I like that I get emails from the CTA begging me to save it.
I feel like a superhero.
“No! CTA in trouble? I’m there!”
I wish food stores would email me and be like,
“IF YOU DON’T ACT QUICKLY, YOU WILL NOT HAVE FOOD. Plan alternative meals. Try one his week to see what you like.”
They better not get rid of the yellow line, s’all I’m sayin’.
no, this time I mean I am.
really, I am constantly thinking about, you know, better times past. and it’s only recently that I realized that almost all of them memories I form are unnecessarily sentimental, cinematic, and chock full of images that weren’t there to begin with.
i think this is why i tend to act so conservatively. i hate it when people start drinking and smoking, even though I’m guilty of both sometimes. i hate it when people move on and become more “adult-like”, even though i’m constantly trying to move forward.
it’s really more or less obnoxious. and i’m sure that you, readers, [or, at least, my old readers] can take this idea and point out exactly why I do what I do when I do it. it’s something that i more-or-less live by. i just want to be childish and do childish things around people who are likewise childish.
in 8-ish days, I’ll be 21. this is kind of the no-turning-back age. you can be a kid when you’re 13, or when you’re 17, or when you’re 19 even — but 21? no.
it’s really just obnoxious.
I guess I’ll keep talking about boring things until most of you people stop reading my blog.
Did you see the news today? Something with some FEMA thing? That was crazy. Crazy, crazy stuff.
This is why I never answer Craigslist ads.
I’m making a potroast tonight, and I need to do bio, and then maybe some math. I dunno, maybe some. You know. Just a little bit.
Yeah, I guess this is boring enough for now.
I was supposed to go to a party tonight, but my stomach is being kind of funny, and I’m not sure if I wanna bike such a long distance. Even if I did, I hate going to parties alone — it’s so awkward. I guess I’ll donate tonight’s time to doing homework.
Tomorrow is my favorite day of all days. Friday is awesome, honestly. And not just because it’s Friday — but because it’s my lounge-around day. Friday, I have class from 1030 – 1120, so from there I really don’t have anything else to do. So. I go and print out my reading for next Tuesday, check out the problems for whenever-they’re-do, sort of casually stroll about, have lunch at different places, explore. Really, it’s like, the best of all days.
I’m surprised there really hasn’t been more done on suisexuality. I’ve only ever seen it, and rarely at that, in bisexual and psychoanalytic literature. You’d think more would be done.
here is a pretty okay debate if you just can’t get enough of two people arguing about religion.
“In rats, male-typical sexual behavior is characterized by the male mounting a female, followed by mounts with intromissions of the penis, and ejaculation. On the other hand, female-typical sexual behavior includes proceptive behaviors such as ear wiggles and receptive behaviors such as lordosis.” — Estrogenic environmental endocrine-disrupting chemical effects on reproductive neuroendocrine function and dysfunction across the life cycle (Sarah M. Dickerson & Andrea C. Gore)
That’s too cute.
I don’t ever really like being specific in this blog. I don’t know why — I mean, it’s linked from my facebook, so anyone who has an understanding of how to search on google could probably figure who I am, what I do, who my friends are, what my phone number is, etc., etc. — but I just hate being specific on here.
Sometimes, this can make entries ambiguous. For example, when asked about my recent entries by a couple [literally, two] friends, both thought I was talking about completely different people, and neither of them were correct in actually guessing the person I was “really” talking about. This kind of misunderstanding is dangerous, I’ll admit, but little can be done. I’m not a big fan of using names if I’m talking badly about anyone — and, even sometimes if I’m complimenting. I don’t like the idea of strangers being able to stalk better through me.
Maybe it’s because I’m creepy and I’ve seen it. I’ve been to a student’s blog from here and saw a nasty comment about some other particular student, and I found myself sort of getting into the blogger’s mindset whenever I see that other student. This, you know, can be overcome and all, but it’s just sort of something I think about when I’m writing this.
I think everyone who reads this blog [and there are sometimes a lot of you! I think I average something like 4 or 5 unique visitors a day, which I think is a lot for a crappy blog.] is a friend of mine, or at least knows me well enough to know that when I say bad things about people, it’s mosly my problem, and not theirs. But if someone were to read who doesn’t know me too well and sees that I hate X because X does Y and Z and Z’ and whatever, then they might think that X actually does Y and Z and Z’ and so they shouldn’t like the person either.
