Happy (75 of 90)

Sorry, didn't post last night due to passing out. Haha.

Temperamental:

So here's how it goes. I'm not sure if I've blogged about this before, but I feel like I might have. Either way, I'm not changing topics for tonight. Boys. Men. Inbetweens. Whatever you want to call them. They are temperamental.

The girls as emotional creatures thing is a lie. The part where they're the only emotional beings bit at least. I swear to God boymanchild things are just as bad. And they flip moods just as quickly as we do. To quote Bella. (yeah I know, kill me later) the mood swings are giving me whiplash. One moment, all is peachy. Next, WTF did I do something?

Is it just me? Or is this some common thread between people that I didn't really pay close attention to until recently. Maybe it's because I actually care if I'm the source of the seemingly psychotic mood swings. Or maybe I'm just more observant in general. It's probably because I'd like it if people actually stayed happy for once. My happiness has somehow been entwined with theirs, and these mood swings are killing me. I don't think it's ever been so hard for people to be happy.

Male, female, whatever. Hot damn people, can't we all just be happy? Why is that so much to ask?

Quote of the Day:

People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.
- Elizabeth Kubler-Ross

Update

Would have posted last night, but you see the thing is. Sleep. I need it. 4-ish hours a night is killing me.

Ho-Gawd WTFBBQ:

So. I spent the night writing. Again. No real surprise considering the end of the semester approaches like a looming something or other on the horizon. In any case, I went through and started writing my 2nd article for Mag. Problem being, that this article really did not want to be written. It argued with me the whole way through. It's still arguing with me. And by still, I clearly know I'm going to have to re-do the thing. It's a POS at the moment.

But that's ok. Because I do have time to do the revisions. Huzzah. Death rays averted. I still feel bad about it though. I hate turning in shit. I'd at least like to pretty it up a bit and put on a nice bow before presenting it. This is just shit in a box. Sorry Brad.

In other news, tonight should be my last night of massive amounts of lost sleep. Three cheers for the semester being over. Well, almost over. I'm now down to two finals, an article, and an article revision before I can leave. Not too shabby. Well, not too shabby considering all the other shit I've been doing recently.

Last week I turned in my final short story draft for Barb. This week, she returned them. I don't know why, but I love getting papers back from Barb. Like I commented on twitter, they smell of smoke and excellence. I think it's the only time I enjoy the faint aroma of smoke. It's refreshing somehow. Strange, I know. In any case, the odd feeling of calm was well warranted. Ended up with a good grade on it. It's also a bitter sweet feeling.

That was the last class I'll ever have with Barb. She's retiring after this semester. I wish she could put a hold on her retirement and finish out another year, haha. It'd be nice to have a prof around that I know and that knows me.

Quote of the Day:

"Egotism is the anesthetic that dulls the pain of stupidity."
- Frank Leahy

Apology (73 of 90)

Hello again blogger.

Finished faster tonight:

I should be writing for magazine now that I'm done with English. But I can't. I won't. Both. I'm not sure which. I'm tired. I'm running on about 4 hours of sleep. Not the least I've ever gotten, but not healthy for extended periods of time either. By all means, I should be sleeping.

I finished the paper for tomorrow. Now all I have to do is wake up on time, and study for a quiz. Then write some more. And call some people. And write some more. And find time to eat and sleep. Mostly eat. Sleep is for the weak. And damn, am I weak. I miss sleeping, haha. I'd have gone to sleep without posting if not for exterminating circumstances. The boy will be sad if I disappear on him while he's away.

I did well on my last article. I'm glad. It means that when I inevitably drop the ball and fuck this one up, I'll have the chance to re-do it. I know it's bad to plan for the worst, but really. I do feel like this next article will be the worst. Maybe because I haven't written shit for it yet. Yeah, that's probably a large part of my problem.

I'm worried again. I don't want to drop the ball. I think I surprised him with the last one. Now he has expectations. I hate high expectations, now he's going to want to see more of the same. And I'm not sure if I can knock it out the same as before. Not in the same way at least. I think I can do the same quality of work with the extension added on, but for Thursday? I don't think I can manage it. There's just so much else for me to be thinking about. It won't be like before. I don't want before to be a fluke. I want this next article to come out as (relatively) easy as the last one. I want to keep up the good name I accidentally built for myself. I think it'll crumble a bit though. I'm sorry for that. I shouldn't have let everything build up so much. Now everyone's getting less of what I have to offer. So long story short, I'm sorry Brad. I'm sorry Barb. I'd rather you see the best I have. Instead of the best I can manage at the moment. But the best for the moment is still decent, so that has to count for something, right? Probably not.

Quote of the Day:

"Fortune does not change men, it unmasks them."
- Suzanne Necker

Passing out now (72 of 90)

Late night update once again.

It's 3.30 in the A.M. right about now:

And I just did an entire final project. The whole thing. In less than 24 hours. I'd be proud but my body hates me already. I'm sleepy, and my stomach is doing that weird "you need to sleep" pain thing. But, the project is done. It's done. That's one class down.

It kind of looks like shit though, the project I mean. But that's not entirely my fault. I wish I knew more about computers and stuff, I'd have worked on making the website look presentable. But for the purposes of News 201, I suppose it is presentable. I went the extra mile with a few things, to make up for the shittyness of others. Like my audio package, damn is some of that audio horrible. So, I made an extra audio slide show for the website. Genius. Two has got to be better than one, right?

I'm not sure how well the online writing and the audio writing will go though. I think I adapted the online well enough (because according to J-School all online readers are fucktards with no attention span who love to click things and see intrusive ads). But I'm fairly certain the audio bit won't go over as well as I hoped. It's essentially the same thing as the online writing. Though I'm not entirely sure if it was supposed to be set up like radio or what. Maybe it was broadcast. It's kind of in between all three at the moment, so maybe my bases are covered?

I hope so. I'd like to not fail news. It's not like they're offering this particular class ever again...

I'm going to go pass out now. Then I get to repeat the cycle tomorrow, except the homework will be for Brad and Barb. I'm mildly afraid I'll go insane again and Flannary O'Connor's ghost will come back and haunt my brain again. Hell, I know she'll be back. Dammit. Stupid insanity.

Quote of the Day:

"You can't have everything. Where would you put it?"
- Stephen Wright

It was Lupis (71 of 90)

Hello dearies. Here's today's post.

Thoughts:

So. I'm an aspiring writer. I do believe we go over this at least once a week. But here it goes again. I'm writing another creative critical essay for English. And I do believe these are slowly contributing to my growing insanity. I've mention the compulsion to write that I seem to have acquired. But I'm not sure if I've gone over it in any detail.

I was talking with Tori today on our way to dinner. Just passing thoughts about what I might write about for this essay. When it hit me. I went into today thinking my essay would be over Burke and my growing love for him as a writer. But alas, this is not the case. He might show his face later on in my tale, but another has entirely taken over my mind. There's no escaping her.

Flannery O'Connor won't leave me the hell alone. Crazy old dead lady. Crazy mind. I don't know what's going on in my head exactly, but I do know O'Connor has something to do with it. She's damn near haunting me. I can't do anything else. Just stare at her book and go over her stories in my mind. She's taken over my essay. Writing really is a compulsion. This essay isn't something I wanted to do. But something I had to do. I don't think O'Connor would shut up long enough for me to write about Burke. So instead I have the beginnings of an essay about her.

Crazy old broad. I hope she's happy about this. But, I'm not going willingly. I'll fight her till the end. This essay will be a battle. A struggle of wits. Me against O'Connor. The short story master, and a lowly under graduate peon. I don't know who'll win. Maybe by the end of this, my opinion of her will change. Maybe it won't. Maybe I'll find my way through her stories. Maybe I'll drown in The River. I don't know. But I will fight. I have no choice.

