I, like most people, love being inside while it's raining. Being inside where I can see windows. It's the only time I can appreciate being alone and inside.

I want to talk about writing all day long. It makes me so happy. It makes me not care that I can't sustain a relationship and that I spent all of last night alone, sitting on the floor doing a puzzle and watching tv and that is how I spent Tuesday night as well.

Also, the PR office is writing a story about me and other Fulbright receivers. I work there, so it's even more exciting.

Times I woke up last night:
2AM
5:30AM
8AM
10:15AM (that's when my alarm was set for)

I'm tired of feeling tingly and painful over this. I need to snap the fuck out of it.

Getting a Fulbright did not solve everything. Why not?

Why do I wake up every morning and still feel awful over someone who is not worth that?

Poise

and purpose

I got a Fulbright to Austria. I am happy, but mostly I am terrified and I am still sad about other things. (I can see the disappointment in people before I post this. Why can't I just be happy when really amazing things like getting a Fulbright happen? Because some deeper sort of feelings in me have been wounded.) I am excited though.

I just thought "Wouldn't it be nice if I could eat my ice cream in bed and then not have to get up to put it back in the freezer?" And then I realized this is why they make bowls.

Then I get back here again, this acceptance of who I am as a human being. I will always get upset when I lose a person I care about, even if it was irrational, even if it wasn't my fault (does it matter if it was?), even if it will make me feel better later. I will always care about things more than other people appear to and I will continue to cry a lot probably for several more days until I have a final fit where I settle into acceptance and then forgetting.

This is what he is doing: avoiding me because he feels bad. I don't know that he feels bad, but I know he is avoiding me and I can only assume it's because he knows he made me feel bad.

I warned him, I warn everyone, but no one really gets it until I start uttering those words I am worried because I care, which people take to mean so much more than it ever will. I worry about everything. I care about you and I care about that sandwich that I am going to eat at lunch and my dog and my cat and my skin and every single person I've known whether I like them or not. Sex makes it a different nature of caring, but I know this cycle. Know that no one wants to be together forever yet, especially not me, know that it will end and I will feel awful and then better and then will find someone new.

Who am I saying this too? I don't know anymore.

Michelle read one of my stories and said, "This sounds familiar" and I told her no, it was about a different person, in a different time. But it was familiar. It's the same story.

We don't understand each other anymore

Huh. I am surprised by this new development, but not surprised at the same time. Contrary to my last post, people keep acting like so much themselves.

People are often not what you think they will be. This is true of me as well.

Things get easier and things get harder again. I write flash fictions about tea. I write flash fictions about alcohol. I eat dinner outside and listen to boys that remind me why I don't like boys like that. (Are you going to ask her out? Oh hell no, I'll sleep with her, but I wouldn't date her. If he thinks she's not cute either she's really hot or really ugly. We were lying in bed and she was mad at me so I jumped on top of her and said "What did you say?") I wonder what I am going to do for the entire evening. I think about how I haven't wondered that in months. I think about calling people to find something to do and don't know who to call. I think about writing. My stomach hurts. I should go to the gym. The only time I care so much about how my body looks is when I have been snubbed and then I try my hardest to look really good. It makes no difference and I always end up eaitng too much when I feel poorly.

Monica game me Deb Olin Unferth's novel "Vacations" to read this morning and I am halfway through. I napped on the couch all afternoon and it was pleasant. I forgot how much I like reading and like novels, especially novels written by funny flash fictions writers.

We talked about my introduction and mainly she said the parts that are most interesting is when I am talking about the perception that other people have of me and how I am defined and how I am continually defining things and when I talk about my body and it sounded so much like me as a whole. It really all goes back to have a body. Do all people experience this? Having a body?

Ugh, I hate feelings. If I could I would be one of those people who has a lot of meaningless sex, but I'm not one of those people. Do those people really exist? I'm not sure they do. I really don't like being attached to people though. The whole experience is rather uncomfortable.

It makes me so upset that I am upset right now. This is so dumb.

Somethings about today:
1. It was really good.
2. I really like a lot of my sisters a lot.
3. My apartment is a mess, but I'm not going to clean it until tomorrow.
4. It's hard to drink all day long.
5. It's better when you're not waiting for someone.

