pajama professor.

I definitely should either be using this time to be 1) sleeping or 2) reading Shakespeare, but I kind of want to blog instead. Sleep is something I really should do, you know, log some hours. Between loads and loads of homework, projects, and tests, having little to no self control to talk or hang out with friends for hours on end, and all of the little other things that fill up my days, I have a very strained relationship with sleep. Sometimes I can go to bed at 9pm and sleep until 6am and it's wonderful, glorious, and awesome. But other times, I'm up until 11 0r 12 working on physics lab reports or like, doing whatever it was that I was doing on Sunday night until 1:30am.


Which brings me to this: thank you guys for all of your comments on my post from Sunday night. And thanks for the hugs, cyber hugs make me feel all warm inside, much like a real hug. Reading them throughout the week has helped, because this week has been a combination of busy/glowy/nice/stressful/anxious/tiring/warm and reading those helped the bad parts. I do hope you know that I don't feel like that all the time, just certain parts of the day and some days for long periods of time. I have bad days and such, but I'm not usually in a perpetual state of panic and anxiety. Which is good, and is precisely the reason that I haven't seen a doctor about it.


I'm sitting on my bed at my mom's house, with my back against the pillows, and I can look across my room and out the window and see a white world. A white world with a couple bushes and some tree branches and this house that has lights in their yard and lining their roof and it's really pretty. I like winter, or at least December. Once it gets to be maybe February or so, that depressing, lonely rut where I don't want to do anything at all sets in, but December is just so magical. The cold and snow are so new that I can't even mind them. I kind of keep looking out of the window at the snow and the lights and feeling that Christmas-y feeling wash over me. It's nice.


I look like a pajama professor. I'm wearing a combination of a t-shirt, really high (penguin) socks, wiener dog boxers, and this really weird sweater that my mom gave me. It has a collar and when I was brushing my teeth earlier, I realized that the collar made me look like a professor, for some reason. It might be my deteriorating brain playing tricks on me, but I totally looked like I was going to grade some super intense dreams later, or something. Nope, no, I can't anymore. My eyelids are drooping and I'm way too excited to sleep. Before 11pm for the first time in 2 days. Goodnight. :)

the infection of love.

Hi there, good people of the blogging universe. :) I'm coming to you at 11:37pm on a Wednesday night. A school night. But I'm not rebelling, I promise, and I'm going to hop back on the sleeping-bandwagon tomorrow night, but earlier tonight I had literally a little over a cup of diet coke at a restaurant and now… so much energy. Can't sleep. But it's the story of my life, and I'm not going to dwell on it. I'll simply use this leftover energy to do something productive. Such as explore a poem by Anne Sexton.


Wanting to Die, a poem by Anne Sexton, was written to explain why poets, people, anyone like herself (and her friend Sylvia Plath) would want to kill themselves. Keep in mind, this isn't my opinion, nor is it any general truth, just her opinion, I suppose. You can read it here if you want, I don't wanna poem overload, but I just wanted to kind of… dwell on the last line. "and the love, whatever it was, an infection." Just that idea, of love being an infection, is just so beautiful, in a heartwrenching way. Love, it can spread and it can hurt and it can take you down. It's infectious.


My friend pointed out this line after we saw Inception today and there was the line about an idea being a parasite, the most resilient of them. Because we're, uh, nerdy, I whipped out the poem book we've been looking at lately (it's her's) and read that poem and that line just… I don't know. I had just come out of the movie about an hour ago, but it just struck a nerve. I wasn't emotional or anything, not really at that part of the conversation, but the idea of these things, that seem innocent enough, taking over your mind and your body and everything… it's fascinating.


To lighten the mood a little bit, I'll talk about myself a little bit. I'm not sure what's been going on with me lately, to be honest, I've been reliving the past a lot, and spending every free moment (which, alas, are few) either watching Parenthood (I am newly obsessed with this show. guys, you have to watch it. please) or reading old conversations/poems/journal entries/notes, anything from 8th grade. I feel like I just need to figure out that person I was then. Why I did the things I did and what I thought and when things fell apart and how I put them back together and… it's crazy. The lines between 8th grade and the present are starting to blur when characters from then and now collide. It's super weird.


Wow… that didn't really lighten the mood, did it? Oh well. I hope this entry didn't sound bleak, that wasn't my intention at all. In fact, I've been good lately. A warm, familiar sort of happiness. Not a crap-is-this-gonna-get-yanked-away kind of happiness but one that feels secure. I don't know. I like it. How are YOU guys?

hell to the yeah!

Text message conversations at 11pm, sitting at a really uncomfortable desk with really low lighting are almost always melancholy. Especially if they're about topics that make you sad with people that make you sad. I should turn off the lights and take the laptop into bed with Lucy and the darkness and a poster of Emile Hirsch in Into The Wild looking behind my quizzically, but I just redid my room today and my sheets are still in the dryer, so I have to wait a little bit. I really like the way I redid my room, although I probably would love any redone room, cuz it's really the change that I crave. Or craved. Well regardless, it's pretty snappy lookin'.

I'm going to make a room tour on Saturday for thesexymacaroni (my collab channel), because I was supposed to on Tuesday and didn't have a chance to record at my mom's house and I'll probably link it here in case anyone reading doesn't watch thesexymac or I want to see it later on a readback or something. I'm pretty excited. I'm also going to start a mini wall project (link is to my last, very long-running blog where I had this epic/epic fail wall project in summer 2009) surrounding my desk area. It's gonna be BEASTY. …remind me never to use that word again. Hehe.

Funny text conversation of the day:
"Randomly, from a friend: Go!
Me: Go? Go fish? Go green? Go vacationing in Guam?"
Is it boastful if the alleged funny part is on my end? *ponders*

Eek, I love how you guys liked that Cap'n Crunch snippet. I mean, I'd be lying if I said I hated it, it was kinda cute and weird. I like writing. I mean, obviously, if I didn't like writing, having this blog which is heavy on the attempted-well-constructed sentences would be pretty pointless. Eek! Your comments made me happy, as they always do. My favorite part of the morning is checking my blog folder in my email on my iPod.

You know what? Tomorrow I have to wake up at 9am, which is a hell of a lot earlier than 11:30am, which is when I woke up this morning and it was really hard to do, and yet I have just decided that I am NOT going to go to bed early. Just, seriously, I don't want to. It's fucking summer (pardon my french) and I have five nights left of being able to stay up late, and I don't care. I want to stay up late and read blogs and watch videos and talk to my friends and I can sleep in the car on the way to the DMV to get my temps renewed. Tiredness until I drink some tea will be worth it for just one more of these priceless nights. Can I get a hell yeah? (HELL yeah!)