Hellogoodbye

My life over the past months has been...an experience. I am convinced this chapter in the memoirs I'm writing in my mind that will never be published but maybe they will be will certainly be one I probably will never show the children which I will also have in my mind but never probably have maybe. I would never show them because it may unintentionally teach them that it is okay to act absolutely fucking insane. My reasons for not posting over the past weeks have been due to changes as a result of me being absolutely fucking insane. So while I'm trying to get my shit together, you're stuck with the absolutely fucking insane me and all this gosh darn moxy I'm just so filled to the brim with. 

So let's begin...

The speed at which life can change is ferocious when given the right ignition and the right amount of flammable substances. Said flammable substances can include (but are not limited to) feelings of: depression, anxiety, confusion, existential crises, self-questioning (personality, character, and overall purpose in life), falling in love, and a good sprinkling of nervous breakdown. A dangerous Long Island Iced Tea of emotional problems that mixed in the tumbler of a prison cell disguised as a dorm room. This wave of overly-alcoholic feelings rose to a spectacular crescendo that could be ridden past the beach entirely and into the parking lot where all the spectators were waiting to watch me scrape my chin as fiberglass board met pavement and knocked me to the earth where I promptly biffed it and biffed it hard (pardon the surfer speak, it never truly left me). I have since picked myself up, got on a plane, and am now currently working on the ever so grueling process of brushing myself off to get back into the metaphorical saddle of being in control of my life.

I was in a world full of people and entirely alone.

A scrivener that would prefer not to.

~

A couple weeks ago I sat in cafeteria. I stared at the same people, in the same chair, at the same table. I was a Nine Inch Nails song. Everyday was exactly the same. A girl whom I might have been good friends with eventually came and asked me how I was doing. We talked about life. She told me to not live my life trying to not disappoint others because I would inevitably disappoint them. 

According to a lot of people, I had a mental breakdown. And maybe I did, but it doesn't matter. I'm happier here. The people are a little more like my brand of crazy.

It feels like over the past couple months I've done nothing but say hello and good bye. Hello to a new city, new ideas, new people, new experiences, a new start, and hello to the only person worth loving. Good bye to close friends, comfort, my family, opportunities, a suffocating religion, and a supressive, stifling environment. 

Sometimes it's hard to not be overwhelmed by the amount of things I've felt like I've lost. Most of the time I don't want to leave the apartment. I just want to chain smoke and snuggle and have someone tell me it's okay to not be a grown up for the moment. My mom hates me, my friends back home keep wanting to host an intervention, my old college friends and mentors have forgotten me, my hopes to travel have changed drastically, and I no longer rely on a false faith that did nothing but cloud my judgment and supress the fire inside. I feel like my chain smoking is justified...even though I know it's not.

Sometimes I think I've got a slight handle on my life. Getting a job, going to school, buying health insurance, you know, grown up things. Sometimes my brain likes to lie to me and gives me false confidence, "You can do this! Look at you being an adult and shit. Bitch, you got this." 

But then I remember I have laundry or dishes to wash and Boyfriend reminds me that I'm not so far along as I might think and then the cycle starts over again where I'm begging for touch and affirmation because I'm so stressed out and drowning in my short comings that I just want to eat mac and cheese and cry and I just want someone to acknowledge that I am, in fact, trying. I'm trying so hard. 

It goes to show that no matter where you move, your problems only change or sometimes the same problems follow you out to Colorado and smack you over the head and say, "HA! Thought you could get away that easily?" 

I wish someone would tell me, "Hey, you're doing a great job, keep moving forward."

~

It's hard to get out of bed when you're hurting. It's hard to tell people that you love that you're hurting. They just assume it's their fault and then you just feel worse. It's hard to ask for help. It's hard to ask for help when you don't want the answers to your own dumb questions. 

Everyone hurts, so why is my pain so special? 

It's not.

But you still need to be a fuctioning adult. 

And that sucks. 

But at least I'm still breathing. 

This is the Gasp for Air

Things I'm Thankful for Today:

1. Hellogoodbye

2. The mountains so easily seen outside any window I look out.

3. Dancing in the car to the same 10 songs. 

The breath before the plunge...

It's been a while since I've posted. But it doesn't really matter, I have promised you nothing more except that whoever you are I will love you.

This means I can post whenever I damn well please... and I damn well please at this moment.

