but to settle, in order to give their heart a rest from breaking.

It wasn't even that i didn't have a good story. With a lot of work, there was and is something beautiful there. I know it. When i was working on it, i was like "a few more revisions and i have something". But i just couldn't finish it, and not in that "i never see perfection way" but in the " i don't have the time, or energy to do so"

And when i was holding those letters, i realized right then how much i fucked up. That my damn fears which get in the way, caused me burn out. Caused me a years break in new haven.

So...when i got the library, everyone was talking about the new guy, and after a while i just kind of got bored of hearing about his hottness. I took a seat while Amanda and Julie were talking, and decided to open the letter up right there. I just sort of wanted to know. Even though i knew it was going to be bad, i just wanted to see it on paper, so i could plan the next phase of my life for a year.

....

However, it was not a rejection or acceptance letter. It was a "we have received all your materials for your application and are in the process of reviewing your portfolio". Geez. I don't know if I can take 4 more weeks of this.

I didn't know i wanted it so bad, until i was faced with not getting it. And i think my bout of "writers anxiety" had nothing to do with grad school. I am a person who bails at the most important times, the time when it matters the most to put all of myself into something. Whether it be in relationships or writing. I think that is the vulnerable part of me. I mean it's in everything i do, when i get real close to gaining something that i want, i shrink back and get self conscious because i know that what has to follow is me.

I have to put my heart into, I have to offer the parts of my self that i keep guarded, i, i have to be vulnerable because that is where the truth of who i am lies.

And maybe the truth is masked with insecurities, but there must something beautiful there.

If i can get past that apprehension i think i could be something. Something spectacular. But getting to the part is proving harder than i thought, and it threatens to hold me back in my everything i do.

Maneater.

Oh we're in trouble.

I don't think i need to say that the hottness meter at the library is not at an all time high. For some reason there aren't that many hot dudes lining up to work at the university library. Our staff is composed of mainly girls, which for the most part is no problem, except for the horny girls at my job who are dying for a hot dude to grace our presence.

There is separation between shelvers (what i do) and the people who work at the front desk. And all the really attractive guys work there. But i guess the hassle of having to take the elevator upstairs to see a handsome face is just too much for us.

After having an amazing extending sleep this morning ( my 9 o'clock class was cancelled), i made my way to the library. As soon as i opened the door to the break room, Short Boy's Ex-Girlfriend (Amanda) gasped, screamed my name really loudly and then said "There is a new hot guy working here. come. quick"

Interests stirred, i plopped my bookbag down on some chair and walked (ran) into the office where my boss (Debbie Downer), my sort of other boss (Kathleen), and Julie (another student shelver) sat, wiping the drool from their face.



I missed him by about 30 minutes, but watching 4 reasonably sane girls transform into honry vixens only prove that he was the hottest thing that ever walked inside the library. Good Luck Kid. Apparently the new guys name is Chad, and he's not only hot but super HOTT. My boss, whose the most miserable human being i have ever met, even had a glow to her when talking about him. "This is the first time, that i've ever actually said "damn he is hot" about anyone in this office" she said, her face turning the same shade as her red hair.



And if she, Debbie Downer of all Debbie Downers, says that shit, then it must be true.



We had to have been in the office for an hour. Me and Julie had not seen him , so we were listening intently to their description of him. By the way Amanda, Kathleen, and Debbie Downer were talking, he's a walking adonis, causing women to fall at their feet and offer their womb to him. I played into the idea for a while, drooling slightly at the thought of having this extrodinary hot and apparently nice guy working for us.

It wouldn't be so bad. The only guys on our floor is a) one who sweats b) one who wants to be called Jobby one Kanoby c) one dating Julie and d) one who signs in for work and then leaves. The thought of having a normal looking guy is almost two much to handle.

Of course, Amanda offered to train him or Tuesday, along with showing him around and getting him acquainted with everyone. Julie plans on wearing something slightly skimpy, Kathleen has a baby and a boyfriend and told us all to go calm down, and Debbie Downer sighed because he was totally her type but was too young and a coworker.

I am a little hesistant by his addition to the workplace, especailly if he is as gorgeous as everyone says. We have placed a non monetary bets that he has a girlfriend or even a wife. Despite Debbie Downer saying that he seemed like a nice person, i don't think you can assess someone's complete personality during an interview.

If figure that someone that hot, must know they are gorgegous, and i have no want to feed into it. I think it would be giving him to much attention, especially since everyone is playing the "whose going to get a shot at love" game with him.