There was never another option. Only to write what feels right. To write what my brain tells me. And for now, my brain is duking it out with a dead lady. What the hell...

I swear I'm crazy.

Quote of the Day:

"If people never did silly things, nothing intelligent would ever get done."
- Ludwig Wittgenstein

Stabbity Stab Stab

Hey! That last post was post number 100. Ridiculous, isn't it? Anyway, sorry this is late. Weekends do that to me.

Saturday:

At 8am I turned off my alarm. At 8.12 I scrambled out of bed. At 8.45 I was making my way towards Ball Gym. The start of a long day. But it was fun. A blast really. I didn't fence as well as I should have, but I had fun nonetheless. Here's a quick rundown.

I ran around all morning trying to help get things set up for the tourney. Taping down strips, looking for clipboards and stopwatches, that kind of stuff. I was supposed to help run bout committee but, thankfully, I weaseled my way out of that one. In between bouts I ran around with my voice recorder and camera and tried to be a good little journalist. I think I got a lot of good natural sound. I mostly thank Brian, Jared and Bill for that. Their bouts were hard core on the sounds. Lots of yelling, metallic clangs, and general strip noises. As far as what I'm going to do with the stuff I collected, I have no idea yet. I should figure that out. It's due Tuesday morning after all.

As far as my own personal fencing, I'm mildly annoyed. I didn't fence as well as I could have. I did alright in epee. Beat one of the 3rd place finishers in epee. Lost the rest of my pool bouts, but I managed to get 4-5 on a lot of my bouts. Brian, Jacob McNeal (Summit City fencer), Derek, Ray, and myself. At least I think that was it. I can't recall. Either way, I did ok. Won my first DE against Brittany, only to get my ass whooped by Brian in the next match. I ended up 7th of 10. Mildly annoying, but not as bad as I could have done.

Foil, however, is still annoying me. My pool was fairly simple. Only major competition being Brian. Overall line up was, Rebecca (from Summit City as well), Jessica, Ray, Brian and myself. Again, overall not a difficult pool. And by that I mean, 5-0 bouts against Rebecca and Jessica. I felt kind of bad, but I tried to give them as many chances as I could to do something. Anything. Rebecca did fairly well, even if she didn't actually score any touches. Jessica could have done better, but her mistakes can be easily fixed. We're just gonna have to get her to be more aggressive, she wouldn't attack me for anything, haha.

Ended up fencing a 2-5 against Brian. Not as well as I wanted to do, but not too shabby either. One of these days I'll get him. But Ray. Here's my problem. By all means, I should have beaten him. I'm annoyed at my self for not beating him. He fenced well today, but I should have beaten him. It sounds conceited. It probably is. But I'm not denying that he fenced well today. He fenced very well. It was one of the best bouts we've ever had. But gah. I'll be damned if I shouldn't have won. The match was 2-3 in his favor. We ran out of time. Beaten by the clock. How annoying.

I ended up ranking 5th for DE's. Which put me in a hard match against Jared for my first bout. I think I surprised him a bit. Which was cool. I started off really well, but then, as per usual, it all fell to shit. He figured me out after a few touches, but still. It was a pretty good match, and I think I surprised a lot of people. I hate it when they count me out. So watching their faces and hearing the surprise in their voices as I didn't fail miserably was very much welcome. Told them bastards I could hold my own, haha. Ended up finishing in 5th place for the day (I think. I should have been ranked there, but i'm not entirely sure). Annoyance. Could have gotten higher if not for that bout with Ray. Haha, good job Ray.

Quote of the Day:

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on."
- Robert Frost

Oh Dear (69 of 90)

Ya... here's a post.

Trends?:

Well blogger, it's 2.09am on Saturday, April the 24th.

I have a tournament to be at for 8.45am. Which is clearly why I'm still awake. I think it's become some sort of ritual for me now. Fencing in the morning? Clearly you need to stay up all night. I was tired hours ago. I should have been sleeping hours ago. But instead I watched a movie. The third Naruto Shippuden movie if you must know. I enjoyed it, as I always do.

But that's not the trend I really want to talk about. I want to talk about obligatory behavior. Generally speaking, I ignore and avoid it at all costs. I don't like obligation. I hardly ever feel obligated in the first place. But tonight, well, I seem to have retrieved a car all of my own accord. It was like second nature. I'm not sure how I feel about this.

I didn't particularly feel obligated. Nor did I even consider not going and retrieving the car. A short few weeks ago, I would have laughed and said good luck. Hell, a few weeks ago, I wouldn't have gone to say goodbye. But somewhere in there, something changed. And it's interesting. It's not necessarily bad and I'm not sure if its good either. Just different. Entirely different from what I'm accustomed too.

I wonder if this is a new trend. If it is, it'd be convenient if it came when it wasn't all rainy and cold. Or didn't involve me wandering around in search of the right automobile. But then again, apparently I'd still go anyway, so what do I know.

Quote of the Day:

"A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it."
- George Moore

Club

And for tonight's post.

I had fun:

The club went to B-dubs after practice again. And despite the horridly long wait we seem to always have to go through, as always, I enjoyed myself. Tonight, however, was a bit different from the norm.

Instead of my usual group of people, it was the usuals, plus a few others. I spent the time sandwiched between Bill and Brian either annoying or teasing whoever would listen. It was quite amusing. Erin joined in on the Brian teasing, along with Josh on occasion, and we had ourselves a jolly good time.

It's always fun to tease Brian. I'm not sure when I decided that, but it really is. In any case, we're having our mock tournament in a few days, and as such, duties were divvied up. I've volunteered to help out with a couple things, what exactly I can't recall. But it should be fun. As long as everything goes as planned. But even if it doesn't I'm going to enjoy myself. I get to spend the day stabbing and journalisming. I think my project will turn out really well if I can manage to portray the atmosphere like I want to.

I was thinking about that earlier, and I really want the piece to be laid back and fun. I want it to showcase the emotions of a tournament, and the anxiousness of some of the fencers, but I also want it to show all the camaraderie. I want the before's and the after's. The change from comrades off strip, to opponents off. I want to try to get intensity in strip pictures, and laughter and happiness off of it.

Maybe that's because I'm so closely involved. Maybe it's because that's how I feel about fencing. I want everyone else to see what I see every night I walk in there. I don't know if I'll be able to pull it off, but I can damn well try. I think it'll be a fun project. If I find time to do it properly that is. I've got a lot to do for the tournament itself, and for actual fencing wise. But it shouldn't be too hard to run around with a camera and a voice recorder. I run around with a camera half the time anyway. We'll see how it goes. But my plan is to enjoy myself no matter what.

Quote of the Day:

"If a cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, what is the significance of a clean desk?"
- Laurence J. Peter

Bitching

Alright. Here's last nights post. It's late for a very good reason, I swear.

Oh Dear:

So, it's crunch time. Obviously. I've only been bitching for about a week or two. And I don't know if I'm going to make it through. This next week is going to be hell. Not because of any one class, but because there's stuff do in almost all of them.

And the hell part? Well that's entirely my fault.

I wish I could bitch and moan like some of my counterparts. And I don't just mean the regular bitching and moaning, everyone bitches. It's just what we do. But there's a specific type. I'm not entirely sure how to explain it. But it goes a little something like this. I bitch and moan not because of what I have to do, or when it's due, but because I can. It's not bitching for the sake of anything, it's just bitching for the sake of bitching. Complaining because I can and because other people complain. It's a shared bitchiness. It really only comes out in group settings. I don't bitch to myself about what I have to do, I bitch to others because it's sort of a stress relief. Maybe. Or something like that.