Lately, my insides have been disagreeing with me. Not because I'm sick (rather, I'm not ill, I'm always sick) but more my stomach has decided to seize up and refuse to let me want to eat anything as a result of the consumption of a deadly cocktail comprised of nervousness and excitement.

I'm leaving, you see, never to return again, don't know when I'll be back again. Blah, blah, blah. Kiss, kiss, hug. Ta, darling. Ciao, bella.

I'm not leaving here, as in, this Safe Place, I'm merely relocating. I've come to realize what's truly important and I'm escaping this prison of a small conservative Christian school.

It has nothing to do with Faith, and yet, it has everything to do with it. This "christian" place (note the lower case "C") does a very good job at trying to squeeze the Faith out of you. They want it their way, on their terms, and they want you how they think you should be. The only thing previously keeping me from leaving was the idea that I owed these people anything. I've felt guilty for a long time and it's caused me to become the subtle people pleaser that I am today.

I don't tell people "no" unless they're the people that matter. I'm used to sacrificing my personal life because I was taught that your personal problems shouldn't matter. I am terrified of being called selfish. It's one of my biggest fears. I don't fight for me or the people that are truly worth fighting for, I fight for the things that people think I SHOULD be fighting for. But now I know that I can find community and beautiful people wherever I am. I can seek justice regardless of location. I will always learn and thirst for knowledge. I will ultimately disappoint other people, so why am I trying so hard to stop the inevitable? Why am I feeling so guilty about the things I cannot change when happiness is within my grasp?

It took me a long time, too long, to figure out that I'm allowed to fight for the things I want. 

Even if it goes against everything else that makes sense. 

I'd like to think I base my actions on logic and reason, which is why this feels so...radical. I should know better than that. I am an ENFJ after all, I'm a feeler. I'm more of a romantic than I let on. Underneath all this snark and coldness I'm an idealist. 

But above all I'm a fighter. 

And I will fight for what is important: love, loyalty, freedom

And that's what everyone should do. If you want something, if it's worth it, you fight for it. Fuck everything else. It all doesn't matter, not in the end anyway. I will never be remembered for anything great, I will never be quoted or influential, I will only just be me. I will disappoint people, I will piss people off, I will sacrifice for the people I love most in the world. I am selfish. 

But it's the best I've got. I can't keep living the way I am now, something has to change.

If you had the choice between love or this concept of "doing what's right" then what would you choose?

~

Sometimes I forget whose life I'm living.

Sometimes I don't know want people to think less of me.

Sometimes I can't make up my mind,

Even though my heart is screaming at me. 

~

The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.

~

Oh, what am I to do? I am 20 years old and I am not yet 12.

Life is terrifying. Decisions are terrifying. I'm just terrified...

Of being selfish.
Of doing the right thing.
Of what I dare to dream about.
Of what people think.

It's ridiculous. I need discipline. I need my head to shut up and maybe for God or whatever it is up there that has created life to be so damn confusing to SPEAK. FUCKING. UP.

Why, why, why, why, WHY?!

So many fucking questions about this god damn confusing fucking life. All things that are ultimately up to me when I just need something, anything. These next decisions will be those that define me. It's too late for me to change who I am. All I can do is learn in whatever environment I'm in. I can't tell anyone because I know what they'll say. I'm more terrified of people than the actual decision I'm making.

But it's done. It's over. I'm leaving. I'm fighting for what I want for once in my life. I have lost so many people because I thought I was being selfless when, in reality, I was too scared to commit to something other than my future success. People are unpredictable, people are scary, there are too many variables, but I know that if I don't take the leap then I will always regret it, more than anything else.

~

This is a Leap of Faith

~

Things I'm thankful for today:

1. Jack Johnson

2. Encouraging words

3. The knot in my stomach that is more excited than scared at this point. 

STOP BLOWING HOLES IN MY SHIP

It all started when I was 11.

I begged my mother to let me get my ears pierced. I worked on her for weeks. I've always been good at manipulation, but this was just blatant, constant begging. I find can be very relentless. I was even worse when I was younger, I had fewer reservations back then. 

She finally agreed. 

I remember sitting on the tall stool in Claire's. The girl in line before me was shaking like a leaf and tearing up. I turned to my mother, "Should I be more nervous than I am?" 

My mom just blinked at me, "Well, do YOU feel like you should be nervous?"

"Well, judging by observation I should be, but I see it as being useless at this moment."

I was a strange child. 

I remember the lady clicking the beginner earrings into the plastic piercing gun:

"Oooh, can I do it?"