On tuesday i suspect all of us will get to work extra early, to get a glance at him. Amanda will no doubt wear tight pants, Julie will wear a low cut shirt, and i think i am just going to bum it out like i usually do.

He can't be that hot? Or at least i hope not for the sake of his survival on the job.

He'll Bite Your Head Off.

I kid, I kid. He's too gentle for head biting. Because my mom is wicked awesome she sentme a valentine's day care package equipped with chocolate, lollipops, and a stuffed dog named Buddy. If you press his paw, his ears will wiggle and he barks followed by him saying, rather frenzied, "hug me, hug me...hug me". And because i can't turn down a pleading dog, i hug him.

My valentine's day was pretty uneventful but nonetheless i still enjoyed it. Short boy's Ex-Girfriend talked about her new boyfriend. My boss talked about her old boyfriend. And i of course spent the better part of my day dreaming ideally of medieval tales and knights (my Medieval Masculinity class is the shit)

I was kind of hoping Mike would call today. Yesterday he called me because he needed to borrow a calculator. Because my phone was off i didn't get the message until that afternoon. When i called him back of course he didn't need it, but there was lingering suspicion that he just wanted me to hang out with him for a while.

In a quest to understand my needs and wants from the relationships that i am slowly forming, i am having to sort of assert myself to figure out what my needs are. Which is proving to be a generally scary thing. I have no idea how to say to someone "that i need them"(of course not in those terms). Their frienship, their understanding, or their time to jut hang out.

So i didn't say to him "hey do you want to just get some coffee or something". I just did the awkward "okay i'll talk to you later thing" and hung up.

Damn.

I'll have to talk about my therapy session tomorrow ( i keep holding it off) . It seems like a little cliche to talk about love on the day of love. And plus i don't want to feel all mushy gushy on V day. I'll save that shit for the movies.

I have a paper to write and chocolate to eat.

Until then. Happy Valentine's Day.

Beckett, the Vampire Slayer?

I had a dream about vampires last night.

For some reason the apartment complex that i was living in became infested with those blood suckers, forcing everyone down to the laundry room (located in the basement) where me and the rest of the residents started turning on each other, as the vampires made there way down to us.

By the time they reached us only me, the kid from August Rush( i don't know why) and some dude were the only survivors (your perfect nuclear family concieved from chaos) of the apartment. By the time we made it out, the news and government where already camped out side, reporting that our apartment was the only apartment complex in the metroploitan area overrun by vampires but the violence from which the residents turned on each other was the worse they had ever seen or documented.

According to Dreammoods.com (a highly reliable source. ???) Dreaming of a vampire symbolizes:

a)seduction and sensuality, as well as fear and death.
b)depiction of someone in your waking life whose charm may ultimately prove harmful.
c)decisions about sex and losing your virginity.
d)that you are feeling physically or emotionally drained.

Seeing that i had therapy on Friday where i confessed that i desperately want connections and love, but feel that i am not worthy of them, i think i can cross a, b, and c...and go directly to my good old friend D.

After i continued on making my confessions to him (which he let me drag on about well over the 45 minutes), he sat back in his chair and said "Holy Shit, this has been a very good session"

I'll have to expand about it more when i get back from class, or apparently when i get back from slaying damn vampires.

Work Ethic does not equal Schoraly Ethic.

I am an amazing worker.



I don't want to boast about my kickassness at work (the university library)...but i get shit done. And i get shit done well. After my first disastrous work experience, where i was fired a month after being hired, i took it as a personal attack on my skills. Not that i had much skills making fries and asking customers what the hell they wanted to eat...but i walked in every night with a good attitude even when most of those nights were shitty.



I actually like working because i like starting, working on, and eventually completing tasks. I could not have a job where not only was i sitting on my ass all day but i was not being productive in some way. I'm not saying that library isn't one of those jobs (because it kind of is) but there is at least an end result to all the shelving. Books are put in their right place, and order is restored to the world.



My boss wonders where i get all the energy to admittedly start working when i get there. I tell her i don't know, i just like things to get done.



I wish i could say that i have applied my work ethic to school. But that would be a lie and lying isn't cool. When it comes to actual school work i am procrastinator. You know the saying "she is relying on pretty" on everything that she does. Well i'm relying on smart, and that isn't getting me too far. Because i know that i am not an idiot i don't really apply myself like i should. It's been about 3-4 weeks since school started and i can barely drag myself to class without yawning.