I don't believe I have the right to bitch with a purpose. It's not like the demands made of me are unfair. I've known about the deadlines for a semester now. It's no ones fault but my own that I have so much work to do now. If I were smarter, or at least less of a procrastinator, then I'd have started things long ago. But I'm me, and I procrastinate. This is my fault, and my burden. I'm well aware of that.

But for others it can be different. The bitching is really expressed in a way that at times leads me to believe that they don't think they had anything to do with the situation they're in. And it's weird. I've never liked that kind of bitching. I've always found it annoying. I'm not sure if I'm explaining the differences properly, or if I'm being a hypocrite about all this. I probably am. But the point still stands. If you're going to bitch, make sure you know what your fault in the matter is before hand. Don't bitch bitch about something that's 90% your fault, you know?

Quote of the Day:

"Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance."
- William Shakespeare

Moody (66 of 90)

This is a last ditch effort to stay awake and feel motivated.

I am, in fact, female:

I'm just as moody as the rest of my particular half of the species. It's irritating. I like to pretend I'm not, and nine times out of ten, I don't think I'm that moody. But the truth of the matter is, I really am. I don't mean to be, and I do notice when I am, but the fact remains; I'm moody as all hell.

I can't help it. It's stress. It's hormones. It's ovaries. Whatever. I'm moody. End of story. I don't know why, but I'm a moody little girl. Just like every other little girl. I'm prone to snapping at random moments in time for no apparent reason. God only knows what set me off this time. It's probably a multitude of factors. I don't know when exactly it hit, but I can't say I'm surprised. It's amazing I've only been tired so far.

I have a lot to think about right now. And when that happens, there's always that straw that breaks the camel's back, you know? That one thing that just sets someone off. Well whatever that one thing was, it happened. And consequently I'm a bit moody, and not in any particular talking mood. I mean, I will talk if conversed with, and by talk, I clearly mean respond (I will not guarantee any actual conversation, I know better than that). But I'm just not up to talking with anyone. And I mean anyone.

Sometimes I wonder if this is just a standard part of being female. Doing things for no apparent reason I mean. But that's not true. There's logic to everything we do, even if it is somewhat convoluted. I told that to a friend today, and I believe what I said. If you just know what to look for, it's easy to see the logic behind all of our crazy female actions. We don't do things for no reason, it's just not who we are. Sure, guys (and even other girls) may not understand why we do the things we do all the time, but there is logic there. And I think I know what's wrong with me now.

But I'm not willing to talk about it. It's not something that really needs to be addressed. It's not really a problem, and I'm sure any other day at any other time I would have been just fine. But the culmination of events led to me ending up all moody like, and for now I'll just have to live with it. Except by "live with it" I clearly mean "go to sleep so I don't have to worry about it". Sleeping sounds good. I'm so tired. I'll wake up earlier tomorrow, and actually accomplish things. I don't think I can write decently like this anyway.

Quote of the Day:

"How come we don't always know when love begins, but we always know when it ends?"
- L.A Story

Stupid Writing

This is being posted now because I seem to have hit the metaphorical writers wall, again. Damnit.

Why now?:

I just wanted to write this draft. That's all. I wanted to write it, and get it sent out. I know it's not the best. It's not as bad as it was though. That's something. But, I'm stuck. I've hit the wall again. I made it to a certain point, and now it's hard to keep going. I'm brain dead. I want to quit. I want to quit more than anything.

But I can't.

I want to move to become a hobo and send Brad hate mail from Mexico. I want to throw my laptop in front of a bus. I want to jump in front of a bus. Anything to keep me from writing this article. Anything. I want to switch over and do my revisions for creative writing. But I can't. It's not time for that. It's time to write this article. And my brain doesn't want to cooperate. It wants to bitch and moan because it can't come up with anything. It wants to have moments of self doubt.

But I've never been any good at self doubt. I don't doubt that I can write this. I don't my abilities as a writer (much). I don't even doubt that I will juggernaut my way through this wall sooner rather than later. I just, can't do it right now. It's difficult. But, for as long as it takes, I'll keep running my head into the wall until it falls. I'll keep on typing shit until Shakespeare comes out. Well maybe not Shakespeare, but Dailey. I'll keep tying until I show my face in my writing. Until the steaming piles of shit have been shifted through, and only the halfway decent bits remain.

Quote of the Day:

"Believe those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it."
- Andre Gide

Distractions (64 of 90)

Weekends never fail to make me late on postings. Here's yesterday's post.

In which I mildly complain again:

School. The semester is finishing up. And along with that comes the hell hole of final projects. In every class of course. I'm hoping I'll be able to finish them all. I think I will be. I just need to buckle down.

But I don't want to. There are other things I want to be doing. Friends to see. Places to be. Things to do. Outside of school. Well, outside of school work. It's all school related. Because once the semester's over, who knows when I'll see them again. You know? Semester ends, and everyone goes their separate ways. And I'd like to get in as much time with them as I can before hand. Which is why I don't particularly complain when people ask to do something and I'm clearly supposed to be writing.

Who says I can't write and hang out with people at the same time?

Logistics really. It's almost impossible. I just have this inherently hard time doing productive things around them. Sometimes I can over come it, most times I can't. I'm hoping I get better at it. But the thing is, I hardly ever get substantially distracted by the people. Generally, we're all pretty good about attempting to keep to ourselves and finish work. I get distracted by well, distractions. Movies. Music. Cats. Mostly movies. I have come to accept that I cannot be productive with a TV on. That's probably why I never turn it on. I can't watch a movie and do homework. I end up watching a movie with an unwritten paper on my lap. Which I can live with. But throw in movie and friends and paper. And we have a problem. I can only manage two at once apparently. Or at least I can't juggle How To Train Your Dragon and Mortal Kombat with homework. That might be a key factor.

But I'll probably continue to (not) put up a fight when people ask to do things. Because they seem to have found my weak spot. Damn them.

Quote of the Day:

"Friendship is love without his wings."
- Byron

Future (63 of 90)

And here we go.

Home:

Wake up in the morning lookin like Mufasa.
Grab my phone I'm out the door I'm gonna hit the shower.
Before I leave brush my teeth with some aquafresh
'Cause once I leave for my clothes I'm gonna be all wet.

Yeah. That's what me and my sister came up with earlier. I really did miss being home. I'm honestly not sure when I was last here for over twenty-four hours. I woke up this morning to my sister playing some stupid song in my ear, and telling me my hair looked like Mufasa. Then when I finally made it downstairs, she was making pancakes.

Talk about awesome.

I wish it could just stay like this. The carefree feeling I get when I come home. But I know it can't. Because every time I turn around someones all like "get a job" or "what're you going to do when you graduate". I don't know what I'm going to do. I have no idea. And I don't want to tell them. I don't want to be disappointing. But I also don't want to do anything I don't want to. I know I'll probably go to grad school eventually. It's always something I've planned on doing. But for what? You know? Do I want to go for journalism? Do I want to go for English? Do I want to go for something else entirely? Do I want to go at all?

I don't know. Part of me wants to take a year off. But what would I do with that year? I've never been that person that's so driven to do one thing. I don't want to go to grad school just because I don't know what else to do with my life. It really seems like such a waste. I wouldn't be getting everything out of it that I would if I went because I wanted to. But if I take a year off, what would I do with it? I don't particularly have anywhere to go. And I certainly don't have anyone to go with. I'm not really the type to up and take off on my own. Or maybe I am. Maybe I will be? Maybe It'll be my chance to do something by myself for once? But I don't know if I like the idea of being alone.