"Um... No."

"Darn."

My mother asked if I wanted to hold her hand. I gave her a look. Uhh, no. She walked away. The first pinch caught me off guard, the second pinch hurt more. I shrugged. We left. 

My first two. 

~

I got my cartilage done when I was 14. 

Some close friends who had moved to Switzerland were back in town. My friend and I had been wandering around the mall for hours. We decided to ask and our mothers were drunk on nostalgia. 

They agreed. 

I was sitting on that same stool in Claire's.

"This better be the last piercing."

"Of course, mother."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

I went first. It hurt less than my earlobes, but I figured that was because I was older. Then it was my friend's turn. The same plastic piercing gun was locked and loaded.

"Can I do it?"

"If your friend doesn't mind."

"Um, no."

"Darn."

She made made me hold her hand. I rolled my eyes when she started crying.

My third.

~

I pierced the middle of my helix when I was 16. 

It was the day I had my first cigarette. The girl I was dating at the time and I were on her front lawn. I was laying down, contracting lung cancer, and she was sitting beside me, playing with a needle and sticking it into various places of her skin. 

All of a sudden, I felt an awful pinch in my ear. 

"Fucking OW! What the hell, Rin?!"

"Hold on, it's not all the way through."

"What the fu-"

"Hold still!"

She had a habit of doing things like this. 

We had to go inside to stop the bleeding. I walked around with the needle in my ear for a week, not really knowing what to do. I finally got fed up with having to sleep on one side and pulled it out. I wanted to keep the hole though. I found an old stud in the bottom of my jewelry bag and tried to put it in my ear. I couldn't find the hole very well and when I did find it the hole was smaller than the stud. I ended up just shoving the stud through the hole anyway, nearly re-piercing the ear. 

My fourth.

~

I got my tragus pierced the day after I turned 18. 

I actually went to a tattoo parlor this time. Claire's wasn't really qualified for more creative piercings. I remember excitedly handing my I.D. to the inked up receptionist, proud of the fact that I didn't need permission for this one. 

There was no plastic piercing gun. Just a needle, the earring, and some q-tips. I gulped. The piercist chuckled. 

My friends went with me and asked if I wanted to hold someone's hand. I didn't. 

It pinched, but wasn't any worse than the other piercings. It was certainly more pleasant than my previous impromptu piercing. It took longer and I was glad that I didn't jerk upright in the middle of it. 

A couple days later I was laying on my friend's lap and started bleeding all over their jeans.

My fifth.

~

Cartilage (3rd) , Tragus (5th) , Lobe (1st)

~

I got my tattoo during Freshman year of college. 

My friend was getting a touch up and asked if I wanted to come along and get one done. We drove for an hour to a very sketchy parlor called "Mo Thangz". I was skeptical but we already had appointments. The man on the phone told us to ask for Mo. Walking to the door there was a man smoking outside. He was bald and had an eyepatch. 

"Um, we're looking for Mo?" Please don't be Mo, please don't be Mo, please don't b-

"Hey there, I'm Mo."

Damn it. 

I was nervous, this was a needle that wasn't just gonna be shoved through a piece of skin. This was gonna take an hour or so, by a gentleman with one eye nonetheless.

"Where ya want it?"

"Um, on my neck..."

"Well, you picka a helluva place to get yer first tattoo. It's gon' hurt like a bitch."

It did.

It was awkward. I didn't scream or cry, I just made awkward moans that sounded like I was fucking long and slow. Mo kept commenting on it. 

"Baby, if you think this will make you moan, wait 'till I take you home."

"Um..."

He was very nice, very pleasant, and gave me a discount for "being a trooper"

My first tattoo and only tattoo...for now.

~

Trinity Knot

~

During the summer between Freshman and Sophomore year, I got my industrial bar. 

I went to the same place I got my tragus pierced. If you go so many times you get a discount. I went with three of my friends who wanted to watch.

My piercist was a large, terrifying-looking, inked man who looked like he could eat me. When I layed down on the table he caught a glance at the My Little Pony seatbelt belt I was wearing. I was caught off guard.

"You watch My Little Pony?"

"Um, yes?" Please don't eat me. 

"I watch that with my 3 year old daughter all the time! Whose your favorite?"

He laughed like Santa.

I was expecting two pinches and only felt one.

"Um, is it in?"

Santa laugh. "I'm glad that's the first time a woman has asked me that."

