It appears this business of bursting into tears pretty much every night that I am alone is going to become a habit.
I'm glad I spent the night at home, though honestly I wish I could have spent another night, or a whole weekend. I did get to get some apples and cider today, and see the ducks at the local apple orchard's duck pond. They used to advertise "FEED THE DUCKS!" and sell duck food, but I think some environmentalist got to them because now the sign says "PLEASE DON'T FEED THE DUCKS-- THEY NEED TO BE ABLE TO FLY!"
And I talked to my dad about Thanksgiving. He refuses to let it be moved to Friday but was okay with eating at 12 or 1 and letting me go to Ryter's family dinner afterwards. The only question is if my aunt can come up that early. My mom will talk to her.
And now I'm back at school, a little later than planned. I think this stress won't go away until I solve the problems that are causing it-- no amount of relaxation will help. I just wish I could say how successful I will be at that.
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Saturday, September 15, 2007
I say the pickled cauliflower was weirdest. And that's what he KEPT.
Last night I went over to Ryter's. He's been doing increasingly poorly the longer he has to deal with the tic and the pain, which really sucks. I'm trying to just be there for him, there's not much else I can do, and he can't really do anything either until he sees the neurologist except handle the pain as best he can.
Today, randomly, I started cleaning his fridge. I don't really know why I did it, but I was feeding Jesus the Lizard for him and instead of putting Jesus' veggies back I started pulling out the old veggies and dumping them out in the compost bin. But it was an experience, certainly. There was clumpy milk and gray cheese, pumpkin beer over a year old and a hot dog that was completely solid. He had a liquefied squash and something we couldn't identify in a plastic bag, and the V8 had a fuzzy white thing floating on it. But now his fridge is clean, so if he feels up to it and goes to see his dad tomorrow (for laundry and a Costco trip), he can put the things he buys somewhere. Plus I won't go to pull out Jesus' blueberries and almost put my hand in a strange off-white substance with a green shimmer that has pooled at the bottom of the fruit drawer.
Boys.
I also did all his dishes, but that's mostly because I'm the one who asks that we use them-- he just eats with his hands or disposable packages half the time, and reuses dishes many times before cleaning them-- and his OCD means he has issues letting things soak, because of the dirty standing water. I don't mind doing that sort of thing-- Ryter's always worried that I'm going to get sick of dealing with that stuff and break up with him because of it, but I mean, come on. I'm hardly going to fault the guy for a liquefied squash and a few dishes, especially not when he's got all this other crap to deal with (and cleaning fridges is actually kind of fun, sort of like how I imagine forensic scientists might enjoy their job. I always like seeing what weird things people put in their fridges and forget about). Part of the dishes was giving him one less thing to have to deal with-- at least he'll have something to clean to eat off of if he needs to and he won't have a whole pile of dirty dishes laying around getting in his way.
I'd clean his whole apartment if I thought it would improve his mood, but I think the only thing that would do that is going to the neurologist and having them say, "Oh, we know exactly what is causing every single one of your problems. Take this one pill once a day for six weeks and then you'll be cured of all these problems for the rest of your life, and be happy and productive until you're 80."
And then he comes home, and wins the lottery.
Oh well. Things will get better, at least, if the neurologist can handle the tic and help with the pain. Which seems very likely.
He told me when he dropped me off that he didn't want me to worry about him. I replied, "I'm your girlfriend and you're suffering, of course I'm going to worry. But I won't drive myself crazy over it, I promise." He settled for that.
One and a half weeks until he can see the neurologist. Only one and a half weeks...
Today, randomly, I started cleaning his fridge. I don't really know why I did it, but I was feeding Jesus the Lizard for him and instead of putting Jesus' veggies back I started pulling out the old veggies and dumping them out in the compost bin. But it was an experience, certainly. There was clumpy milk and gray cheese, pumpkin beer over a year old and a hot dog that was completely solid. He had a liquefied squash and something we couldn't identify in a plastic bag, and the V8 had a fuzzy white thing floating on it. But now his fridge is clean, so if he feels up to it and goes to see his dad tomorrow (for laundry and a Costco trip), he can put the things he buys somewhere. Plus I won't go to pull out Jesus' blueberries and almost put my hand in a strange off-white substance with a green shimmer that has pooled at the bottom of the fruit drawer.Boys.