Instead of saying regretful things other places: I miss you a lot and don't know what to do about it. We're still in the same place and I am probably never really going to see you again and I don't know why I want to talk to you so much, when I was so apathetic towards you to begin with.

On a side note: Flunk day has been really good, I am just exhausted, so I am taking a nap before going back out for the night.

I just washed lots of mud off my body.

Whenever I feel like shit I get the urge to speak in German so that no one will know I feel bad.

Ich fuehle schlecht, sehr schlecht. Ich hasse Maenner. Jaaa.

I lied. The worst part of breaking up is waking up in the middle of the night and feeling like shit. I feel better during the day when people are around. Supposedly today is Flunk Day which means in an hour or two I will be getting drunk and running around. I'm worried if I can sustain happiness while drunk. I'm not sure. But I am going to do it anyway.

I always go to Walmart when bad things are happening in my life. Thus I associate it with bad grades, arguments, and boys acting in ways that I don't want them to.

Also, more pizza and more 30 Rock. Apparently this is nightly thing now. I'm going to get real fat real fast.

The worst part of losing people is not being able to tell them things anymore, like the stupid shit that happened in my day that doesn't mean anything, but I just like to say it and I like to hear other people's stupid shit too and when I things happen I think, "Later, I am going to say this," but I can't and it just gets stuck and my whole head gets stuck.

I want to pretend like I am doing just super, but I'm really not. You know?

I started crying because I couldn't get an audio file of Matthew Dickman to start playing. Poetry is ruining my life. I'm going to become really vapid. Get a bump-it. Start a career in business.

I'm running out of work to do, so I am joining the club of depressed people who sleep a lot.

When I was a kid I sprained my ankle a lot to the point that I stopped going to the doctor and had crutches and an ankle wrap at the ready. I knew to put ice on my ankle for twenty minutes while elevated and that after a week it should start feeling better. The first sprained ankle was really bad and recovery was slow and painful and I stayed off my leg so much that when I started to use it again, it hurt an unwarrented amount, but the next few weren't so bad.

This is how I feel now. I ordered a big pizza that I couldn't afford, ate ice cream, and watched episodes of 30 Rock while falling asleep. I stayed completely sober. I got a lot of work done today. Probably soon I will go work out. In approximately three weeks I will feel much better.

The funny part about a break up is you can finally admit all the flaws about the person. An ex-boyfriend once said that his mother asked him to tell her all the things he hated about me at which point he supposedly said, "There's nothing wrong with her." I don't really do that.



^Not that I am awful, I am just not really one to idolize a person.

Television therapy. Too bad I already wrote a story about this.

I probably would feel a lot better if I wasn't hungover and if mentally difficult things didn't translate into what felt like real pain. What a stupid response to anything.

I've been thinking since I woke up what to write here like it mattered. It doesn't really. I started writing in here because I was lonely and needed somewhere to speak to because my roommate didn't talk. This process now repeats itself regularly. My first thought this morning was to go the honest route: There was a person in my life who is now gone and it wasn't my choosing. My second thought was to go the mean route incase that person decided to read this, which is unlikely: I can't believe he did that, fucking bastard. My third thought was the nice route: I really don't hate you and vaguely understand. My fourth thought was to go explanatory: It wasn't very long, all started in Wales and ended a month after being back and no one really understood it, but it made sense in it's own way I think, even though at the end he said we didn't understand each other. That's what people always say when they end a period of understanding. But now I'm just not sure. I don't feel the worst, but I certainly do not feel good. Walking home I started thinking about poetry and how that's my number one thing, writing. It isn't, but that a lie that I tell myself. I always come back to the end of a poem by Sandra Cisneros, "Once Again I Prove the Theory of Relativity":

Meanwhile
I'll have savored you like an oyster
memorized you
held you under my tongue
learned you by heart
So that when you elave
I'll write poems

There wasn't enough time for memorization, but it's the same theory. Immediately after (being my typical self I was drunk and crying) I wanted to talk to people. I went to Julia's and all these people I wanted near me came out. I guess I still do. I want to talk to my dad. Tell him what's going on with my life. It's kind of dumb, bht that's how it is.


Here is a lovely poem by Sarah Manguso. It's how I feel a lot.