I came to college with a security blanket. Of course, it tried to strangle me (metaphorically speaking of course) and then proceeded to sever all ties with me, leaving me essentially on my own. But even then. I came home on weekends and it wasn't so bad. I knew how to cope. Then there was last year. I somehow managed to make due again, and came out better than before. And this year is even better than that. But next year, who knows? I have no idea what will happen between now and then. And even farther in the future, again I don't know. I'll be graduating at some point. I'll be forced to do... things. Adult type things. Not this pretend world I've been living in. And I don't know how to go about that. Maybe it'll come to me some other time. I hope it does. Otherwise, it'll be hard explaining how I have no life plan. Haha.

Quote of the Day:

"You have got to discover you, what you do, and trust it."
- Barbra Streisand

No more bending over for you (62 of 90)

Hello Blogger. I'm late again, sorry.

Well, that was unexpected:

So today was the day Bill got his wisdom teeth out. Not a fun process really. In any case, here's how it goes. I'm home for the weekend. Now, I left a little later than intended, so when Dayna and doped-up Bill showed up at my window imagine my surprise. And amusement. He looks quite silly all doped up. In any case, I had to babysit dopey boy for a few minutes while Dayna went and grabbed her things (dopey needed babysitting for the night).

I'm a terrible caretaker.

Haha, it's probably a good thing I wasn't around to watch him. In the fifteen or so minutes I was there he almost: stuffed massive amounts of gauze in his mouth, passed out in prime "blood drip down my throat" position, and fell over. It was actually kind of funny. And by that, I mean I laughed like the horrible person I am. It really was amusing. I handed him gauze so he could switch it out. He was all like "what do I do with this?" and proceeds to attempt to stuff it all in his mouth. Luckily my frenzied "NO!" stopped him and I managed to get it rolled up properly. Silly dopey boy.

It really is a good thing someone not me was around to watch him. I'm far to forgetful for things like that. "Oh you're in pain? Well shit, I don't remember where I put your meds... sleep it off." Yeah, doesn't sound like a good idea. I can hardly take care of me, let alone another person.

Quote of the Day:

"You can tell a lot about a fellow's character by his way of eating jellybeans."
- Ronald Reagan

Critique (61 of 90)

Hello. Here there be posts.

I have no idea what I"m about to write about:

Looks like my brain has decided on writing again. And by writing, I mean writing about writing. Sorry if you're getting sick of it. But thems the breaks. This is the life I've chosen, so you're just going to have to deal.

I was reading through my critiques from English today. It's still a weird feeling.
I can tell I'm getting better about not feeling too defensive. I know freshman year at least I was really bad about that. But I feel I've grown somewhat, and I'm able to handle the full critiques and the workshops much better than even last year. But at the same time. I can't help but get annoyed at some of the comments some times. I think that's a part of it. When you write something that you think is the shit. And everyone else just thinks its you know... shit. There's a few lines like that in my draft. One in particular that I liked, hardly anyone else did. How frustrating.

But still. I'm getting much better. I can take the advice to heart. And I know I'll be implementing most of the changes. Because I know it will make my draft better. Make my prose stronger. And that's what I'm after right? The ability to hone my craft. To know what areas I make mistakes in and fix them. So that maybe next time my draft will be even stronger. So that one day I'll be able to try to be published.

On that note. Brad said something in class today. Something that struck me. He said that many people are either writers are reporters. People are either information gatherers or writers. Rarely are they good at both. And I can accept that. I believe that. I can understand that. But the question is, which one am I? I'm not sure. I think I'm a writer. Maybe I'm not even that. I think I can gather information, but I'm not sure if I'm particularly good at it. I don't know if I'm good at either of these things. I only have Barb's word to go on really. And she says I'm better than I was. And that's all I can ask for I suppose. The knowledge that at least I haven't been wasting my time here.

I can tell I'm getting better. My prose is getting tighter. My drafts are getting better. My ability to analyze text has increased exponentially. I critique better. I'm more confident about both my writing and my critiques. But that's mainly English. I have no idea where I stand journalistically. Hell, I'm not even sure I can stand yet. I feel like a toddler. Just learning to lift my head. I can't walk, can barely talk, and I damn well sure can't keep my head above water on my own.

Maybe one day I'll learn to walk, hell at least crawl, on my own. But for now, I'll just have to be led through the process. Until they kick me out of the next and expect me to fly.

Quote of the Day:

"Success is not the result of spontaneous combustion. You must set yourself on fire."
- Reggie Leach

Remix (60 of 90)

Hullo. Once again on time.

Inspiration:

I want to change it all. Remix it. This summer will start it. Imma be me. Just me. Every time I look at my sisters blog I think that's what I wanna do. I just wanna be me. I wanna be me and all of me all the time. I want my space to look like me. I want my face to look like me. I wanna ball. I want every part of me to scream me. I want to look my best even when I'm at my worst. I want to do what I want to do. I want to live. I want to laugh. I want to love. I want to write. i want to be the best there ever was.

I want to change my room. I want it simple. Full of my joys, my sorrows, my everything. I want people to walk in and say "this is Lauren". I want everything about me to scream me. I want the flyest shoes. I want the flyest clothes. I want a job that I'll enjoy. I want cash. I want to make bank. I want it all. I want it all.

I want those pictures that will remind me who I am. Who I was. What I'm working to become. I want everyone to know I'm a writer. Everyone. There will be no more doubts. No more, be a biologist. None of that. Just me. All me.

Every time I look at her blog I see that. I don't know if that's how it really is, I don't wanna know. But every time I look, I see someone free. Someone happy. Someone working towards what they want to do.

And I want that. I want all of it. I want to be my own person, with my own goals, and my own space. I want every inch of me to scream LOOK AT ME. Look at who I am. Who I've become. Who I want to be. I've always wanted that. I've been working towards it. But now, I think I'm ready for the full transition. I'm ready to just be me.

I know what I want.

I want a desk by the window. A small one. I want to be a pretentious writing ass hole. I want to be artsy and clever and colorful. I want books. I want them everywhere. I want games. I want them everywhere else. I want openness. I want space. I want to be free. I want my closet full of color. I want boots. I want leggings. I want to run again. I want to spar again. I want to fence. I want it all. I want notebooks and binders and stories everywhere the books and the games aren't.

I want to be me. I want a pokedex next to the count of monte cristo. I want a nerf gun next to a notebook. No holds barred. Everything bared for all to see. I want to begin the transformation. Little by little. I want to be the me I am now. And I want my belongings to reflect that. Not who I was, but who I am. And who I am does not center around lord of the rings. or stars and moons. or clutter or any of that. I want it clean, I want it sparse. I want it open and assholeish and perfect for writing.

So, in short. thank you Krystal. Thank you for being so awesome. I know I don't talk to you much. I see you even less. But somewhere along the line I developed a big sister complex, and I'm glad I know you. I'm glad I have the chance to look up to you and say "That's what I want to be." Not in any I'm going to be a model that's hot when bald and is becoming a DJ. But in a, I want to one day be able to fully say I chased my dreams and accomplished what I set out to do. I want to be able to say I've done everything I can to not let haters, perceptions, or myself stand in my way. I don't know where this complex came from, when it happened, or why it happened. There's usually no reason to it. But as long as it continues to push me, to help me strive to be a better person, then it's all good.