</metablog>
I’m going to bed after I take a shower. It’s 4:53am. I finally am not coughing every five seconds. I finally don’t have my nose running every two seconds. I finally am not fevering every 1 second. I finally have regained my will to live every moment of the day.
I wonder why everyone got so sick at once. It’s really strange. Kind of upsetting. I mean, those were the last good days of the year for a while. It’ll be 57 degrees tomorrow, 60 degrees after that. It’s sub-65 degrees the rest of the week. Yeah. Well. I’ve got a neo-assyrian midterm on many things I didn’t know I needed to study on Thursday. I’ll be spending the entire day tomorrow attempting to do it. And bio. And math? I guess math can wait.
Lockpicking is so unusual. You really can’t find or buy the tools, and the only real way to get’em is to actually be a locksmith or make them. Unless you want the crappy amazon.com ones.
It was sort of funny. I went into the lock + key store again, with a new guy behind the counter [the last one banned me from the store?] and I asked him if he had a pick that would let me remove part of a key from the inside of my lock. This isn’t really an outlandish question, as this kind of thing probably happens a lot. He answered that it was unlikely that I, as a non-locksmith, would be able to get my hands on such a tool. I asked him if there were anything that I could try that would give me even a slim chance of acquiring such a tool. He smiled, and I think he knew what I was asking. Then he said, “you know, if your key is stuck in there, we are a key-and-lock store. just bring it in.”
I stared forwards for a bit. I didn’t ready a reply for his solution. I quickly stuttered out, “Oh, — but I live in an apartment building, and if I took off the knob, people would probably rob me.”
“You don’t live with anyone?”
“No, and I live far away from my friends, so I feel bad asking them to come over. I mean, I can still get in with the broken key, just — no one else can get in.”
“But you don’t live with anyone else?”
“Yeah, it’s an obsessive-compulsive thing, really.”
Then I tried to end it by asking if they made house calls. He said “rarely.” I said, “Good enough for me, I’ll try to see what I can do to bring it in.” and he smiled at me, shook his head, and sort of chuckled. I left.
I sort of feel like I’m dancing on a wire right now.
“Do you have any close friends, or just collections of acquaintances?”
That’s a question that comes up a lot for some reason in conversation here. It usually follows, “it’s hard to meet people.”
It’s hard, though, to get close to people without a dorm, really. I try to keep busy so I don’t think about people, but I can’t get close to people because I try to keep myself so busy.
But, let’s keep on a high note for this entry — as it’s preceded by two of a more…uh…low-note-feeling. I feel like I’m walking on a wire, but that at least means I have good steps and bad steps. Some days are amazing and fantastic, and I go home and go to bed feeling like, you know, if every day were this good, I’d be set. But other days are sort of, you know — I feel like I’m being avoided, I can’t do anything right, I don’t see anyone I know, etc., etc.
I mean, okay, you can stop reading now, but one year or so ago, I thought of measuring every action and series of actions as approximations of orgasm. I thought it wasn’t productive to take the actual “values” of the approximation, as this varies [what hurts for me doesn't hurt for him and hurts more for him and, ... etc.], but rather the rate of change of this approximation. So, I hypothesized that the more variation from the x-axis [or, the norm] the rate of change of approximation of orgasm was, the “better off” we would be. We would experience highs and lows and not just mediums. It’s kind of strange that I’d actually go from experiencing these mediums last year [the latter half.] and part of first year, to experiencing these highs and lows this year. I don’t really know which is better yet.
I should really just get a new anonymous blog. All my entries are bleeding together now. And it’s embarrassing for any future stalkers to know that I, at one point, was a complete mess.
The hardest part, really, is getting the knife in.
After that, no matter what you do, it’s slowly dying anyway. Twisting it around just sort of speeds it up.
I just wanted to sort of have a bump from my previous entry. It’s much too specific to appeal to any kind of general crowd. So I decided to make this entry.
I think through all of my irritating and unreasonably unhealthy 2 years here, I’ve learned something useful about myself.
I think that I don’t really talk about the little problems that I have with things, and I just let them pile up until I really just can’t stand to look at the person anymore.
I weigh my options. Pros: What pros? Cons: This, this, this…etc.
I feel like a stereotype. Like a married woman in a sitcom. I remember all of the things that people do to me and quietly hold them around my neck. But then what do I do? I just get sick of the person. I can’t stand them anymore. Thinking about them makes me ill. I never bring up those things. They never get settled. I just get so passive aggressive that no one else feels like playing cat and mouse anymore, and instead, I just disappear like mist.
Yep. I’ve got no clever ending for this entry.