I cannot speak for him, but mostly Julia and I talked about fear, which is for me, but I face them. It terrifies me to have feelings for someone and yet I do it anyway, despite an end date despite the possibility of it being miserable. It's probable I was just wrong. That's usually how it is. I am just the wrong person, but feelings are scary especially when they come fast and overwhelming and include bodies.

This is all I'm going to say right now. Probably in ten minutes I will write more. I am very self aware.

I definitely have my keys saftey pinned to my bra.

I bit my nails all through Caxton Club. I really liked the poems, I was just restless. Hmm. Hmm means I have a lot more I want to say, but I always hestitate to put the sort of thing I want to say on my blog. It's not a terribly secret thing or anything. Hmmm.

I am like this always I think. I always try and look back to find the stem of it all, but I'm not sure there is a cause here. Genetics is the perfect scapegoat for everything because no one really understands it yet. My mother's hip is degenerating because of genetics, I get nervous because of genetics.

If I were a planet gravity would pull the opposite direction. Or maybe not, maybe I would only perceive it that way.

Hearing poetry outloud is one of my favorite things ever.

I'm still really crabby. The kind of crabby where I want to pinch.

In Seymour (where first year boys live) there are three bottles of alcohol lined up on the windowsill behind a curtain, presumably to hide them in some manner. Sadly, everyone walking by can clearly see two fifths of vodka and what looks like a fifth of rum.

I got really self-rightous and assertive in my plans last night and then I wake up in the morning feeling kind of shitty and all the bones in my back are gone.

Every day I get excited and every day I am let down. It's just tiring.

I have only ever been myself. I can have empathy for other people, but sometimes I just am baffled.

Hanging out with my pal, Henri. He's very angry. He likes to draw nude models.

Someone in the painting class is crying. I think she's a science major

Sometimes I wish I liked to play video games and could spend all afternoon doing nothing. I am the worst person at doing nothing that I know.

(In the art studio, doing a copy of Henri Matisse's head)

There is a boy in a sailor suit holding a whip.

One of my professors can by and said, "Why is there a boy in a sailor suit holding a whip?"

I'm not really sure.

I keep thinking that this sense of miss is exceptional, but I think I'm just good at missing things. It's not sad or heartbreaking, but a "I like being around you" sort of miss.

I'm tired of having money problems.

I had a lot of thoughts and conversations about the future last night. Primarily, above all else, above being broke and bored, I am scared of being alone. I am consistently afraid of being alone, but in college it's easy not to be, I am busy almost all the time and I am rarely in my room by myself. Really, it's all very silly because I still have friends in the Twin Cities and friends nearby elsewhere. Life will happen and I am happy right now, so theoretically I can continue being happy.

I don't want any statements that start with: I feel bad for Tasha because of this-

I'm just frustrated that I worked so fucking hard for four fucking years and it doesn't really mean anything. I should've been drunker, crazier, slept less.

A few things:
1. Figure drawing has made me realize how many people shave their pubes. I always kind of thought it was something that people did because of Cosmo and pornography and that it was not something that most women did, but I think it might be.
2. Waiting is the worst things in the whole wide world.
3. Bacon is really tasty. I don't even like meat very much and I think bacon is tasty.

I need to calm down. A few nights ago I dreamt that another part of my tooth came off from grinding. I'm not even thinking about anything. Well, that's an absolute lie. I'm thinking how tomorrow I'm going to find out things that will partially determine my entire future and I imagine this fate where I sit in St. Paul and work at the same place I've always worked (I do love it, but I can't do it forever) and see the same people I've always seen (again, I do love them) and everyone slowly drifts off until I am the last one left, broke and bored. I am so terrible at being bored. If only I smoked more, if only it didn't make me tense. The weekend was too long. It'll be good to get back to the week when I have things to do again.

This morning I watched a glass slide off my desk and shatter on the floor. I am terrified to go in my room.

Drinking lemon chamomile tea at Kaldi's and waiting for Michelle. It's a tired Sunday. I got a lot of work done yesterday and now I don't feel like doing anything.

I overheard this girl in the caf talking about how people are jealous of her because she never does anything bad.

My eggs at brunch are always disappoiting. From the way they cook eggs you would think that making fried eggs is horrendously difficult, which it's not. I judge people based off of food so much. It's not really about what they eat as the quality of what they eat. This comes out in my poems a lot.

