Problematic

So- I'm on the verge of tears- but really can't. Because this is a much bigger problem than tears can relieve. I got into an accident and the driver side of my car is crushed. I don't know what happened. I know I have to finish my homework. I know I have to attend my final tomorrow. No one cares that this has occurred. Nothing can be helped. It happened, and now I am here in the aftermath, waiting to move on. Wanting help. Wanting a break. Considering a drink. I will probably just curl up and shiver until my alarm goes off to indicate I need to finish my French assignments. Today was my last day at work, and it was a nice one. I am going to curl up now.

A few weeks ago, when I was feeling particularly out of sorts, I decided on an experiment. I still have a couple of scars from just scratching at my wrist until it bled. And one from stabbing it with a sharpie pen. The experiments yielded no real results- but there wasn't a proper hypothesis. "Will I bleed if I do this?" is not a scientific question. Today's good things: I went for a run yesterday. I weighed my self in the morning and I had not gained as much over the holiday as I was worried I had. Since the election I kind of let go of a few basic responsibilities- like cooking and cleaning, you know, just the human stuff. I was eating an absurd amount of junk food, really- which is both expensive and not fulfilling, but who has the time for fulfillment these days? So I was really concerned that the holiday was going to tip me over the edge as far as weight gain- but I was pleasantly surprised that I am still teetering in the "uncomfortably chubby" area

November 28th: I like to think aloud at other people because I don't trust my own feedback. I'm sure if you weren't troubled you'd be quite boring. In case you are wondering, I succumbed to food last night. I wasn't hungry, but I went to Taco Bell and got some nachos. On the drive back home the world was swept with a dark and foreboding breeze. An empty street laid before me, brushed with crisp, dead leaves. Grim confetti. The positives of today: I got the majority of my Christmas gifts wrapped. An old-ish friend has returned from abroad! (Is 3-5 years enough time to call someone an old friend?) Some concerns: Is it possible for sexual assault to turn into consensual sex? If I go along with sex I don't really want, am I reinforcing rape culture? I was considering the last time I met a guy I thought I was able to joke well with. Someone I thought understood my run-of-the-mill self-depreciating-humor. I got drunk. (I wonder if that's a commonality amo

Eat or Drink? Eat or Drink? Watch TV? Read a book I don't need to read? What vice will I bury myself under to hide from my responsibilities today? Most likely not the book thing, that's too close to being productive. People give some credence to reading recreationally. All my thoughts. All my feelings. They're so common. I'm so very common. I know. I have been told. And I knew before I was told. The feelings I have I can only describe through unoriginal concepts- through sinking, through drowning, through struggling to breathe. So common. My desire to avoid identity is also common, and mostly misguided. Am I trying to rebel against set social structures? Against things I think would strangle out my individuality? In part, probably, and there's also an aspect of wanting the moral high ground. Then...deeper...there's a sense that I'm just going to drag that group down. That I'm not helpful to women, or hispanic people, or straight people- although

I need to take some time. To recover myself. I am suddenly lethargic. I don't know if I would say it is unexpected. I would like it to be. I have so much work to do and it's been me against reality for the last few weeks. I need to beg. I need to try to convince people to give me a break. One person. I hate trying to get help. I hate needing help. So I'm online shopping and watching UnREAL like my life isn't on the cusp of falling apart. I'm pretending things aren't going to spiral in a few days. I built my kitten a play place. She seems happy with it. I am glad she has more vertical space now, I felt she was getting stir crazy. She's not tearing up to walls anymore and that's good. I need to pay more into my credit cards. I need to work more. I should not be taking mental breaks because I am afraid. I'm sure the better people push through them. Push through the pain and the fear. Don't spend money just because they want to cry. I am sure. I

I am way too into the labored breathing of French Bulldogs. As I was walking back from the bar yesterday one passed on the other-side of the street and I was like, "Omg, you're struggling so hard- you shouldn't be alive. THAT. IS. SO. FUCKING. CUTE." I think I'm coming around to accepting smooshed-faced dogs. I still hate persians. The cats. Not the people. Although, I don't think the people are called Persian anymore. I'll have to look that up later. The kitten has too many expectations of me. I can see it in her eyes. I probably think about her thoughts too often. Almost as often as I think about my own. Thinking about thinking feels so troublingly inceptionesque. I finally finished It's Kind of a Funny Story, and it wasn't really funny. Which in itself is kind of funny I guess. I mean, I can kind of get where it would have been funny to a teenager, but in my old age it just reeks of privilege. My ability to see this now annoys me a little

I am sitting in a quiet outside section of a coffee-bar by my apartment. It's called Buzzmill and the the aesthetic is very Frontiersman. There's rusted metal hanging from old wooden fencing. Unfinished tables that look like the legs could give you a splinter if you brushed them the wrong way. I wonder if the space is meant to feel masculine or just unassuming. Unpretentious. They make their own infused alcohols, some of which are amazing in iced coffee. I got myself an iced coffee with vanilla almond whiskey to start with. It was the smoothest drink I've had in a while. Now I have a mimosa by my side. There are less frills to it than the one drunk by the guy that inspired me to get one. His had fruit bits floating in it. I think I'll just buy a bottle of cheap champagne on my way home and get some fresh fruit for myself. I needed to stop at the store anyway. I need toilet paper. I came here to read and study with my cutest and sweetest friend. We discussed our disa