I also did all his dishes, but that's mostly because I'm the one who asks that we use them-- he just eats with his hands or disposable packages half the time, and reuses dishes many times before cleaning them-- and his OCD means he has issues letting things soak, because of the dirty standing water. I don't mind doing that sort of thing-- Ryter's always worried that I'm going to get sick of dealing with that stuff and break up with him because of it, but I mean, come on. I'm hardly going to fault the guy for a liquefied squash and a few dishes, especially not when he's got all this other crap to deal with (and cleaning fridges is actually kind of fun, sort of like how I imagine forensic scientists might enjoy their job. I always like seeing what weird things people put in their fridges and forget about). Part of the dishes was giving him one less thing to have to deal with-- at least he'll have something to clean to eat off of if he needs to and he won't have a whole pile of dirty dishes laying around getting in his way.
I'd clean his whole apartment if I thought it would improve his mood, but I think the only thing that would do that is going to the neurologist and having them say, "Oh, we know exactly what is causing every single one of your problems. Take this one pill once a day for six weeks and then you'll be cured of all these problems for the rest of your life, and be happy and productive until you're 80."And then he comes home, and wins the lottery.
Oh well. Things will get better, at least, if the neurologist can handle the tic and help with the pain. Which seems very likely.
He told me when he dropped me off that he didn't want me to worry about him. I replied, "I'm your girlfriend and you're suffering, of course I'm going to worry. But I won't drive myself crazy over it, I promise." He settled for that.
One and a half weeks until he can see the neurologist. Only one and a half weeks...
Thursday, December 14, 2006
I'm sure in 1985, plutonium is available at every corner drugstore
It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.
That might be because they couldn't reserve a room in the Bowels of Hell on such short notice, but meh.
I think I at least will not have to retake the entire course. This is good.
------------------------
I was going to go to the review session last night, but one of the TAs, an older graduate student who used to teach high school, was running it. After the first half-hour, I realized he was still talking about "positive study skills," the major one being "start studying well in advance."
Uhm... this was the night before the exam. And the UN's been cracking down on the unauthorized use of plutonium in my DeLorian.
Anyway, I left that review, and studied on my own until the Chem fraternity's tutoring session. That was a bit more helpful, I'd say. Except the guy helping me was cute, and consequently distracting. But I was proud of myself, because I stayed mostly focused and there were only five babble-moments when I couldn't get my mouth to work right.
Anyway, I went to bed really early- 9:30- on account of having to wake up at the ungodly hour of 6 AM to shower/dress/eat/panic before the test at 8. It's weird getting up that early, because no one else does; the halls are empty and silent. The halls aren't even empty and silent at 1 AM around here. I was first into the shower; this wasn't actually a good thing, because it's not like it's been cleaned since November anyway and the water was COLD even though it was the shower that normally scalds me. I had to let it run for like five minutes.
I think I impressed Loquatia with my ability to get up that early. She was definitely expecting me to hit the snooze until at least 7. She doesn't believe me when I tell her I used to get up at 5:30 every morning for high school, and have not always been the lazy slug-a-bed she knows now.
-----------------------
I'm beginning to wonder if I'm in the wrong major. No, I haven't been listening to my mother, you'll know when that happens because you'll start hearing news reports of ham and feathers on plane windshields. No, I have decided this because I was studying Chemistry, specifically tetrahedral-shaped molecules, and all I could think of was the ancient weaponry that they used to throw down in front of war horses- the kind where a spike would always point up, and the horse would step on it and be unable to continue. Please compare:
And while this helps me remember tetrahedral shape, if you can't study Chemistry without thinking of ancient weaponry, it might indicate an underlying problem. Oh well. I don't intend on majoring in something useless, like history- that's what minors are for.
