Okay.

Breathe breathe breathe.

I'm going to have to go through these posts and purge them one day or something. They're all a little too telling, unfortunately. Especially for what I have planned in the near future.

But for now, it's still the dumping grounds for this petite tete.

So I'm absolutely dead tired. Had another breakdown on Wednesday, cried all day. Tried having fun this weekend but everytime I sat in front of the computer again I just started crying and, as usual, I slept.

These things used to be so easy. I used to really write this stuff, all intently. I had a floodgate installed in there to keep the ideas from spilling out and now it's all rusted shut.

I used to like writing essays. And now. Now it seems like I don't like doing much of anything.

Procrastinationz

In which my social life is amazing and in turns amazingly depressing. And in which my school life suffers something horrible because I can't bring myself to give a shit.

I should be doing my french stuff. And my chinese stuff. And writing a ten-page paper. But there's so many millions of miles of things all up in my brain just jostling. it's not even noon and I've smoked maybe four cigarettes. Not really helping my cough. My liver hurts.

I'm wearing a sparkly cardigan, though, from the 90's, and it's so lovely it makes everything better. One of those outfits I tend to come up with the night before, and I get so excited about them I can't really sleep.

I really enjoy my mornings in French class. I show up a half hour late, but I get to smoke outside with the literature majors who are just the loveliest boys. I love Omar; he's so fucked up on the inside, and every time I see him there's some new lovely surprise about his super-fucked life.

I'd be with him in a heartbeat, but man if he isn't a bag of drowned kittens I'd rather not look into.

But our misery matches, and every explanation is coupled with an "I get it" or "I feel that way too." Man, if only he didn't look like a Lebanese Ellen Degeneres.

Anyway, been meeting up with the loveliest people all week for such good times. Drinking pretty much daily; trying to build up my tolerance for when I am abroad as I'd like not to end up in the hospital for trying to keep up with Dutch giantesses. Again. Laughing and joking and making so many grand plans; it's so good to be young. Supposed to go to Boiling Crab on Thursday, par exemple, or to Fullerton for happy hour soon. With Rogelio, who is such a laugh, and Memo and Serge. Oh my goodness what a night.

Unless it gets awkward and Memo starts crying because I say something horrible and insensitive. Again. I would. :(

But anyway, in the face of all that great good socializing, my coursework (month's work of chinese and french, 10 page paper on border conflicts due Wednesday) looks like walking into an Iron Maiden. With extra long spikes. Painted in venom.