I'm happy with where I am now. I'm happy with the direction I'm going. I don't know where I'll end up yet. I honestly have no idea. But I'm glad things have turned out like this. I'm glad I can start taking those steps towards the person I'll become. I'm glad I have some idea of how I want to better myself. I'm excited for this summer. I really am. Maybe when I come back in the fall, I'll be a better me. A fuller me. A me who is ready to take on the world.

Quote of the Day:

"Livin Lovin, Lovin Livin, It's all good."
- Will Smith (Fresh Prince)

My idiots (59 of 90)

Alright. Post time.

(random fun fact: I wrote this last night, but apparently passed out before hitting post)

I don't think I can say this enough:

I love these guys. God only knows why, but I really do. They're the only ones who can keep me around for hours doing jack shit when I need to be working. It's cool to be comfortable sitting around watching pokemon while everyone else is fencing.

And I mean that in the more, I can be myself around them. No holds barred. Just me. The crazy, ADD, pokemonaddicted, fuckup that I am. It's a nice feeling. But at the same time, I'm worried. I don't want to get too attached. But I think I'm already in too deep. Especially with some of them. I've gotten attached to this group. And while it's awesome, it's troublesome.

Because it's always harder once you're attached. The letting go I mean. But I'm happy to be a part of the group. Even if we're largely a bunch of idiots. There's just something that draws me to these particular idiots. They're my idiots now, some of them more so than others. And I'm ok with that. I like having them around.

Quote of the Day:

"Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards."

-Robert Heinlein

I be on that grind (58 of 90)

It's been a long day. Here's a post so that I can keep being sane.

I have to do what now?:

Alright. This is going to come off a bit complain-ey. I'm sorry. It's just that well, I feel overwhelmed, you know? And maybe it'll feel better once I get all of these thoughts out of my head. I hope it does. Because I wanna quit it all and be a hobo right now. And hobo's don't have constant Internet access so it's not really an option.

Now, you might be asking "But Lauren! Why are you so overwhelmed? I thought life was grand?" But hell, you can be overwhelmed and all grand like at once. I think the grand bit adds to everything being so overwhelming.

The truth is. I have a lot to do. Or at least I feel like I do. Maybe I'm complaining about nothing. In the long run, I probably am. But for now, it feels like I have a lot to manage to do in not a lot of time. Today I had to go to an early morning meeting. Or I'd literally fail one of my classes. Had to go to one in the afternoon for the same reason. So that was extra stuff on my plate that's not normally there.

I also had a paper due for class today. I finished it last night. I forgot to print it off this morning because I was reading through stories for another class. But at least my professor is understanding, I get to turn it in Wednesday thank God. I had just enough time between class and the second meeting to eat lunch. After wasting an hour of my life in the meeting, I had to run off to the library to do a project for yet another class. A design project. It's not so bad except for the fact that my knowledge of Indesign and Photoshop is quite basic. So I have grand ideas and no physical ability to put it on the page. Luckily Bill came and found me of his own free will. He helped me put the last poster together. It would have taken me infinitely longer if I was left to my own devices.

I took about an hour break afterwards. I needed it. I couldn't have kept going at that pace all day without passing out accidentally. And then back to the grind. Wrote the paper for news that I'm not actually sure when it's due. It's either tomorrow or next week. Therefore it's written today.

I've got four critiques to write up for Wednesday. So once this post is done, I'll be going back to working on those. After those are done, I'm not sure what's up next. Either work for Brad, or studying for the test I have in Media Law.

And that's just assignments. I've got other side things that also need to be done for class or there's a massive chance for failure. It's ridiculous really. How much piles up so quickly. I want a break. I want to lay down and sleep. I want it all to go away so I can play games in peace. But it's not going anywhere. It just keeps piling up as new things come onto the schedule. And the more that piles up the less I want to do.

But I suppose I have to start somewhere or I'll drown in it all. So for now, I'll work on these critiques. And when they're done, I'll start on something else. I don't think I'll finish them tonight. I know I won't. I'm too tired. But I want the basics at least filled out. So that I only have to type them up. It's a start. Sometimes, it's hard to see the forest for the trees. And right now all these trees are fuckin redwoods. But the goal is closer than ever. So close. That's why it's so hard now. And as long as I can keep the end in sight I can keep going. Keep on reading and writing. But these damn trees keep getting in the way.

Somebody get me an axe.

Quote of the Day:

"Everyday I'm hustlin."

- Kat Williams

I can has? (57 of 90)

And last but not least, today's post. Enjoy.

Productivity:

I have none. I woke up around noon today. And only because I got a text message. I suppose sleeping in is acceptable considering I was up late last night, but I don't like it anyway. I spent my day writing a last minute research paper. And boy does it read like it.

The damn thing makes very little sense, the flow is all off, and I wish it didn't exist. Yeah, it's that bad. But I'm not going to fix it. Mostly because I'm lazy. Partially because I don't know what I'd change it to. It's somewhat acceptable and it'll stay that way.

I cleaned today. I also spent money, again (I need to stop doing that). I did homework for other classes. Other classes that should be just as important. But hell, I always feel like I'm not being productive. Even while writing papers, attending meetings, and reading for other classes. By other here, I mean not Brad's class.

It's strange. I'm being very productive. I really was all day. Until recently that is. But highly productive on the whole. But I still feel like I didn't accomplish anything. All because I didn't work on magazine today. It shouldn't carry so much weight in my life, but it does. It's almost like it's the only thing that matters.

And I think that's why I'm so reluctant to do anything for it. I'm terrified I'll fuck up. Terrified. Yes, I'm scared of messing up in creative writing as well. But it's never been like this. Never so bad that I can't think of anything at all.

I think I need to just follow Brad's latest advise tomorrow. Just write. Stop thinking and write. It'll be terrible. It'll be an abomination upon writing kind. But I'll have something. Anything. But I can't get over that wall. I've hit that damn wall. Like marathon runners. Except with less options. I have to get over this fear. Have to. I can't quit now. I don't know how I'm going to get past mine. But I really want the Juggernaut to come in and just fucking run through the wall for me. Be all like "I'M THE JUGGERNAUT BITCH" and burst the thing down.

Maybe I'll try it. Just run in screaming "I'M LAUREN BITCH!" and destroy this hold it has over me. Of course, I'll have to replace running and walls with typing and the fear a blank page inspires within me, but still. Metaphor stands. I've been writing an awful lot about not being able to write. And I'm getting tired of it. I'm tired of being terrified. I'm tired of not having anything. I'm tired of sucking so much. Maybe I will Juggernaut it. Then at least I'll have done something. Even if it's only to type recklessly and leave a huge mess behind me. I'll be the writing Juggernaut. All word count. No substance. But I'll have a cool fan made slogan.

I'm the Juggernaut Bitch.

Quote of the Day:

"Faith is taking the first step, even when you don't see the whole staircase."

- Martin Luther King Jr.

Tourney (56 of 90)

And Saturday.

At least I wasn't last:

Well, a few days ago I mentioned I might participate in a tournament. I participated in the tournament. It was interesting.

I spent the past few days wondering how it'd go. And as per my usual, in my head I was entirely awesome and walked out with first place and a brand new set of admiring fans.

Of course nothing like that happened. Nothing at all like that. I finished 7th of 8. A far cry from my first place dreams. But still, I think I did pretty well. And I had fun. And I didn't spaz. That's what's important.

It was funny. I suited up and expected to have to fence someone new. Someone different and better and older. My first bout was against Bill. Haha. A bit anti climatic. Waiting for this amazing new experience, and instead getting to stab someone you spent the past few days with. He won this time around, but it was still fun. I think it was actually a nice transition. Fencing someone I know inside and out as a warm up kind of. Sure it was part of pools, but it was Bill. I didn't have to think and worry so much.