(This explanation always irritates my English-major mother and German-major father, which is why I say it so much. Mind you, they're both computer programmers, thus proving my point.)
-----------------------
Okay, I have issues coping with stress, of any kind. My grandmother's the same way, as is my mom. We all developed our own way of dealing with it- my grandmother tries to be strong for everyone else and confides in her sisters, my mother bottles it up inside, and I used to hurt myself or loose myself in a fantasy world. Now, I still use the fantasy world more than I should, but I talk about problems, or write about them. I share them. And since I've learned to handle stressors, mostly through communicating and complaining, and trying to find productive ways to solve my problems, I no longer need to be medicated.
But the thing is, this approach I have makes me see the world of blogging/journaling a little differently. There's this site, Trainwreck, that chronicles the worst blogs and journals on the internet- the mommy blogs, the self-involved-my-life-sucks journals, and the people whose lives are trainwrecks- so bad you can't look away. Normally I totally agree with them 100%, these people are losers. BUT. There's this mommy-blogger who's been on it a lot for bragging about her "incredibly precocious" kid, and she was up on it again- but this time they were ragging on her for complaining about her new kitchen not being all she'd hoped for, when she posted pictures and it's a pretty sweet arrangement. One commenter complained: "[B]ut [I] have to tell you, you complain a lot for having such a BITCHIN’ KITCHEN! B-I-T-C-H-I-N. and [I] can say that, because [I]’m from the 80’s. But what most disturbs me, is that you have so much (healthy, intelligent son, nice husband, nice standard of living) [and yet] you rant so much. And the things you rant about are that you’re son is so smart,(though you’re really humble) is beyond his grade level in intelligence, and that you have this new kitchen you didn’t [initially] want that you have (Sweet Jesus! You have a Wolf range, for Christ sake! AAAAAAAAhhhhhhhh!). ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! If you weren’t so spot on on most issues, [I] would just hate myself for reading this blog! [I] kind of feel that you don’t have a grasp on world issues and what’s going on around us ([A]fghanistan, [D]arfur, etc)."
Uhm, yeah. Okay. So she's a little self-involved. So she complains. But we can't all think about the horrors of Darfur and the civil unrest in Afghanistan all the time. How many times have I talked about Afghanistan? I mean, that doesn't make me less of a person, I just a)don't want to insult anyone by sharing my most likely naive views of the world, and b) have other, more immediate concerns.
Because Darfur is horrible and I'd love to do something to help, but let's face it, it doesn't affect my everyday life. I will wake up tomorrow and I will think about packing to go home, and my mythology test, and the final paper on x-ray crystallography I need two more pages on before Sunday. I'm not going to think about genocide (Probably. Never know). That's not because I "don't have a grasp on world issues." It's just because that's not my life. And I have a pretty wonderful life, I mean, I have problems, but I'm from a well-off family and I never really lack anything I need. I've been sheltered from the world's problems due to location and my community, and I have a wonderful family and a nice standard of living. So... I can't complain? I'm supposed to take all those little things that bug me and bottle them up inside? The whole point of having a journal and a blog is to be able to share the things that are weighing on my mind without needing an actual confidante, who I'd have to like, rope and tie and hide in my closet next to that cowboy I caught my sister for Christmas (oops).
So I won't read that blog because I think she's insufferably proud of her kid, who seems pretty average, maybe a little smart. But I still think that it's unfair to criticize her for complaining, no matter how well-off she is.
-----------------------
I know it's supposed to be embarrassing to wind up as a trainwreck, but if I ever wind up there, I think I'd have to be kinda proud that they thought I sucked that much. Besides, I'd probably get a lot of readers that way. Even if they are laughing at me, not with me.
-----------------------
But there was a paper thing I was supposed to be working on... and a test tomorrow... and I guess I'm supposed to go contemplate mass genocide for a while, too...
That might be because they couldn't reserve a room in the Bowels of Hell on such short notice, but meh.
