(warning: particularly old content) I don't ask for it to make sense RSS feed


I've been doing a lot of nothing lately. I also bust my ass on homework and errands and studying, but that "free" time that I used to spend on reading or eating out with Jeff and Richard and Ty, or messing with my computer, was spent, this week, mostly doing, well, nothing. A lot of wonderful time was spent talking with Jim, but even those hours spent in conversation were done in a low-key, listen to music and gaze at the walls fashion. I've taken more naps in this week than I have in months, and time spent alone and awake has been spent... sitting. It's only the first week, so I can't really predict it as a pattern that will continue, but I wonder if my reaction to having a buttload to do will be to spend every moment not doing something necessary, doing nothing. Not that that's so bad, mind, but it feels a little odd.


I spent three hours in my father's presence today, getting stuck with a variety of needles (with accompanying annoying itching sensations... sigh), and talking about, well, mostly school. I confessed a lot of my worries and stresses to him, including admitting to him for the first time that I feel that I'll never be half as successful as him, and how inadequate that makes me feel. Sigh. But he also told me about being 20, having two majors, not having any idea what he wanted to do when he got out of school, and a myriad of other things more subtle, that finally made me smile and hold up my hand. "High five, dad," I said. "Here's to being more alike than we often care to admit."


Fucking A, it's 3:40.


Aren't the first days of school supposed to be the easier ones? Sheesh. All four of my classes meet on Monday, and I work three hours. Only two classes met today, and I only worked for two hours, but I had to run all the errands this afternoon that I couldn't do yesterday because I didn't have the time. Throw in an hour-long nap and an hour-long conversation with Ty about Japanese and Arabic linguistics, and my day just sorta disappeared. I feel like I've been run all ragged (part of which probably has to do with having to run junk between the CRC and the Commons for two hours). So here it is only 10:00 PM and I find myself seriously considering bed. See? This is what happens when I have freaking 9:30 classes. Ugh. I hope that I find something profound to think about in the next day or two, because the current shallow rumblings in my brain are going to get to me... of course, this may just be a reaction to having to think about too many serious school-related things. Hrm.


Long, long day, and I'm up far too late for when I need to awaken. I am not pleased with myself lately. I would discuss it further, and perhaps work some of it out, but considering that I need to get up in approximately six hours, perhaps it would be better to hold off for another time.


Hrm. School tomorrow. And on a completely unrelated subject, I've got one of the worst break-outs I think I've ever had. It's approaching really annoying.


At half past three in the morning, I find myself completely wired. It's absolutely dreadful. I feel like I can't keep a single thought in my head for more than a minute before it shatters into a million others, all leading off in contradictory directions. I guess I know what's causing it, even if I won't formally admit it to myself, and certainly not to anyone else. I will be alright... that famous Jen "I'll be okay." I mean, it's not a bad thing, really. Anyway, all in all, I had a lovely day. I really do enjoy spending quiet time with a friend. Jeff and I hung out for hours, with very few words passing between us. One reading, one playing with a computer, and I hope that he didn't mind too much, because I had a wonderful time.


An observation on flying. There is something wonderful for me about flying west. A part of it is the beauty—I generally fly in the evening, and chasing the sunset across the sky has not a little prettiness to it. It moves faster than I, receding slowly tonight to an orange sliver that eroded into darkness. Other times, flying over cloudy Washington in the late afternoon, mountain tops have broken the cover like islands, complete with lashing "waves," and been painted every conceivable color of warm by the setting sun. But the beauty isn't really it; the fleeting beauty of a sunset is matched easily by the sights seen on any flight at any time, regardless of direction.

No, the true magic for me of flying west is that it means that I'm flying home.

There have been only three occasions that I can think of, out of the countless flights that I've taken over the years, that flying west has not meant that I am at some stage of returning home—the three times that I have visited Hawaii have been the only times that I've flown over the Pacific Ocean. So it is then, that any time I fly west, I fly toward the Pacific. Toward Puget Sound. Toward Seattle. Toward home.