I love the people I meet in tattoo parlors. 

My sixth.

~

Industrial Bar (6th), Helix (4th), Lobe (2nd)

~

I got my nose pierced earlier this year. 

I went with my roommate to a place near my school. The lady who did it was named Mel. She part timed at Whole Foods. She put a cork in my nose. She also really, really wanted to pierce my nipples. She gave me her number.

At the end I asked her if this made me badass. 

She just laughed.

My seventh.
~

I prefer a ring to a stud.

~

People ask me all sorts of questions: 

Did it hurt? 

Why'd you get that one? 

What made you want to get that?

How do you expect to get a job with those?

Uh, yes.

I don't know.

Because I felt like it?

...dumbass.

~

Yesterday, I got my nipples pierced. 

I walked into the same parlor that did a couple other piercings. In the waiting room there was a high school senior, his girlfriend, and a married couple that were hardcore and looked like they'd eat me. I walk in with my American Eagle jeans and North Face jacket like I'm lost. I always get nervous anyway. The receptionist had purple dreads; my brown hair was in a bun. She asked me if she could help me. 

*mumbling* "I, uh, wanna get my nipples pierced."

"I'm sorry, what?"

*still mumbling* "Uh, my nipples..."

"Pardon?"

*loudly* "I'd like my nipples done, please."

She instantly perked up, "Oh! Of course!"

The patrons sitting around me were all staring with mixed looks of surprised and mildly impressed. I certainly didn't "look the part"

The cold-handed gentleman whom was to shove needles through very tender parts of my body looked me up and down. I followed him behind a screen, not a private room, mind you, but a screen.

"Alrighty, strip for me." He chuckled.

I nervously laughed and obeyed, "How bad is this going to hurt?"

"Whelp, have you ever had your nipples bitten really, really hard?"

I winked at him, "Yea." 

He smiled, "Then you should be fine."

It hurt like a bitch.

~

"Huh, you didn't bleed...like...at all."

"It's probably 'cause I have such small tits."

He died laughing. 

My eight and ninth.

~

HA! Like I'd post my tits.

~

The rumors are true, this shit is addictive. I want more ink, more metal, more. I want more. More, more, more. But I'm poor, so I'll take it in steps.

No, I don't think this necessarily makes me more attractive for potential mates or anything like that. I do it because I like it, because I like how it looks, I do it in my small way of possibly being artistic. There's something beautiful about the permanence of it. I love tattoos. They're like graffiti for your body. I want to be covered. I do understand that I need to be strategic. I also understand that I can't stay away. 

I don't fully know why I do it. It hurts and I'm a masochist but there's more to it than that. I guess I'm addicted. My poor body is just yelling at me to stop. My brain is telling me to blow all my money on more artistic mutilations. I believe the body is a perfectly good canvas. 

I don't think each piercing or tattoo has to have a very meaningful reason behind it. It just has to be beautiful. You don't have to "fit the part" or look too terribly hardcore. You just need to do it for you. 

I think it's perfectly acceptable to wake up one morning and be like, "Huh...I should get my nipples pierced today."

~

Things I'm thankful for today: 

1. Thai leftovers.

2. The feeling of getting your hair washed.

3. Subscriptions to music applications.

Worship

“Hey, girl.” Looking up from an elixir

that tastes exactly like what

someone would give a girl

to get her to come home with him.

He’s gorgeous,

this Greek statue whose white marble coat

has been scratched off to reveal the human underneath.

That warm skin stretches into a smile that speaks

of exactly what he wants to happen next.

This beautiful nephilim tugs me

through the haze of a modern temple

toward the sacrificial dance floor.

Surrounded by mortals

in various stages of mating rituals

and the lonely voodoo bastards in corners

casting bones for a temporary goddess.

Whispers in my ear,

this dance floor prophet

is predicting my future.

He leads me to the altar wherein starts

the obsessing,

the caressing,

the delicious undressing,

and then the glorious possessing

of heavenly beings whose wings have been ripped out

and left bloody on the floor with the rest of the clothing.

Need and desire mix into music notes,

a doxology of the damned,

a hymn of desperation.

Sacrifice bleeds onto pure white sheets,

the scarlet snow of sin.

I paint ancient runes on skin,

interpreting the constellations in his eyes.  

This is the worship of sacred and tragic bodies,

and in that moment I found asylum in his bones.

Smothered by incense that reeks of impulse,

crucified because of a smile.