It's morning and I think perhaps everything may be okay and if everything isn't perfectly okay now it certainly will be okay later when I eat brunch and even better later when I write collaborative prose poems.

Just when I think I'm a likable human being, I convince myself I'm not. I want it to be tomorrow and I want everything to be better tomorrow. I want my headache to be gone, I want the people upstairs to stop jumping off furniture. I want you to call me back and I'm terrified you won't.

Seriously upstairs neighbors, you are 22 years old, you don't need to jump off of things at 2 AM.

And I just started crying.

I was waiting for it. The drunk crying. At least I am alone and no one can witness it. Even though that's why I'm crying.
Whatefer What5efer Whatrwcver.

Ugghhhhh.

I'm editing a story about the emotional baggage that people carry from relationship to relationship.

It should be the required intro-reading for dating me I think.

I talked with my dad this morning.

He said: "Are you excited to come home?"
I said: "No."
"So you actually like school now?"
"Yes, isn't that dumb?"

Tired.
Took a nap from 8 to 9:30 and woke up to a phone call.
Watched The Matrix, sober.
It made a lot more sense when I was a kid.
Talked about the future a lot.
It did not make me feel better.
The last couple of terms I have actually liked Knox.
I like a lot of people.
I like certain people a lot.
All of it will come to a premature ending.

The Art Institute yesterday was really good. Somehow I managed to lose everyone from Knox within the first hour or so and wandered around by myself for about five or six hours, walked around Millenium Park with some girl who's name I don't remember and then collapsed on the bus home.

I wrote a prose poem:


The Art Institute
1. After looking at the Matisse exhibit I saw a kid with a sideways mohawk.
2. Sometimes I think, "I don't like this at all."
3. Everyone likes Georgia O'Keege because she understands the vagina.
4. There are a lot of paintings about communism for a museum that costs eighteen dollars to get into.
5. What is beaver board? (See: American Gothic)
6. After staring at a long naked black body a woman turns and smiles at me.
7. The theory seems to be that people don't like to sit down while they're looking at art.
8. I've always loved paintings of ugly women.
9. I've never understood longing so well until I witnessed an exhibit of chairs with nowhere to sit.
10. A man is talking to a security guard. She nods, "Mmmmmm-Hmmmmm," and stares off into the distance.
11. There is a portrait of a man drinking water.
12. I sit for a long time writing. I am doing the wrong thing.
13. A teenage boy walked by and said, "Everything in here isn't art."
14. "European stuff seems kind of stuffy comparred to all the ancient stuff."
15. There is a mummy case, but it doesn't say if anyone is inside.
16. An old man explains to his wife how to use weaponry.
17. Looking at Indian art I think about the time my cousin put a dot on her forehead to hide an incoming zit.
18. Everytime a child cries I stare at them: a new installation.
19. In Asian art I start thinking about my grandmother, but I'm not sure why because she isn't Asian.
20. Security guards march down the hallway with their walkie talkies screaming. You would think I was on the street.
21. The paper is warped, but that is to be expected. How could anything ever recover from that much water?
22. If you want to continue to like Renaissance art, don't study in Italy.
23. From paintings I could conclude that the Dutch are much pinker and more rounded than the rest of us.
24. A security guard just asked if I was okay.
25. Upon seeing a Monet, a woman jumps up and down.
26. A security guard reads the description of a Gauguin like she has never seen it before.
27. "My mother, my mother is whiter than you."
28. The weird thing about men and painters: they've seen parts of yourself that you will never see.
29. Comptemporary art smells like fruit flavored candy.
30. I saw his art in another country.
31. Outside, a woman says to her son, I'll spank yo' ass."

Going to the Art Institute of Chicago. There isn't anyone I know very well going on the trip, which could put a damper on it slightly, but you know, art is nice regardless. I'm going to bring my notebook and try and get some writing done.

I think being an alternate from Austria has really thrown me off. I haven't been anxious lately, but since Monday I can feel the ants stirring. It feels foreign again. I've been drinking caffeine, which probably isn't helping. I feel like I haven't talked about it. Not really. I just want to talk about it, get upset, be hugged, but people don't really seem to know what to say and I want to tell them not to say anything. I don't want words of reassurance because they don't mean anything. I'm an alternate. That's it. I don't want to hear the possibility of me going. I don't want anything insincere. I hate how this is affecting my life. I hate feeling like my feelings are irrational. Is that an irrational feeling? To feel that way. I am so bad at asking for what I want.