I think I at least will not have to retake the entire course. This is good.
------------------------
I was going to go to the review session last night, but one of the TAs, an older graduate student who used to teach high school, was running it. After the first half-hour, I realized he was still talking about "positive study skills," the major one being "start studying well in advance."
Uhm... this was the night before the exam. And the UN's been cracking down on the unauthorized use of plutonium in my DeLorian.
Anyway, I left that review, and studied on my own until the Chem fraternity's tutoring session. That was a bit more helpful, I'd say. Except the guy helping me was cute, and consequently distracting. But I was proud of myself, because I stayed mostly focused and there were only five babble-moments when I couldn't get my mouth to work right.
Anyway, I went to bed really early- 9:30- on account of having to wake up at the ungodly hour of 6 AM to shower/dress/eat/panic before the test at 8. It's weird getting up that early, because no one else does; the halls are empty and silent. The halls aren't even empty and silent at 1 AM around here. I was first into the shower; this wasn't actually a good thing, because it's not like it's been cleaned since November anyway and the water was COLD even though it was the shower that normally scalds me. I had to let it run for like five minutes.
I think I impressed Loquatia with my ability to get up that early. She was definitely expecting me to hit the snooze until at least 7. She doesn't believe me when I tell her I used to get up at 5:30 every morning for high school, and have not always been the lazy slug-a-bed she knows now.
-----------------------
I'm beginning to wonder if I'm in the wrong major. No, I haven't been listening to my mother, you'll know when that happens because you'll start hearing news reports of ham and feathers on plane windshields. No, I have decided this because I was studying Chemistry, specifically tetrahedral-shaped molecules, and all I could think of was the ancient weaponry that they used to throw down in front of war horses- the kind where a spike would always point up, and the horse would step on it and be unable to continue. Please compare:
And while this helps me remember tetrahedral shape, if you can't study Chemistry without thinking of ancient weaponry, it might indicate an underlying problem. Oh well. I don't intend on majoring in something useless, like history- that's what minors are for.
(This explanation always irritates my English-major mother and German-major father, which is why I say it so much. Mind you, they're both computer programmers, thus proving my point.)
-----------------------
Okay, I have issues coping with stress, of any kind. My grandmother's the same way, as is my mom. We all developed our own way of dealing with it- my grandmother tries to be strong for everyone else and confides in her sisters, my mother bottles it up inside, and I used to hurt myself or loose myself in a fantasy world. Now, I still use the fantasy world more than I should, but I talk about problems, or write about them. I share them. And since I've learned to handle stressors, mostly through communicating and complaining, and trying to find productive ways to solve my problems, I no longer need to be medicated.
But the thing is, this approach I have makes me see the world of blogging/journaling a little differently. There's this site, Trainwreck, that chronicles the worst blogs and journals on the internet- the mommy blogs, the self-involved-my-life-sucks journals, and the people whose lives are trainwrecks- so bad you can't look away. Normally I totally agree with them 100%, these people are losers. BUT. There's this mommy-blogger who's been on it a lot for bragging about her "incredibly precocious" kid, and she was up on it again- but this time they were ragging on her for complaining about her new kitchen not being all she'd hoped for, when she posted pictures and it's a pretty sweet arrangement. One commenter complained: "[B]ut [I] have to tell you, you complain a lot for having such a BITCHIN’ KITCHEN! B-I-T-C-H-I-N. and [I] can say that, because [I]’m from the 80’s. But what most disturbs me, is that you have so much (healthy, intelligent son, nice husband, nice standard of living) [and yet] you rant so much. And the things you rant about are that you’re son is so smart,(though you’re really humble) is beyond his grade level in intelligence, and that you have this new kitchen you didn’t [initially] want that you have (Sweet Jesus! You have a Wolf range, for Christ sake! AAAAAAAAhhhhhhhh!). ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! If you weren’t so spot on on most issues, [I] would just hate myself for reading this blog! [I] kind of feel that you don’t have a grasp on world issues and what’s going on around us ([A]fghanistan, [D]arfur, etc)."