He drags me into the dirt with no hope

for an exorcism from those eyes.

I wouldn’t want to be.

He is a devastating smile

and a demanding patron;

I am drunk on holy water and confessions,

forever a servant to it.

            Condemned.

And as I lay thee,

down to sleep,

I pray the dark

will let me sleep.

Him

There are people, beautiful people, that are in the world that ruin you for the rest of your life.

Tragically beautiful creatures that are small clusters of constellations that burn into your skin and tattoo their names on your heart. These manifestations that are not like the rest of the filth of the world. I have the incredible privilege of knowing someone like that. The kind of person that shatters you and burns far brighter than the rest of the Joe Punchcards that go through life simply eating and shitting all over the place. 

And he only has an inkling of what he means to me. 

He's broken. 

He's perfect. 

For someone so smart, he sure is stupid when it comes to realizing what he is. He's incorrigible and stubborn and teaches me to sleep in just so he can wake me up. Even his faults are flawless. He's the half of me I couldn't find before and I didn't even believe in that. I fit with him. Everything is okay in the world when he's there. I'm not a freak, I don't need to be fixed, I am whole. He's the kind that you find in dirty rooms and love until you die. I am vulnerable. It feels completely comfortable.

~

He hates waiting for anything and mixes vodka into his merlot.

He lets you listen to your music in the car just so he can laugh at your dancing.

He doesn't take his coat off once he gets inside and won't let you eat fast food. 

He buys $80 dollar chargers and then throws it in your face even though he was happy to do it. 

He's a good influence through bad language and even worse habits. 

He makes you feel like shit, he makes you feel like the shit. 

He likes it better when you don't straighten your hair and makes fun of your chipped nail polish. 

He encourages deviant behavior. 

He is suicidal and he writes like Nobokov.

He hides his mischief in the corners of his mouth and his frustration in his eyebrows. 

He won't watch race car movies with you. 

He questions everything you believe.

He knows where to find some of the best beauty in the world but doesn't see it half the time. 

He always buys a coffee instead of buying a cup of coffee. 

He says "rad" in Colorado. 

He listens to good music and he drives like the devil. 

He wants to replace people with robots. 

He's incredible but can't see it. 

He. Him. His. Mine. 

~

I'm obsessive. I'm possessive. I don't get jealous and yet here I am. He's terrifying and wonderful and I'm lost in him. He doesn't know how much I need him. He doesn't want to live and that would kill me. I'd leave everything for him if he asked. Anything. Everything. He rips my heart out on a regular basis. It's okay. I don't want it back. Every day I text him and my heart catches in my throat thinking he might be gone. Every day he messages me back and I can breath for another 24 hours. Yesterday I drove around town for 3 hours. I thought he had finally done it. I just had to keep driving. I couldn't handle anything else. I'm not going to be able to handle it if he's gone. He thinks I'm temporary, he thinks I'll forget him. I don't know what to say. I can't say anything. He doesn't understand how much I need him. He plays my heartstrings harder than anybody else. I always want to wake up where he is. I love him. I'm in love with him.

I am begging him to stay. 

~

I feel the marks he's carved into my skin. I smile at the scars. 

Things I am thankful for today:

1. Razor blades

2. Nissan Xterras

3. The Him Who Fits

Snake or Smarty Pants?

I've decided that I need to come up with a fake major and fake plan for my future to tell people when they ask. I am so fucking sick of the reactions I get. I either get one of two typical reactions: impressed with a need for justification of their own life or disdainful and discouraging. Let me explain.

Reaction #1:

A regular interaction when inquiring about my major follows as such:

Random stranger: "So what are you studying at school?"

Me: "Oh, well I'm studying law."

"Law? Wow, you must be incredibly intelligent. There's no way I'd be smart enough to go to law school."

"Well,  I wouldn't really say I'm that intellige-"

"But how can you afford to go to law school? It's not really the best time financially to go with the economy the way it is…"

"Well, I'd like to see it as investing in my fut-"

"You must work REALLY hard."

"I'd like to think that I work pretty hard but I'm really passionate abo-"

"Well I guess it's okay because you're going to make a TON of money."

*sigh* "Yes."