Of course, then there were the 6 other fencers. But I had already fenced out any jitters I managed to have. Which weren't many actually. I was pretty calm all day. Maybe too calm. I think it might be my way of controlling the anxiety. Withdrawing I mean. Fencing Bill kind of removed the tension, the nervousness I felt for days.

For one of my matches I was consistently on the end of the strip. It's kind of fun fencing back there, back foot on the edge of the strip. I had no choice but to attack. It's definite motivation not to fuck up. An adrenaline rush if you will. No where to go, no real options and a left handed giant (compared to me at least) with a tendency to flush staring you down. Definitely a fun experience.

In another I almost won. I mean, until I impaled myself on the end of her blade. But it was fun. Bout ended up being 4-5 in her favor, but I came really close to winning. I found out later she was B-rated. I swear I could have beaten her in a longer bout. That could be my ego talking, but I really think I could have. I suppose that shows my respect for rank, frankly I just don't give a damn.

There was this other guy who was a damn spaz on the strip. Bill pointed out that he fenced like Ray. I totally lost, but still. He was like a big Ray. Crazy large parries that I could have gotten around eventually. Eventually wasn't soon enough for the bout though, oh well.

I'd talk about my DE bout, but I really don't remember any specifics. Only that I knew I was going to loose. But I managed to hold my ground. Final score was 7-15. I managed to annoy the shit out of the guy though. I love how tiny my target area is. Enjoy your off targets you evil little girl stabbing man. Toward the end I stepped it up a bit though. Made a decent come back. I was determined not to fail to badly. After every touch the only goal was to get another one. Not to win. The goal was never to win. The goal was to make the next round count. And I think I did that. I managed to get a few good touches, and ninja/imfuckingtiny my way out of a few of his. Overall, entirely satisfying. Totally tired and not accepting of patronizing comments afterwards though. They probably didn't mean to sound so patronizing, but damn did it sound like it to my tired and clearly loosing ears.

Overall, it was a really cool experience. I'm glad I decided to go. Next time my goal is to be not last or second to last. I'll accept third to last. But I'm done with this bottom two shit. My dreams of grandeur cannot allow a repeat performance.

Quote of the Day:

"I wanna be the very best. Like no one ever was."

- Pokemon Theme Song

I wanna be a hero (55 of 90)

Haha, it was only a matter of time before I was back playing catch up. Here's Friday's post.

Halloween in April. I think so:

I went to a costume party tonight. Why? Because we could have one. No, it doesn't particularly make any sense, but it didn't need to. We just wanted to play dress up.

And I love that we can do that. That we feel comfortable enough around each other to dress up in entirely ridiculous costumes and enjoy our selves. Not the traditional halloween costumes either. You know, the ones where the girls are sluts and the guys are... man sluts. The fun ones. The ones from when you were little and Halloween wasn't about getting some. We were drag queens, super heroes, ass slappers and mortal combatants. We looked ridiculous. Even more so as the night wore on. But you know what, it was fun.

That's all that matters isn't it? That everyone has a good time. It's so easy to forget that nowadays. People are always trying to fit in, trying to be someone they aren't. We constantly have to push ourselves aside to be something for someone else. We're good students because we have to be. We're responsible because we need to be. By day we're prospective architects, journalists, teachers, and anthropologists. But tonight. Tonight we were just us. Just a group of kids trying to enjoy the little moments of free time we can find.

Tonight I ran around in underpants, leggings, boots, goggles and a cape. I was the super hero equipped with chocolate axe and a tendency to do something retarded. It was freeing. Yes, I should have been doing something else. Something productive. But I don't regret it. Not one bit. I had fun. I hope everyone else did too.

Quote of the Day:

"And it's true that I love you. And it's true true, that you're the only one. And it's true, I adore you. You make me feel alive."

- Black Eyed Peas (Alive)

Ego-maniac

Well hullo again. I'll be continuing this streak of updating on time, haha.

I have no idea:

So. Here's how it goes. I might fence in a tournament this weekend. I don't know if I want to. I'm a little weary of the whole situation. Why? I'm not sure. I think it's because I'm still not sure of myself fencing wise.

Which is weird.

I'm a ridiculously confident person. Like, all the time. I hardly ever have bouts of self doubt. It's just not something I really go through. I know my capabilities, I know my limits, I know what I can and can't do. I know that occasionally I can come off as big-headed and egotistical because of it. Which I don't really mind, I'd much rather be confident in myself than have low self esteem or confidence. If I don't believe in myself and my capabilities, no one will.

Leading me back to my little fencing problem. I don't know why I'm so reluctant to actually fence people. Not just goof off at practice and fence people I know. But actually fence people on a competitive level. I think a major part of it is that I'm afraid I'll be terrible. I don't want to suck it up when there's something on the line.

I suffer from dreams of grandeur. I want to be the best. In my head I'm so damn awesome that I win everything on my first try. Of course, that's never how it works out, but I'm starting to believe that it's not such a bad thing. It's the confidence thing again, If I go in thinking I'll be the fucking bee's knees I'll have a better chance at actually being those knees. You know? Everything you do is substantially a mental game.

And if you get your head straight first, that only leaves the physical. I have no idea if my physical game is up to par. None at all. It's probably not. But the only way to know is to try right? My mental game is there and there's hardly any chance of getting inside of it. But the physical aspect. The physically being able to manage the awesomeness I project in my mind, I don't know if I can do it. Maybe I should try anyway. I think I'll try anyway. I'll ask daddy tomorrow. I can't think of a better person to ask.

Only problem is... I should probably figure out right of way before hand if I do go through with this. Oh well. Since when have I let silly little things like rules and everyone being better and more experienced stop me?

Quote of the Day:

"Every man is the architect of his own fortune."

- Sallust

I'm so Starstruckk

Today's post. Arriving first class priority mail. Weird.

Concept Stolen From Others:

A few days ago my friend Dayna wrote her blog about how she got interested in writing. A part of me wants to copy that idea, and in fact that part of me won out.

But you see, the thing is, I don't know how I got interested in writing. It's just not something I've ever really thought about. Why write? Why did you choose Journalism? My answer has always been "well it was either this or English. and this seemed like a pretty good way to go." I don't think past that. so why do I write, why journalism?

i know why i write. I write because i can't do anything else. I write because those damn voices in my head won't leave me alone. It's a compulsive behavior and it's entirely insane. But I write and I read because stories drive me, it's how it's always been. But you already know that. I've written about it before.

But how did I start? What started that compulsion, after all I'm at least partially sane so something must have started it right? The truth is, I don't know. I have no long tale about how my blah blah blah grade teacher showed me the magic of words and how the next years I ate up the curriculum and wrote every chance I got.

I'm not that person. I have never been that person. I hated grammar lessons, I paid attention to writing essays just enough to get by. I never particularly compared myself to others in terms of writing ability. I never took a creative writing class before college. Hell, I don't even remember most of what I did in terms of English and writing in high school.

Many of the English majors/minors here have these stories about what they read in high school and how it effected them. I don't have that. Yes, I mildly remember what I read in high school, mostly because the remnants are still sitting on my shelves. I vaguely remember being force fed information about books and not being allowed my own opinions. I"ll be damned if the green light in The Great Gatsby isn't some kind of symbolism. High school mandated symbolism. Maybe that's why I never really cared. High school never made me think. That's why I don't remember most of it. You don't actually think there, so any effect was negligible. I don't remember my English teachers as individuals, or at all for most of them.