Uhm, yeah. Okay. So she's a little self-involved. So she complains. But we can't all think about the horrors of Darfur and the civil unrest in Afghanistan all the time. How many times have I talked about Afghanistan? I mean, that doesn't make me less of a person, I just a)don't want to insult anyone by sharing my most likely naive views of the world, and b) have other, more immediate concerns.
Because Darfur is horrible and I'd love to do something to help, but let's face it, it doesn't affect my everyday life. I will wake up tomorrow and I will think about packing to go home, and my mythology test, and the final paper on x-ray crystallography I need two more pages on before Sunday. I'm not going to think about genocide (Probably. Never know). That's not because I "don't have a grasp on world issues." It's just because that's not my life. And I have a pretty wonderful life, I mean, I have problems, but I'm from a well-off family and I never really lack anything I need. I've been sheltered from the world's problems due to location and my community, and I have a wonderful family and a nice standard of living. So... I can't complain? I'm supposed to take all those little things that bug me and bottle them up inside? The whole point of having a journal and a blog is to be able to share the things that are weighing on my mind without needing an actual confidante, who I'd have to like, rope and tie and hide in my closet next to that cowboy I caught my sister for Christmas (oops).
So I won't read that blog because I think she's insufferably proud of her kid, who seems pretty average, maybe a little smart. But I still think that it's unfair to criticize her for complaining, no matter how well-off she is.
-----------------------
I know it's supposed to be embarrassing to wind up as a trainwreck, but if I ever wind up there, I think I'd have to be kinda proud that they thought I sucked that much. Besides, I'd probably get a lot of readers that way. Even if they are laughing at me, not with me.
-----------------------
But there was a paper thing I was supposed to be working on... and a test tomorrow... and I guess I'm supposed to go contemplate mass genocide for a while, too...
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Potassium on Toast
Today is the Lectisternium of Ceres. A Lectisternium is when you have a sacrifice by inviting the god to the feast. The Romans picked up the god's temple statue and laid in on a dining couch with a pillow, and then served the "god" food by setting it down 
before them, then cleaning it up when they were "done" (They could tell the god was done because the poor schmuck sent to clean up didn't get struck by lightning or anything).
It's also the Sementivae, another festival to Ceres/Demeter (and Tellus/Gaea), this time of sowing.
-------------------------
Tacita officially moved out today, leaving behind an oddly empty corner and plastic pallet. It's not horribly tragic for me- she and I were never close, and it turns out that she's just moving upstairs, so I'll probably see her almost as much. More depressing than her leaving is what she left behind- space, which I don't think I've seen in this room since move-in day.
Plus really dirty floors. She pulled up the rugs last night and the floors were absolutely filthy. We need new rugs; otherwise, you might actually be able to see how filthy our floors are.
-------------------------
I'm currently defrosting the fridge, and Loquatia's packing. She was using the third desk, the one they're removing, and the lofted bed, which will also vanish. She'll be in Tacita's old bed and desk. Which will be moved, since Tacita complained every day about the terrible arrangement of the room that meant her chair could only pull two inches away from her desk. The whole room will probably get rearranged next semester. It will be very weird to actually be able to put a chair in here and not make Libentra sit on the floor when she comes to study.
Except... Libentra won't be in all my classes next semester. Wow. That's sad. I think the only one she's in is maybe Latin.
-------------------------
Libentra and I are going to the Chem review tonight, held by the Chemistry-themed fraternity, which is not to say a fraternity that brews their own beer (though they might), but rather one that focuses on Chemistry and the physical sciences. That should help, as I can't for the life of me remember what "MO" stands for or what potassium and sodium have in common besides exploding in water and being butter-like in consistency (potassium is the squishy, accidentally-left-on-the-counter-in-summer butter, sodium is the cold, hard sort).
I have a final tomorrow and all I can remember is potassium is squishy. I'm toast.