What I want: To go back to Monday morning before nine o'clock.
To be happy and drunk and not worry.
To be less afraid of the foreign.
To not worry about my adequacy.

I'm sort of crying, but only sort of. I need to cry I think. I keep feeling all these emotions and emotions make me cry. I have too many words right now. I just want to talk and talk and talk, but I keep forgetting everything I want to say and the things I don't forget I am nervous to say. So nervous about my nerves.

Things I did in the past hour:
1. Straightened my hair.
2. Cut my bangs.
3. Cut my bangs again.
4. Decided my cut bangs looked really bad.
5. Curled my hair.

I must have too much to do.

If you thought my posts were bad, my favorite part was when I went to watch a tv show, but feel asleep while typing in the address.

Except I want to state the fact that I'm really happy even though I'm not going to Autria. Sometimes I get tired of things being secretive and want everyone to know.

One of the worst facets of my personality: Worrying about soemthing means I care about it.

One of the fascinating tihngs of human existance: How do microwaves cook things do fast? (It took me several tries to spell "cook," first I spelled, coke and cock.)

It's stupid really, missing this absence. Ugghhhhhhh I shouldn't.

Maybe it's flunk day tomorrow.

I hatteeee being attached to people. Except I really like it a lot. fdghbgfkhkjfdhbl

Some people have very different conversations from other people. I love sitting on the Gizmo patio for the things that I overhear.

I am going to get sunburned again. I put a sweater on for protection, but my neck is way exposed. Whenever I am bright red all I can think is that I look like a lobster.

I'm sorry if I'm crabby, I don't mean to be.

When I am upset I eat a lot really fast. It doesn't matter what it is. This is a terrible way to go out into the real world.

(A year from now, my weight bloomed to 500, I clap for exercise and talk about how I should be in Europe)

I'm an alternate for Austria. This sucks. But I kind of figured, everything has been going so well, something had to go poorly.

I think people are self-oppressing a lot. They don't do it on purpose. They've been trained to do it.

I want to create a hole where I can stop time from moving.

Michelle (who I did a poetry colloboration for class with last term)and I got together this afternoon and wrote prose poems. It was really nice. One of the poems we wrote was about crevices. A lot of things can be thought of in terms in crevices.

I felt overwhelmed all day, as if I am outrageously behind in my work, but I'm not, not at all. I'm done with almost everything for the whole week. I just have so many places to be. I will be busy tomorrow from 9:20AM to 9:00PM. I want to lie in bed and think about how much I like everything right now.

I cannot afford to graduate. Graduating is them saying that we paid $160,000 for an education and now we have to pay more. I have $20 in my bank account. I don't know what to do. I'm tired of begging my dad for money. I need shampoo, I need to do the laundry, I need to pay my credit card bill. I'm so tired of living like this.

I am lying in bed thinking about how hungry I am. I didn't realize I was hungry until I found myself satisfied in all sorts of ways I didn't know I was lacking.

Oh geeze, I am actually literally hungry right now and I'm not going to brunch for 2 and 1/2 more hours.

Sometimes I worry that I'm just a crabby person, but really it is the samethings always that make me crabby.

Sleepy life. Missing things is difficult. I miss things here. I miss St. Paul things. I just miss things all the time.

I made "Telephone" my ringtone while drinking last night. This is one of the best decisions I have ever made. Someone should call me later.

I think I like being in a sorority. I think I'm embarrassed to like being in a sorority and whenever we do anything I've always just woken up from a nap and thus I am crabby, but I still think that maybe I like it. Look how hard this is for me to admit. I don't often regret my decision.

I can't even describe my schedule anymore it's so full.

But you know, life has been good and lovely in all sorts of nice ways.

I enter Travel Channel Sweepstakes:
Win a trip to Jamaica.
Win a trip to Prague.

Why not? I already get the emails.

I don't know what to do with these poems.