"Not that I really think I'll have anything, anyway..." a charm, mumbled to the computer imps religiously whenever I go to check my email. I just noticed it today, a little dab of superstition in my world. Funny, in that I know it has no effect, but whenever I do have mail after muttering that little hex, I always feel... vindicated. Silly me.


There is no one with whom I feel quite as much a spoiled brat as I do when I speak with Mark. I suppose it speaks highly of him that he is one of my closest friends, despite, by his very nature, making me feel shallow. He makes me hate myself, but by not hating me himself, by loving and accepting me, he helps me to feel as if that which I hate in myself is, perhaps, not truly so terrible.


I feel... great. I just consumed a dinner composed entirely of tomatoes, bread, water, and MEAT. Meat of various and assorted kinds, ranging from sausage to chicken (and chicken hearts) to lamb to pork to beef... OOOOOOHHHHHH I was in heaven. Many a creature died to make me happy tonight, and happy I am—happy in a way that many girls simply cannot or will not understand, which I don't mind. Vegetarianism and squeamishness about meat has its place in the world, I suppose... Just not in my world.

I wandered around Harvard today; it was a university that felt much more comfortable than MIT—something about the way it was laid out, and the Harvard Yard, just seemed more welcoming, less intimidating. Tomorrow I'll wander through the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, oohing at the ukiyo-e prints and the samurai swords, along with whatever else they keep there. My parents would be so proud of me, were they to know that I'm willingly trekking out to a museum. If only I could make them understand that part of my willingness to do so is wrapped up in the fact that I'm going to go on my own time-schedule, not head out at 8 in the morning.


Holieeee Shit. I just slept for over 14 hours. Two nights in a row. I've been going to bed at a reasonable, even early, time for this coast, and getting up at a reasonable, perhaps a tad late, time for my coast. Result? Mass sleep.


I was shown all around MIT today, through all the tunnels of that warren. It was very intimidating—Mark claims that I would have fit in perfectly with the people he went to school with there, but I found the palpable air of intelligence horribly overwhelming. I can't see myself having done well there—I may have had the innate smarts for it, but I think the pressure would have gotten to me. But being able to wander around was wonderful... being shown a bunch of the hacks that have been done to the place, poking around in steam tunnels, smiling at all the years of sign-ins that have been scrawled all over the walls. It was very nice to visit; I'm just glad I never was tempted to attend.


I made it to Boston, and there's this weird, cold, white stuff on the ground. I'm not entirely certain exactly what it is, but it doesn't seem to be life-threatening. Yet, at least. I'm full, I'm relaxed, and I'm happy. Kick ass.


Spring Break really started today, and I leave for Boston in the morning. Hopefully I'll be able to update from there with what I'm doing, but if not, well, here's the officially stated intent of vacation (heh). Today was one of those weird days where I thought of about ten different things to say here tonight, but I've forgotten them all—each and every one. Even though I could even tell you exactly where I was and what I was doing when each option sprang into my mind. I hope my computer doesn't blow up, being left on for a week.


LOL! I was asleep for an hour and a half and then my body decided to wake me up from dreams of math that were making no sense. I gotz the mad hyperalertness going on, biiiotch! I'll be highly amused to see how I'm feeling in another couple hours.

hehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe Birdhouse in Your Soul is a strangely appropriate sounding song for my mood right now—slightly dissonant, bouncy, and altogether odd!


Ahh, the exhilaration of having a final in just over 5 hours. Sigh. Bed soon, with hopes that I will wake after some three or fours of sleep with something resembling normal thought processes. Here's hoping. You know, having treats strung out at predictable intervals just makes them that more desirable. It's similar to getting used to watching a television show at a certain time—before you know it, you start anticipating it more and more, finding yourself making sure that things are done in time to watch, until it's so much a habit that the night the show is cancelled due to football, you throw a tantrum in front of the tv. Not that I've ever had that experience, really, but it makes a good analogy.


I like the way my teddy bear smells. She smells like me, I suppose. Comforting smell. Strange to think about at 2 am when I have a final on the morrow.