------------------------
I have my stress ball. I have a Latin exam that I should survive, since it's just translation. Then I have a review session, then I need to sleep tonight, like, go to bed at 10, since the Chemistry is so early tomorrow. And it's in a classroom I haven't been in before, so I will most likely get lost. I only need to answer 40 questions correctly to pass, and 50 to have a C (in the class, not on the test).
Deep breaths....
before them, then cleaning it up when they were "done" (They could tell the god was done because the poor schmuck sent to clean up didn't get struck by lightning or anything).It's also the Sementivae, another festival to Ceres/Demeter (and Tellus/Gaea), this time of sowing.
-------------------------
Tacita officially moved out today, leaving behind an oddly empty corner and plastic pallet. It's not horribly tragic for me- she and I were never close, and it turns out that she's just moving upstairs, so I'll probably see her almost as much. More depressing than her leaving is what she left behind- space, which I don't think I've seen in this room since move-in day.
Plus really dirty floors. She pulled up the rugs last night and the floors were absolutely filthy. We need new rugs; otherwise, you might actually be able to see how filthy our floors are.
-------------------------
I'm currently defrosting the fridge, and Loquatia's packing. She was using the third desk, the one they're removing, and the lofted bed, which will also vanish. She'll be in Tacita's old bed and desk. Which will be moved, since Tacita complained every day about the terrible arrangement of the room that meant her chair could only pull two inches away from her desk. The whole room will probably get rearranged next semester. It will be very weird to actually be able to put a chair in here and not make Libentra sit on the floor when she comes to study.
Except... Libentra won't be in all my classes next semester. Wow. That's sad. I think the only one she's in is maybe Latin.
-------------------------
Libentra and I are going to the Chem review tonight, held by the Chemistry-themed fraternity, which is not to say a fraternity that brews their own beer (though they might), but rather one that focuses on Chemistry and the physical sciences. That should help, as I can't for the life of me remember what "MO" stands for or what potassium and sodium have in common besides exploding in water and being butter-like in consistency (potassium is the squishy, accidentally-left-on-the-counter-in-summer butter, sodium is the cold, hard sort).
I have a final tomorrow and all I can remember is potassium is squishy. I'm toast.------------------------
I have my stress ball. I have a Latin exam that I should survive, since it's just translation. Then I have a review session, then I need to sleep tonight, like, go to bed at 10, since the Chemistry is so early tomorrow. And it's in a classroom I haven't been in before, so I will most likely get lost. I only need to answer 40 questions correctly to pass, and 50 to have a C (in the class, not on the test).
Deep breaths....
Sunday, December 10, 2006
"Are you just going to keep adding on to that nickname until it is as emasculating as possible?"
I didn't get any studying done today, because the Internet was down, and then Mistake and I went to the mall instead to do some Christmas shopping, then we watched High School Musical (good) and The Perfect Score (meh) with Closer, and then sat around and were bored... Generally just didn't study.
During the "bored" time, we played Truth or Dare, a game which my mother banned me from playing ever again when I was in middle school, on account of my being really, really good at it, and consequently making the other girls do/say stuff that they later regretted, or immediately regretted, and then there was crying and complaining calls to mothers. But don't worry, no one cried tonight, at least not because of me; Closer's eyes could have welled up when Mistake hit him in the groin, but that had absolutely no Basiorana involvement.
I will recommend not playing Truth or Dare with dating couples. "Truth or Dare?" "Dare." "Kiss me." *kiss* "Truth or Dare." "Dare." "Kiss me back." *kiss*... Mistake has installed Christmas lights, which at least gives me something to look at when I examine the ceiling in an attempt to ignore the lovey-dovey nonsense in front of me. Especially when there was pantsing involved, because honestly, there's a limit to how well you want to know your friends. And that's WAY past the limit.
Walking out of their dorm, I passed a cop car, then a fire truck, then an ambulance, all headed into Stoke. I've decided that it was Mistake and Closer's fault, though I'm not sure HOW yet.