In class on Tuesday we talked about when you can write about things. Most people said they don't write about current things, but I do, all the time. Except not about people. I only write about people later, still confused. It bothers me, how people change with distance. You meant this once and now you have transformed into this ugly awful thing because once happened and once is no longer happening. How can I sustain a you in space? How do I go back and revise the you's that I have written about that have changed again?

Sometimes I check the mail late at night, as if mail came at 11PM. I also check the mail in the morning, at lunch time, and in the afternoon. With the Knox College mailroom, you never know when things will show up. My confidence makes me nervous. How much worse will it be when I get rejection letters knowing that I expect to be accepted?

I need more clothes that say "join the organization that I'm in." Somewhere I obviously care about it.

Now I really feel like I'm in Jr. High.

Lately I've thought a lot about junior high and the things that were important then. I don't think they've changed.

This is how you know you've grown up: You don't want to be that weird girl anymore.

There was an asian beetle swimming in the toilet earlier. I flushed it.

Do you ever have those moments where you feel ugly and like your body is falling apart?

I'm having one of those right now.

My back is peeling. It's really gross. I apologize.

I'm at Kaldi's, revising things. For senior portfolio we have to revise everything we've written while at Knox. I did a rough estimate this morning and for me that's somewhere between 250-300 pages. I'm on page two of the first story I wrote at Knox. The one about which my professor told me I should quit writing if I kept writing like that.

I wrote this first year for beginning nonfiction. We were supposed to write a self-portrait. I'm not sure what to do with it now that I have to revise it. That person existed, was real, but is real no longer.

I move my life through words. In the winter my world was vague. The walls appeared to be vague, the scenery around me vague. Galesburg, I felt, was not a real place at all, but a dream world from which I needed to wake up. I then moved into a state of confliction. At meals I would have to choose between cereal or a more substantial meal that was doused in oil and fat. Choose between working out and going home and curling up in my bed. These choices blossomed into larger choices, ones that I was not sure I could make and so I settled into a state of ambivalence. The trouble is that confliction is an ever arising emotion that I can feel curling itself around my ribcage. It settles in the bags underneath my eyes and the dip in my skin where the collar bones meet at the throat. Confliction is what awakens me from my ambivalent state of sustenance where I hide in the winter. It rises with the flowers and the buds on the trees and it brings with it razors, scales, and bleeding fingers.
It started with a state of boredom. Not the boredom of a humid summer day spent lying in the grass eating a Popsicle, but restless late night boredom spent staring at the television screen. This boredom was baffling to me. A type of boredom that traveled with me in the pocket of my jeans and crawled into my eye sockets when it was time to go to sleep. I lay there with boredom until boredom pushed me out of bed and onto the quiet St. Paul sidewalks to trample it away. I would wake up in the morning and find boredom written across the notebook pages at school in the morning, not realizing until I was sitting in the doctor’s office with scabs across my arms that boredom was a synonym for anxiety.
It was most often a he who made me anxious. A he who did not look at me the way I wanted him to, a he who became built up into my head until he was more than any he could ever aspire to. The he who didn’t see me because I had too much fat around my thighs, too many pimples on my forehead. Because I cried too much, yelled too much, and because I simply needed him too much. It was this group of the ubiquitous he that stood me in front of the mirror at night. I would stand there, picking at blemishes on my face until gashes formed, grabbing handfuls of flesh and thinking that I was too much. If only I were lesser then he would love me. It was the other group of he that left the red and white scars that crawled up my arms. This was the he that aroused confliction. The kind that told me how often they thought of me, but left out the context under which this thought occurred. The kind of he who forgot to call or never once uttered the word beautiful. It was him that left me wandering the streets at night.
Ubiquitous was the word that became associated with him. He was in my mind always. I carried him around, dangling from my fingers like a coffee cup. Occasionally he would change. His hair would get shorter, lighter, he would get taller, heavier. This ever coveted he, a more abstract concept than anything real. Despite my ideals of feminism he became the one that was supposed to save me from my anxiety that was eating away at my wrists and thighs.
It was not a he who saved me, but diversion. I got a job. Instead of curling into my remorse ball at night I would call people. I started crocheting and doing embroidering and so instead of a he in my mind it was counting stitches and rows. I ate three meals a day and went running at night. I filled my mind with schedules and lists and lined up my case of oil paints in rainbow order. He still rests in my ear amongst the long row of earrings and at night I still pace around trying to fill the boredom. During the day I emulate the word distraction. I took it apart and tried to discover exactly what it meant. As I washed my face and brushed my teeth to get ready for bed one night after working on homework for several hours I realized that distraction was sustenance. Concentrate on eating, sleeping, cleaning, and little else.