I am running on little sleep during the week. With six classes i barely know what day it is yet alone what class i am suppose to be going to. I drank as much coffee as i can, jet off to work and then class, am exhausted by the time i get to class, head back to my dorm, because of the exhausation i take a nap, only to be awake at night, to then wake up to an early morning.



My routine is thrown all off track, and adjusting to it has been harder than i thought. This still doesn't excuse my general procrastination but it has enhanced it some. I'm just lagging behind and struggling to get back on the ball. I have so much to do and no idea how to squeeze it into my schedule.


I'll figure it out somwhere in between naps.



SOOO.....I applied to two grad schools in janauary. I could only do two (due to the "I'm going crazy week). The truth is, despite my love of writing...i have no portfolio. Portfolio's, i have learned, are important, because it is an accumulation of your work which can easily be distributed when the time is right. Or when you have to apply to grad school. My stress level would have been a lot lower if i already had stories, if i had the time to write.



The story i turned in...was kind of sucky. What i wanted to do with it would have taken a while, so i turned in a draft. My therapist (who i see tomorrow) is delicately trying to prepare me for rejection because he knows that i don't deal with it well.



I however, am okay with not getting into a writing program right this minute. I mean i realize how important it is for me to go to grad school. I can be taught really great professors and professionals, be immersed in a community that focuses on fiction and screen writing, and hell i could met some really cool and hot people . But.. and this is a big one I am exhausted from school, and though i know the perils of taking a year off, i know the benefits my body and my work could recieve from having the time to do so. From not being in a classroom just for a while.



So i have planned that if grad school won't work this year ( meaning i don't get accpeted) I am moving to New Haven, Conneticut. Because the coast of living in New York is insane and i have to look for an alternative living area. A place where i can get a job, take the year off, and write in between living. My aunt suggested New Haven, because they have a metro which runs directly to the city. It's a two hour trip, but if i wanted to i could live and work according to my needs.



It's sort of an impulsive decision. Going off for a year to a place i've never been to, to work, to write, and to start fresh. But i think i need that more than anything right now. It is plan B and all, but i sounds pleasant to my ears



And if this doesn't say somthing, Haven means: A place of shelter, safety, or retreat; a refuge; an asylum.



Ignoring the asylum part, this is clearly affirming something, even if i am not so sure of what that something is.

Shakespeare.

There are two kinds of people in the world. Those who love shakespeare and those who can't read his plays without drowning in old english and complete confusion.

I am the latter.

I have to take two pre 1800 lit classes to graduate and needless to say i waited until the last semester to do so. For a day i was in a shakespeare's class this summer, but i was so mortified by my teacher who wanted us to act the plays out in front of the class, that i quickly dropped it.

However unless i plan to remain a college student my whole life, i have to get these classes out of the way or i will be stuck here...forever.

I am taking a shakespeares tragedy and a medieval masculinity class to fulfill my requirement. My medieval masculinity teacher is wicked awesome. She has that cool "i teach english look about her". She walks in to class with these army styled boots, a book in her hand, and these cat classes which offset her wavy blonde hair. Then for the next 75 minutes she talks about knights, and queen, castles and woodland creatures. I blame my middle school obsession with romance novels on my interest in knights and castles. But for this class my years of reading chivalric stories has paid off.

I can't say the same for Shakespeare. The language barrier is just too awful. I don't think that his plays suck, but having to spend the whole time dechiper words and get character name and importance together is a little grating. My teacher is so nice though. You can tell he was never picked first for any kickball games, because he was probably in a corner reading Othello. He's kind of small and balding, and his voice is so soft he could coo a baby to sleep. Unfortunately because most the people in my class are the "i don't like Shakespeare" audience, class discussion is pretty painful.

He sits on the desk, trying to get something out of us but for the most part we just stare at him with blank eyes and yawns. It's pretty painful to watch. Sometimes i even have to avert my eyes as he pleads with us (with his eyes) to say something...anything. There are about two or three people who contribute full heartedly, but even they are at a loss for words sometimes. So mainly it's just him, sitting on his desk or walking around class talking with as much enthusiasm as he can, only to greet the disappointment of our dormant faces.

AWKWARD.

And of course now i have to read Romeo and Juliet for the 97th time. If he can pull something out of this play that hasn't been discussed before then i'll have to applaud or even contribute to class discussion.

I'm suffering from a case of awkwardness this week. I feel like an idiot when i speak. I'm self conscious again, and it's because talking with people is more exhausting than i thought. I'm having to put myself out there, and apart of me is totally...awkward. In everything i do, especially when i am trying to get words out of my mouth.