I do remember my writing composition teacher from 8th grade. But only because she lost my paper and made me cry. Not for any special talent and effect on my life. I remember my senior year teacher. But only because I loved my senior valedictory project. I don't remember her at all. I remember my teacher junior year, but only because I had a friend in her class one semester, and someone died from her class the next. Also because I wrote a halfway decent (for the time) poem and paper in there once.

Maybe that was the breaking point. The paper and the poem I mean. It probably wasn't. I mean, it wasn't enough to make me not be a biology major. I took creative writing my first semester here at BSU though. I loved it. It was fun. Barb was fun. I've taken a class with her every year since then. The class pushed me closer to the breaking point. In any case. I still don't know what that breaking point was. The point where English took over for Biology. The thought of English has always been in the back of my mind. Well, I mean since choosing a major was a mandated part of life.

I can't really say any teachers influenced this decision. At least not any elementary, middle, and high school teachers. I never gave two shits about them. As for college, I know Barb has had an influence. I love that lady. Brad probably has too.

I can tell the difference between college professors and high school teachers. It's clearly there. I just don't know what makes me so prone to actually paying attention to the college ones. Maybe it's because we're forced to know each other better. Maybe it's because I spend more time with them. Maybe it's because they treat you like equals (stupid ones, but equals nonetheless). The sense of "I'm infinitely better than you" so you have to listen to me all the time and my opinions are better than yours isn't there. You're allowed to be friends. Maybe that's the main difference. You're allowed to get to know these people as they get to know you. It's kind of fun.

I can't even claim any writers I've drawn inspiration from. Sure I've read. I've read quite a bit. But I can't overtly say that any of them have "influenced" me. Not consciously at least. Maybe Margret Weis and Tracy Hickman. I know they've probably subtly influenced my fantasy writing style. But overall, I'm not sure.

Leading us back to square one. I have no idea how the hell I ended up here. But I'm enjoying it anyway. It's like falling asleep during a car ride. You have no idea how the hell you ended up at Disney World, but I'll be damned if the results aren't magical.

Quote of the Day:

"Only the shallow know themselves."

- Oscar Wilde

Registration (52 of 90)

And again with the on time post. I'm on a roll.

To shank or not to shank:

That is the question. Well not really. The answer is always shank. It is fencing. The goal is to shank. But the real question is whether or not I want to register for tournaments.

I don't know. Part of me wants to. Because I want to try it at least once. Actually doing stuff you know. But the other part of me is all like but you suck and you'll fail and it'll be a waste. And then you'll be poor, and you should have just bought the shoes instead. But still. I think I want to try. I think I want to go and attempt to not suck so much. But then, I'd have to pay attention more. Not that I don't pay attention as is, but pay attention and attempt to apply what I'm watching.

Like tonight. I fenced Brian for a bit 'cause I had asked him to fence me. I lost of course, I wasn't entirely expecting a win, but I notice a lot of things while fencing, and while observing. I just can't figure out how the hell to take advantage of said things that I've noticed. Like timing. I get timing, it's just something that comes fairly naturally. If you give me something that I can put into a pattern, I'll figure it out fairly quickly. I understand bouncy fencers. It's not difficult for me to figure out their patterns. It is difficult for me to get inside that timing. It's annoying.

But I think I'm getting better at it. Maybe. At least, I'm getting better at getting inside Brian's timing. I think he knows it too. I just have to get better at not getting lured fully. Or lunging deeper more frequently. Or following through with my attacks. Or something. Haha. I think I'll get registered. Just to see. Who knows, maybe I'll end up being God's gift to fencing. Haha, probably not. More like God's gift to bored fencers who need an adorable distraction.

Quote of the Day:

"The reason lightning doesn't strike twice in the same place is that the same place isn't there the second time."

- Willie Tyler

Fuckup (51 of 90)

On time again? Preposterous.

Procrastination:

I have a draft due for magazine in less than 12 hours. I will spend approximately half of that time sleeping. Approximately 3 additional hours will be spent in class. I don't know where the other three will go.

I have one sentence written. Well, two. Neither of which I like very much. I want to backspace them, but then I'm back at square one. And square one is a bad place to be in. I don't know what I'm writing. Which is probably why writing is so hard. Brad is entirely right (again, as always, etc etc I bow before the commander of my existence for the moment yadda yadda yadda). I can't even bring myself to bullshit. I physically can't. I cannot create utter bullshit for this class.

I want to. God knows I want to. I want to write something, anything, so that I have something to turn in. But the part of me that wants to succeed is too great. Not just make the grade, the part that actually wants to succeed. For a while now I haven't been in this for the grade. The grade doesn't matter, I could care less. But actually succeeding, that does. And for me to actually succeed. I can't be writing bullshit. I can't just put down a bunch of words that I know (and that he'll probably know) mean absolutely nothing. Which is why this is so damned difficult.

I can't write anything for real without knowing what I'm doing. And for this story, I have no flipping clue what the hell I'm doing. So much so, that I can't even come up with an introduction. At all. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. My brain is empty. But I get the feeling that that's ok. I mean, it's terrible for deadline and whatnot, but still. I don't know why, but I think it's ok. I still feel like I'm in a better place than I was when I started. Just knowing that I can't write bullshit has to be better than the bullshit writing fuckup I was before, right? Now I'm just a fuckup. No bullshit writing pretenses. That's progress. I think. I hope.

Oh who am I kidding, I'm still fucked.

Quote of the Day:

"One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries."

- A. A. Milne

Open (50 of 90)

Yet another on time post. Weird.

Happy Easter:

So for the first time in my twenty and change years of existence, I wasn't with my family for the holiday. No traditional early morning church service fallowed by oodles of family time. Instead, I slept in late, watched a movie with the other floor members who weren't with their families, hung out with my boy, and hung out with friends. Instead of the traditional Easter dinner, I ate Chinese food. (which coincidentally is not agreeing with me).

Overall, I enjoyed the day. I wasn't nearly as lonely as I thought I would be. I was lonely Friday after everyone left, and even a little bit on Saturday, but today I was just fine. Maybe I'd made peace with not being with my family for the holiday. Or maybe I was just too tired and flippy outey to give a damn.

That being said, I did something I don't normally do today. I vented. I sat down and talked to people about what's been bothering me. Maybe I'm getting better at this being open thing. More likely, I just legitimately have no idea what I'm supposed to do about all this. I need someone to bounce ideas off of. I choose my best options and went with it. Of course, they turned out to have no better idea than I do (which is to say, no ideas at all) but still, it's kind of nice to know that someone knows what's bothering me. I might bounce ideas off a few more people and let time tell how I should handle the issue. I've been tempted more than once to call my dad. I might before the week is up.

Quote of the Day:

"Do what you feel in your heart to be right- for you'll be criticized anyway. You'll be damned if you do, and damned if you don't."

- Eleanor Roosevelt

It's been a long day

I promised Dayna an update tonight, so here it is.

Racing Thoughts:

I'm not sure how to start this, but here goes. I think I need to come with a warning label. Not one of those slippery when wet signs or some other useless common sense drabble, but a legitimate warning label. A "Buyer Beware" if you will. I'm prone to breaking things. Or people as it were. And if I'm not breaking something, I'm probably confusing it to no end.

I'm a terrible communicator. I don't know how to say what I'm thinking or feeling. Or whatever. It takes me considerable amounts of time to find the correct words to say things. And then even longer to actually say it. I'm sorry, I can't help it. Sometimes I'll manage to just blurt whatever it is I'm thinking out, but for the most part it takes time. Try to understand, it's not as controllable as some might think. Sure, you might be all hunkey dorey with just saying things, but I have never been one of those people. I probably never will be. Even when I want to say something, anything, to make whatever I've fucked up better, it still takes me a while. I can't help it.