So far as my final today... went okay, I suppose. I respectfully suggest to the Japanese 212 sensei that next time, they check to make sure that the room that they've told us the final is in isn't scheduled for another class' final. As amusing as it was to be sitting in there with the Japanese 112 students, Matsuda sensei's unceremonious ejection of all us 212 students into the hall was a little distressing. Especially as none of our sensei had showed up to tell us where we should go... Ten minutes into our final time, when Kurishita sensei showed up and told us to go to another room, it was simply a joke burbling between all of us—"What if that room's got people in it, too?" So when we realized that the joke had told truth more than we'd known, we sat around, a lecture's worth of students, and wondered where the hell we were going to be taking our final, and when we'd finally get to do so. Grand total wasted time until we finally were situated, everyone actually had copies of the exam : 30 minutes. I would have minded more if I hadn't finished in an hour or so anyway. If only that meant I knew I'd done well....

But more what's on my mind—I can't say I didn't have a premonition that it was a bad idea. Months ago, when I first got to know her, first pulled her out of me, I had a feeling things would go wrong. It's dangerous, playing someone who's basically me. She's the most similar-to-myself character I've ever played, with the inevitable result that when people dislike her, it's me they're disliking. When people criticize her, it's me they're criticizing. When people think that she's no fucking good or use, it's me they're passing judgement on. When Mark was still around, there was a buffer to protect me from my own stupidity, a strong personality who unfailingly defended me, and dominated the rest into not digging into her/me personally. Why the hell did I make a character like her, knowing the sort of people I'd be playing with? Why the hell do I continue to put up with people who, for months now, have driven me to tears more than once?


Guh. Finals begin tomorrow. I reserve all judgement on my current mental condition until tomorrow afternoon.


For a day which was mostly spent in the realm of imagination, I feel that an astonishingly large amount of productive work got done. I feel not nearly so bad about my math final now; I'll still do badly on it, but at least I have successfully remembered what a Taylor series is, and can manipulate it in some fashion that may prove to be useful on an exam. I remain convinced that I will rarely, if ever, need to use the math I'm learning now in whatever I end up doing after school, and quite possibly will never use it in school again either. I have a feeling that one day, I will be sitting in a quiet place, doing chemistry problems, look at one, say to myself, hey, they want me to do this with a Taylor series, merrily read the detailed instructions on how to do so, follow them, and be done with it. Why I am being forced by my major to take an entire class on differential equations, when every time they've showed up in a chemistry class it is explained how to use them there... I just don't know. I suppose it builds character—rather like eating brussel sprouts. The pages of the notebook that I was doing problems in looks beautiful, though. Especially on the pages that come after I really got into the groove of finding the radii of convergence, where everything is neatly done in dark 5 point pencil and small hand, with few, if any, eraser marks. It's funny that even in math, if the output is pretty, the pain of producing it is somewhat mitigated.


I had something, perhaps even something profound, to say. However, it's nearing four in the morning, and I have to get up in the morning to get my last crack in at goofing off before finals settle in. Sigh.


AUGHFUCK that perverseness of human character that makes us so dearly desire that which is not meant to be ours. Fuck that clench in one's heart when reminded in whatever way of that which we cannot have, screw the pointless dreaming, and all the painful or embarassing I-should-have-dones can just go jump off a cliff. I feel extremely petulant—I think I'm going to go nurse a rootbeer and sulk.


I had a wonderful day today. Presentation went well, felt useful at work, Dylan complimented my earrings, got an award for my CSE homework, math was bearable, work was fun, had some great quality time with Bryan playing pool, watched one of my favorite movies and had a good dinner with Jeff, work was hectic but rewarding... It was awesome. Which is why I can't understand the darkness that's been lingering behind my eyes all day. I feel as if I'm reaching out into life, fumbling for something that I won't find.


Warmth in the corner of a couch; legs drawn up and curled beneath. Indistinct murmur of voices on all sides, dim lighting with no real source. Knowledge that a pillar and a few plants hide me from most views; a friend reading nearby. Feeling of a trenchcoat padding my head and drawn over one arm—comfort in Espresso Roma on Monday, as consciousness ebbed away into an hour and a half of sleep. Exhaustion on a Tuesday night, music drawing thoughts into a line spun out behind my eyes, stretching out into webs of ideas and possibilities and emotions and dreams, distractions shuddering thoughts from one strand to the next.