I'm feeling slightly better this morning. Refocused, I suppose you could say. Willing to be, in some ways, cooperative. There is a caveat, of course. A lot of people are calling for the people that had been targeted by Donald Trump's rhetoric to "just shut the fuck up already, you dramatic whiny liberals, you're embarrassing yourselves." Some of those people also mention that conservatives are being ingracious winners- to show that they themselves are not partisan, and so above the fray of the conversation. Thank you, to those of you that truly hold the moral high ground and can see that EVERYONE is acting like babies. Society would be lost if not for your very selective concepts of what is truly wrong with everyone. But, because I know you are reasonable, as you have made it clear in your lengthy rants calling for others to man up and face the day, I'm going to try to explain to you why this feels different to me. First of all- you've been saying

Nose-diving? How many times have you considered suicide today? Me? One. Getting into my car. Reflecting, it's been about once a day, usually on an over-pass, so that's not so bad. I feel that I am destined to die in my car. It's a gnawing ache of destiny every time I drive. Now. Now. Do it now. Blood and bent metal!! Do it now! Today there just happened to be a pulsing in my head, and I had considered, right before opening the car door, whether if I focused hard enough I could collapse my brain. Just let out all the sad hot air- the soft hiss of a balloon undone by a pin would escape me and I could fold with an unnatural grace toward the cool pebbled walkway. But I know I could never summon up that focus. If I could focus that hard I probably wouldn't have the problems that caused the headache. I am starting to feel that my ambitions are slipping away. I don't think I can be funny. I don't know why I ever thought that. I woke up from a dream that

I have never seen the movie with Reese Whitherspoon. I feel like I should at some point. I like Reese so I bet I would like it. Today is Election Day in America and this is the first election I have voted in. It's also probably the first thing I have been sure of in a while. Obviously I voted for Hillary Clinton. I liked Hillary Clinton even when I kind of liked Bernie Sanders because she's experienced and seems like someone who really wants to do something positive. And now a brief rant: If you did not like Hillary Clinton at some point because she's "too much of a politician" or "makes bad choices" or used the term super predator, I get it. I get it, but you're terrible. Especially if you are also a girl, you are terrible. Because I am not a politician and I know I spend half of my day policing my own words because women just do not typically get to just say whatever the fuck they want. Realistically, if Hillary Clinton said even 15% of t

I've started reading It's Kind of a Funny Story, by Ned Vizzini. I'm not far in it, but so far I am feeling the same connection to it as I did to The Perks of Being a Wallflower. It makes sense. It makes me feel normal. I want to write books that make people feel normal. I think that's a noble thing to do. Of course, in Perks, Charlie had kind of an explanation for the way he felt. Although, the assumption is even without the sexual abuse he would still have some kind of psychological problems. This Craig kid seems more my type. I don't think there's any underlying reason for the way I am. I should stop drinking when I have things on my mind. I need to find a more constructive way to deal with my problems. I'm quite overwhelmed by the looming concept of my mother dying. I assumed I had much more time. I assumed that I could bounce back and make things go well and prove my worth. I assumed I could finish school and let her see me walk, something she mis

There's no getting around it: I'm an asshole. To everyone. I tell myself that I don't want to be. That I don't mean to be. But that can't possibly be true. I must be able to stop. If I could stop, then I must just want to be an asshole. I don't know why. I can't explain why I do a lot of things. At this point I can only laugh, ruefully, at my own stupidity in showing my true self. My mother is right. This is why I don't have any friends. We had a lovely friend's brunch yesterday. I made stuffing with sausage in it because I had been craving it. It was surprisingly good- and really easy to make! I just combined sausage, stuffing mix, walnuts, celery, egg and baked it for 30 minutes at 350 degrees. It was delicious! Lies made these amazing little egg cups with jalapeno that were wrapped in bacon. Coll got fruit and Dig made fried mush and this amazing spicy garlicky pasta! It was all fantastic. And we drank and drank and watched The Titan

Sometime Late October: The Kitten likes to eat tape. I don't know if I have mentioned this before. It is something that strikes me as very odd, but a lot of The Kitten's mannerisms are quite odd. I fear I have only myself to blame. A single working mother in college is perhaps not enough care for The Kitten. She will perish. Withered by the toxins of her desire. I wound intervene, but we all must fall to our vices at some point, so why not allow her this minor pleasure? Her next ill-advised behavior may likely finish her off much faster. So what fresh perspective do we have today? None. None? None. I have wasted the day, in some ways. I had to have my IUD taken out. It fell again. I suppose that makes sense. I thought it hadn't been that long, but the last one fell about 8 months after I got it too. This one fell further. I decided not to get it replaced this time because it's a pain. I would not recommend the Paraguard to anyone who has not had a child or a re