-Or-

  

Reaction #2:

A couple days ago I was studying with my bio nerds. They were doing their physics homework and I was working on my constitutional law homework. I was surrounded by white boards and science lingo, just the way I like it. With my earbuds in and some tunnel vision kicking in, I was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder by one of said dear bio nerds. An elderly gentleman had wandered over to the table, interested by the expo markers and various textbooks strewn across the table. He had asked what we were studying and what we wanted to do with our science degree and assumed I was also a part of the squishy science profession. The table went around saying things like "doctor" or "P.A." or "cell researcher" when the spotlight fell to me, the lowly Pre-Law, bachelor of arts plebe. The conversation went something like this:

"And what do you want to be a doctor as well?" 

"Um, actually, I'm a Pre-Law major. I just hang out with a lot of sciencey people. "

"Hm, law, eh? Snakes. All of them. You should do something else and save a lot of money."

*laughs nervously* "Yea, I guess so. But I want to-"

"Have you even spent any time around lawyers?"

"Yes, actually my-"

"Well I used to teach physics and…" *continues talking about how accomplished he is*

He then proceeded to help them with their homework for the next hour. I politely put my earbuds back in and ignored them for the duration of an entire Korn album, grumpy and hating the world for subscribing to petty stereotypes. 

Later, as I was ordering my third cup of coffee for the evening, the elderly buffoon approached me again. 

"And what do you want to do with your law degree?"

"Well, I want to study international relations with an emphasis in human righ-"

"Fighting human trafficking, huh?"

*sigh* "Yes."

~

I am fed up with people and their predetermined opinion of me. I am sick of the cynicism and people feeling like they need to "warn me." AND I AM FUCKING SICK OF NO ONE EVER LETTING ME FINISH MY DAMN SENTENCES. 

*deep breath* 

Mini rant time: 

Just because you have heard of all the corruption and watch the news and read articles about the problems in politics and government does not mean that you have the right to try and change my mind. Yes, I know there is corruption. Yes, I'm going to try my hardest to practice ethically. No, I'm not doing this for the money. No, I don't know how I'm going to pay for it yet. No, I am not a genius. Yes, I am a nerd. No, I will not represent you in court one day for free. Yes, in fact, I have spent COPIOUS amounts of time with lawyers and policy makers. 

Yes, I do, in fact, live for this shit.

I just want to help people and the best way I know how to do that is do what I'm good at and what I'm passionate about. I firmly believe that finding the intersection between what you're passionate about and what breaks your heart will lead to a fulfilled life, a purposeful life. I'm not trying to be more ambitious, I'm not trying to be considered incredibly intelligent. I just like what I do. 

So please, just let me study my SCOTUS briefs in peace and I won't sue you for everything you own. 

This is a Grumpy B.A. Student

~

Things I am thankful for today: 

1. Legal pads

2. Convenient outlets

3. Constitutional Democracy

Green Day and Finals

I'm having trouble trying to sleep. 

I have been awake for 48 hours.

I'm counting sheep but running out. 

I don't remember what emotions feel like. 

As time ticks by…

My brain is running solely on caffeine and song lyrics.

And still I try…

My eyes have run out of saliva.

No rest for cross tops in my mind.

What's my name?

On my own, here we go. 

~

Exhaustion. Dead weight. Heavy eyelids that are glued open. A caffeinated haze. An empty, angry stomach. A hollow skull. The need of escape.

When I get this tired and this exhausted I start getting more reckless than usual. I start tripping and accidentally banging into desks and the idea of dropping acid becomes more and more appealing. Stress and responsibilities bash in my personality until I am a mindless lemming ready to run off the edge of my mind.

I'm jittery and just wish I had the ability to sit still. The capacity to rest. But I don't. I can't stop just yet. 

I can't even find the motivation anymore. Instead of doing my work I'm sitting here, pouring out my disjointed thoughts and broken mind. I'm bleeding out all over the tile. 

~

I've lost it. I've spent the past hour dancing on top of lab tables in the zoology department because I primarily hang out with science majors who all want to be doctors or researchers. I'm drawn to their jargon that's so unfamiliar to me. I'm drawn to the intellect that is so foreign to me. I'm drawn to the strange world of cells that they live in. I'm drawn to the giant speakers in the lab that hooks up to my Mac. 

I'm manic. I've lost it. I'm riding an adrenaline high that's making me sick. 

I am fucking sick.

…I've been staring at the white board for a full 10 minutes. 

This must sound insane to you, my darling reader. Well, truth is that it's true. 

I am crazy.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy after all. 

This is Desperation.

~

Things I'm thankful for today:

1. Caffeine

2. Lab tables

3. Thug music