I worked extra hours again today, and probably won't get paid for it. Again. I've decided I don't mind. I had a great time, just helping out. "It really makes me feel good to do things with no reward." Except that I know that it's self-serving, because there is a reward—I end up getting the gratitude of those I help. It's completely ego-boosting to get so much praise and thanks, and I admit it—I completely lap it up. The question always arises in my mind, however, whether or not I should feel bad for feeling good about it in this way. Shouldn't I not be taking anything out of supposedly self-sacrificing events? How do I reconcile the fact that I do get a personal benefit, however intangible, when others seem to think I'm just such a "great person" for doing it? Should I bother trying to make them understand that emotional warmth is as good as money? Or should I continue to let them unknowingly drop good vibes into my black-hole of a self-esteem? I feel as if I cheat them.

And then I decide not to worry about it tonight, after such a lovely day, and head off to read my comics.


Well, for all its crappy beginnings, I had a decent weekend after all. Roleplaying was okay (made 4th level... whoo...), Saturday night was comfortably spent sleeping on Richard's couch after falling asleep watching TV, and today I got some cuddling in with my cat after weeks of not being able to do so for various reasons. There were frustrations, annoyances, homeworks left undone, comfortable times, fun times, and lots of sleep gotten—in every way, an average weekend. One might almost think that I didn't have a presentation in Japanese on Wednesday, or that finals weren't the week after this one. Sigh. At least I don't have three on the same day again. Never again will life suck that much, if I can help it.


9:20 am: guhhh... what's that noise? Oh yeah... alarm... (fumble fumble)

9:45 am: Should at least look at the Japanese homework. (sigh) Thought I was gonna get up early and do it... fucking hate being sick.

9:50 am: Stupid shoelaces, stupid numb fingers. Stop staring at the wall...

9:51 am: Okay, I promise that if I just get my shoes on, I can stare and think nothing until I have to go.

9:55 am: Fuck. This isn't gonna happen. Maybe if I sleep a couple more hours, I'll at least make it to DiffEq.

11:45 am: Noise... (fumble fumble) Fuck math.

Various times: Noise... shut up out there, people. (turn over)

3:30 pm: What the fuck? Oh yeah... set the alarm... ADP show soon. (raspy cough) Can I talk yet? No? Another hour won't hurt.

4:25 pm: I really should get up. (oof) Okay. Up. Gawd, I look like shit.

5:05 pm: It's fucking freezing in here.

9:00 pm: If I understood more than 5 words, this movie would be even cooler.

10:15 pm: Gawddamnit. (wipe chin) (laugh) Drawbacks to drinking out of the carton, I guess. Stupid milk.

10:59 pm: ugh... Does bed sound good? Yes. Yes it does.


I hate being sick. My current theory is that stress at work last night, compounded with sleeping with the window open, resulted in the crap feeling I have today. Anyway. I seriously need to not be eating as much as I am these days. Either that or actually start getting exercise again. It's not so much that I'm gaining weight; it's that I'm starting to obsess over my body again. When I feel that I'm not dealing with my body healthily, I find myself wasting time worrying about it and fretting rather than actually acting on anything. Go figure. Speaking of the word "obsess," I wonder if everyone in the world has at least one obsessive habit, or if there are people who are blessedly free of occasional compulsive behavior.

I feel as if someone turned on the light in my brain and then left. I am not surprised, however. Magic Finals Week is looming near.


How about that. Actually switching over the thoughts on the correct day. I thought about temporarily deleting some of the back text, but decided not to. Too lazy. I'm tired. I find myself taking what seems like more "time to myself" than I used to... I wonder if it's just an incorrect perception, or if it's simply a reaction to having overloaded myself. I just feel like I need more downtime these days, to recover from life. Hours after work spent ostensibly doing homework, or at least productively fscking around on the net (I can't get enough of that "fsck"—for some reason it really cracks me up). Yet I spend more of the time simply staring at my wall. For I have a very interesting brick wall just at comfortable focus range... different colors of bricks, little tape marks and paint smears and mortar chips and I think I should stop before I completely stop making any sense.