I am taking linguistics this semester, and we are learning all about sentence structures and how people use language as a form of communication. It's sounds boring, which it is, but after an array of embarassing and awkward responses to questions in the last two days...i'm thinking i may learn something in this class.

There is that moment when someone says something to you and instead of having a normal response, something stupid comes out. It's only after the stupid comment that you realize "what the hell did i just say"

Today, for an example, in linguistics we worked in groups. Luckily i got to work with a girl who i've previously had a class with. We clicked pretty well and got through the discussion questions posed by the professor with a good knowledge of the material.

After 15 mintutes of group work, the professor brought the class back together so we could discuss the questions as a whole. As i was daydreaming about what i would do after class (grab something to eat) i heard my name being called. She wanted me to answer the first question on the paper.

The logical apporach would have been to just discuss what me and Alison (my group member) had talked about. Instead the first thing that came out of my mouth was:

Me: Oh Really?!?!! You want me to answer..

There was a collective laugh from the other students as i trudged through the question without too much problem.

That was only a small example of the least embarassing moment i've had in the last two days.

It's like i'm getting more awkward with age. It's horrible.

Time for Romeo and Juliet.

One Month

One month from today (give or take a few days) i'll be 22!!! I don't know if I should put exclamation points behind the number but i am looking forward to the new age anyway.



In therapy we don't really talk about my social anxiety anymore. It's not that it isn't this huge factor in my life, because it is, but i guess i am learning to deal with it a lot better than i have in the past. I'm seeing huge changes from being 20 year old me to almost 22 year old me especially in the whole social aspect of my life.



I've slowly started talking to people, and in anxiety land this is a huge leap. I'm not saying anything particulary profound but i'm saying something that has for the most part worked in my favor. I'm kind of shocked how people respond to me. Anxiety tells me that people will think i am weird, awkward, and self conscious. What i've learned is that people do think i'm weird, awkward and self conscious but for some reason find it endearing.



????



I never really knew how exhausting it was talking to people, until i started doing it. The atmosphere at work has changed dramatically since i've started saying more then "hi and bye" to my co-workers. People now are starting to linger near me when i work, and i have no other choice except to talk and make up something to say.



Short boy's ex-girlfriend is one such case. We have been hanging out more and more at work, that i feel like i rarely get anything done. Yesterday we spent all of my two hours before class, reading magazines and checking out the Guniess book of world records. She is much nicer than i assumed when short boy introduced me to her, and we seem to bond over our dislike for him.



I feel like a friendship is potentially forming, but after my experience with Katherine i'm not getting my hopes up, only to find out she's a crazy loon. I haven't had a friendship in so long, i don't even know what i want from one.



I haven't had a lot of things in my almost 22 years, and stepping into any sort of friendship or relationship is really freaking me out a little...especially now since people are taking an interest in what i have to say.



I desperately want a friend. Someone to talk to and reveal crushes too rather than admitting everything on my blog. I mean it's fun and all but sometimes you need interactions with people, just so you feel...alive. It would be fun to have someone who kind of understands what I am going through or at least someone who will listen to what i have to say and give encouraging advice with a few nods here and then.



I'd like to have someone to be impulsive with. And brave with .Silly and contemplative with. And so far though i am proving to be a rather to be interesting to people...I just haven't met that person yet. Or i have met them but have no idea what i want from the relationship so i don't try to make anything of them.

Because i'm idealist person i hold on to these all to unrealistic ideas about relationshisp. In my mind the ideal friendship would be a"Babysitters Club" scenerio (my favorite book series when i was younger). Mallory, Dawn, Kristy, Mary Anne, Stacy, and Claudia (don't worry i don't know there names by heart, i had to wikipedia it). A small group of real close friends who i spend the majority of my time with listening to music, watching movies and discussing boys (minus the whole babysitting thing). Our only arguments would arise from conversation on who loves Justin Timberlake more.

But since i am no longer a 8 year old girl reading the Babysitters club i have learned that friendships don't function like that. Mallory could be a bitch, Dawn can be totally flaky, lets be honest Kristy has no interest in "Justin Tiimberlake", Stacy has boyfriend issues that she talks about all the time, and no one really likes Claudia who will probably drift off and get new friends anyway.


Friendship is complex because people are complicated. And in people's complication and my need for connection i see how vunerable it is getting to know people and their complexity. And though i desperately seek relationships, i still am hesistant in fully putting myself out there, and watching my idea of ideal relationships give way a little, so i make some real friendships along the way.

Sometimes i give myself a headache.