I've been more secretive than usual lately, but I'm usually not secretive at all. At some point I stopped talking about these things. It just got tiring, everyone knowing my failures.

When it is not Flunk Day, I whine at 5Am to the people screaming, I wake up at 8AM and take a shower, make myself a breakfast bagel, and do homework. I become overwhelmed with the giant mass of stories and poems I must revise. I go back to sleep.

The Knox College administration is dropping like flies. Not that they are dying, just resigning and being forced into leave that is rumored to turn into a firing or resignation. All the shit is hitting the fan.

Walking home from work a guy turned around and stared at me every several seconds. It was really awkward.

I am so tired of being in this meeting. I've been in meetings since 4PM. This is ridiculous. I'm not even supposed to be on here, but I stopped caring at about 4:05.

My mom starts crying every time we get off the phone.

Oh, also, happy Easter to those who do celebrate it.

The Easter Bunny never came to my house when I was little: my parents forgot or didn't realize that he was supposed to. When I was five I asked them what happened and why he never showed up. Luckily that year we moved to a new house and they said that he just didn't have our address before, but he did now and he came every year for awhile until Kevin and I lost interest.

There is a box of egg dye that has been sitting in my mom's house for several years.

The part I used to really like about Easter was going out for brunch. This stopped before the Easter Bunny did.

If you know me, you probably know my family isn't at all religious, but my mom and I like to celebrate things and put up cheesy decorations and fitting food.

It's harder to celebrate non-religious Easter as you get older. All that's left is eating candy.

Dinner with my roommates was really nice and wine + mojito + more wine made me really sleepy. Early night.

New music always makes me happy.

It's weird how quickly things become habitual and how quickly things can be missed. You remember saying to yourself a few days ago: I will not let this become what it is now.

Oh dear.

Caitlin (one of my roommates) is making dinner. It smells so good. I am so excited to eat with my roommates.

I grind my teeth when I draw. I was in the drawing studio for over three hours this afternoon. I was chewing gum. Suddenly my gum was crunchy. Part of on of my molars chipped off. I need one of those retainers that people who grind their teeth a lot wear. Only I wouldn't wear it.

Maybe people don't realize how they act because no one tells them. This is why I get nervous. I don't know how I act or what I look like because no one tells me unless it's good.

Except sometimes I get told to calm down, but not as much recently because I've been calm.

On a different note, I just remember sitting in my orientation group for college and feeling really intimidated because everyone want to be a doctor or a brain surgeon. I wonder if they actually made it through undergrad and are going to med school next year. I wish I remembered their names or what they looked like.

There are no fajitas at lunch today, which means I will be craving fajitas all week.

I completely forgot that rain had a smell until I walked outside and it smelled very rainy. Also, there were raindrops hitting me and I was in the Walmart parking lot so the smell was probably tripled.

Buying eggs: a commitment.

I bought eggs yesterday. I have to eat a dozen by April 10th.
I ate two yesterday.
I still have 10.
It's April 2nd.
That is more than on egg a day.
How many eggs can I really eat a day?
Can I eat eggs everyday?

I was drawing in the art studio and people came in and started dancing on the stools. It was really nice.

I am really sunburnt. This is what it's like to actually have skin instead of just clothing. Luckily I still have the aloe and the 50spf from last year when I did this.

I went to the C-Store to get some food and there was a sign on the door that said, "Expect to have your pockets checked" and it was very intimidating. Then I went inside and Nate the campus safety guy was in there. The whole thing was very nervewracking. Then when I left I noticed it said "April Fools!"

Everyone looks so cute in the springtime. It's like cute season.

My back is sunburnt already. I'm not going inside though.

Julia gave me money because Julia is a really great friend.

(Lunch on the Gizmo patio, working on my annotated bibliography)

I'm $10 short of buying my cap and gown and things. Anyone want to lend me $10? I can pay you back tomorrow.

Having no money sucks.

When I was a kid on April Fools Day I used to tell people that my grandmother had died.

I don't think this is funny anymore.