I'm also entirely infuriating. Yes, I am well aware of this fact. Sometimes this is intentional. Others its not. It goes back to the terrible communicator thing. Among other things as well. I'd apologize for this, but I'm not really sorry more often than not. Except for with certain people.

There's a possibility I'm terrified of commitment. This is a (very) recent development. I usually don't have any commitments to be afraid of. But I might be. I don't think I am, but there's a chance. I'm not sure what it is I'm afraid of exactly.

I have a tendency to let you think as you please. If you say you think I blah blah blah about you, I'll probably just let whatever it is go. You think what you want to think. Why? Because clearly you believe I've done something to that accord so why bother correcting it? It's a stupid philosophy I know. But also, I want you thinking. Its probably twisted. But I'd rather you ponder than to just set the record straight on most issues. God only knows why.

I am not a conversationalist. Contrary to popular belief, I'm actually not all that loud. Or vocal. I don't talk all that much. I am entirely comfortable with silence. I don't feel the need to talk to you just because you're in the same room. Or same space. Or whatever. There's nothing wrong with me if I'm being quiet. I'm not broken, I'm probably not thinking all that intensely. I'm just being me. I'm quiet and I find ways to entertain myself. It's just how I am.

I am a bag of contradictions. I know I don't make any sense. I'm sorry for that. But again, I can't help it. It's not my fault I'm a walking oxymoron. I wish I could do something to make this easier on you, but I can't. But I'm trying.

I think I'm done ranting for now. But really, I should come with a warning sign. A "this is what you're getting into". I always feel bad when I realize that inevitably I'm going to do something entirely stupid on accident and probably cause some harm. I am an uphill battle. And I don't think you know what you've signed up for. I'm not caring, I'm not nice, I'm not affectionate or girly. I'm scared shitless every time I remember just how much faith is placed in me to not fuck shit up. It's daunting really. Which is probably why I fully intend on staying up as late as possible so that I can sleep as late as possible and conveniently avoid any mishaps because I am passed out.

Me? Flighty and non-confrontational? Never.

Quote of the Day:

"The pursuit of happiness is a most ridiculous phrase; if you pursue happiness you will never find it."

- C.P. Snow

Poor Boy (48 of 90)

A post on time? What? Preposterous.

Worries:

Alright internets, here's the problem. I'm female. Not that that's necessarily bad or anything. I'd much rather prefer my bits, to the dangly uncontrollable ones. The problem is the mood swings.

[Insert mood swings giving whiplash twilight reference here]

But really, I'm quite worried about these little buggers. As we all know a few days a month girls and women have inexplicable mood swings more frequently than normal. Except they're not really inexplicable by any means. They're hormone and OH MY GOD MY UTERUS IS A TREACHEROUS BASTARD COMMITTING MUTINY! induced.

Now that that bit is out of the way, let me say this. It's most unfortunate for the males in our lives when this occurs. Especially when said male has been dating you for approximately a week. I feel terrible for the poor boy, I really do. I don't normally mood swing so badly, but hell if I can fully control it. The best I can do is say "don't poke me or it'll end badly". Of course, when asked "how so?" I can't fully provide a response because really, who knows what my hormonal self will deem appropriate punishment. So of course the poking may continue. And by may, I mean did. And he has no idea how lucky he is I'm not completely insane. Or he would have lost a finger. Or three. I need a new movie. Not "How to Train Your Dragon" but "How to Train Your Boy". Rule One, do not agitate hormonal woman. Rule Two, follow rule one.

Still, I feel a bit bad since my mood was off. Oh well, I bought more motrin, so maybe I'll be a functioning member of society tomorrow.

Quote of the Day:

"One never knows what each day is to bring. The important thing is to be open and ready for it."

- Henry Moore

Fighting Dreamer (47 of 90)

Post for yesterday! Only a few hours later than normal, haha.

Strangeness:

So I had a few interesting dreams last night, and I figured I might as well document them. One was really awkward because it was about people I don't converse with regularly (then again, so was the other one, so bear with me).

In the first dream, I was in my room (at home) and just you know, chilling out maxin relaxin all cool. I then heard a voice that sounded suspiciously like Max downstairs, but I continued doing my own thing. Eventually who comes in my room but David and Max. I was all like "Sup. Dude, aren't you supposed to be in Japan?" and I don't think Max ever explained how he was inexplicably back in the U.S. But anyway, I then noticed he was significantly shorter than he was before he left. So being the curious person I am, I asked him what happened. Max then proceeds to pull a flier out of his coat pocket and says that the surgery is cheaper and safer in Japan. I then hang out with Max and David in my room before waking up to Tori talking on the phone.

The next dream was also weird because it was HvZ based. And I haven't really played this year. And I don't even halfway know the people who were in my dream. But anyway, the game was kind of set up like Dead Rising. Everyone got a camera and we were to go find the three zombies that were wandering around, and try to take awesome pictures of them. So everybody rushes off to take these pictures, but I'm slow. And so is another guy (whom I can't exactly recall). We laze about taking our time getting things ready, and then decide to take a bathroom break before starting. So I waltz into the bathroom with this big 'ol camera hanging around my neck, and what should I find? A dramatic male zombie sitting in one of the stalls. So like any logical creature, I scale the tops of the stalls to go get my picture. And then Lemmy walks in. What Lemmy was doing in the girls bathroom, I'll never know, but he was there with his camera ready. So we're both standing around taking pictures of this overly dramatic zombie (who loved to pose) when slowly people start coming back our way. I don't know what happens next though, because I woke up.

But in any case, strange dreams indeed. Maybe I'm not allowed to eat chicken wings before bed? I don't know, but I'm glad I got to sleep lol. And that my dreams were so interesting.

Quote of the Day:

"Laugh and the world laughs with you, snore and you sleep alone."

- Anthony Burgess

It seems I'm head over heels a case of L-O-V-E

Haha! A post on time! Let's see how long I can keep this up...

Doctor, Doctor I've got an emergency:

I'm entirely addicted to Family Force 5 at the moment. I blame Ray. But that's not really the point of this post. I've been working on news articles all day/night. It probably shouldn't have taken me so long. But as we all know, I'm easily distracted. And some not so secret part of me was probably avoiding doing things for Brad's class.

I'm still terrified of how that's going to turn out. I could fail and have to be here forever and fail and fail and bleh. Or I could magically be awesome, but I doubt that. Apparently I'm ahead of some of the kids in my class, which is cool. I'm not the bottom of the totem pole. I'm somewhere closer to... not the bottom. But still, I bet they're better with interviews and stuff.

I still can't get up the courage to just call people and ask for information. It's terrible. How many weeks has it been? I'm going to force myself to do it tomorrow after class. Force. Like, have someone dial the numbers and throw the phone at me if need be.

I've got to get over this irrational fear. But then again, I haven't gotten over a lot of irrational feelings. Like the thought that every mark on my wall could be a spider even though it's been there all semester.

This month is going to be terrible. It's officially hell month. So much to do, so very much. Brad's class on top of other projects and tests and papers. I'll be lucky if I'm still standing by the end of the semester. I think I can make it. I hope I can make it. But if I can't do it on my own, well, I think I've got a few people to lean on. To keep me sane. To slap me around and tell me to stop being a fuckup. Haha. Yeah, I can see it now. Keep me on my feet guys. I don't know how well I'll do on my own.

Quote of the Day:

"We lie the loudest when we lie to ourselves."

- Eric Hoffer