----------------------------
Last night was the Stress Fair, which was cool; we got cotton candy and played True Colors with Tibicina ("flute-player"), a girl we knew in high school. We also made stress balls by putting flour into balloons; I should say, I did, as I was the only one patient enough to finish the flouring. However, I was playing with the stress ball during the movie we went to see afterwards (Employee of the Month, pretty funny), and it broke and exploded flour all over my lap. I sat like that for the rest of the movie and then afterwards raced to the bathroom to deflour myself.
That's NOT the same as deflowering myself. Primarily because "deflowering" implies a "deflowerer" who is not the same person as the "deflowered."
Anyway. We played True Colors until Cocky Guy showed up (Cocky Guy is a guy Mistake met at orientation. We hung out with him a little at the beginning of the year, but he was apparently a bit of an ass to her and really offended her, and she always describes him as "cocky" or "jerky asshole who's so damn full of himself." Cocky is the nicer of the two [and I don't really know him so I feel bad being mean], and works as a double entendre that's almost as good as his real name, so we'll go with that). Then Tibicina and I ran through the giant blow-up obstacle course (I won both times, I am the giant blow-up obstacle course champion) while Closer and Mistake went to get movie tickets so Mistake could avoid Cocky Guy. She's pretty lucky he declined to join us when Tibicina invited him.
I know what Mistake told me about what the kid did to piss her off, but honestly, sometimes I wish she'd just let him know that she dislikes him, rather than making him think it's her being a jerk. Because honestly, if she told him "I was really offended when you did _______, and that's why I've been avoiding you" he'd probably get mad at her and stop trying to contact her, thus making her life easier, or he'd realize she had a point, apologize, and maybe try to be better about it in the future, or, more likely, somewhere in between. But honestly, she doesn't need his friendship, so what could it hurt to give him a little constructive criticism?
-----------------------------
Anyway, Tibicina works for Vector and she and I talked about it; she's actually quitting soon, though she still defended it a lot. They get some devoted people there, you know. I think it's the water, though there might be some nifty air-vent chemical-release program they've got set up.
----------------------------
But it's 2 AM, so... tired.
During the "bored" time, we played Truth or Dare, a game which my mother banned me from playing ever again when I was in middle school, on account of my being really, really good at it, and consequently making the other girls do/say stuff that they later regretted, or immediately regretted, and then there was crying and complaining calls to mothers. But don't worry, no one cried tonight, at least not because of me; Closer's eyes could have welled up when Mistake hit him in the groin, but that had absolutely no Basiorana involvement.
I will recommend not playing Truth or Dare with dating couples. "Truth or Dare?" "Dare." "Kiss me." *kiss* "Truth or Dare." "Dare." "Kiss me back." *kiss*... Mistake has installed Christmas lights, which at least gives me something to look at when I examine the ceiling in an attempt to ignore the lovey-dovey nonsense in front of me. Especially when there was pantsing involved, because honestly, there's a limit to how well you want to know your friends. And that's WAY past the limit.
Walking out of their dorm, I passed a cop car, then a fire truck, then an ambulance, all headed into Stoke. I've decided that it was Mistake and Closer's fault, though I'm not sure HOW yet.
----------------------------
Last night was the Stress Fair, which was cool; we got cotton candy and played True Colors with Tibicina ("flute-player"), a girl we knew in high school. We also made stress balls by putting flour into balloons; I should say, I did, as I was the only one patient enough to finish the flouring. However, I was playing with the stress ball during the movie we went to see afterwards (Employee of the Month, pretty funny), and it broke and exploded flour all over my lap. I sat like that for the rest of the movie and then afterwards raced to the bathroom to deflour myself.
That's NOT the same as deflowering myself. Primarily because "deflowering" implies a "deflowerer" who is not the same person as the "deflowered."
Anyway. We played True Colors until Cocky Guy showed up (Cocky Guy is a guy Mistake met at orientation. We hung out with him a little at the beginning of the year, but he was apparently a bit of an ass to her and really offended her, and she always describes him as "cocky" or "jerky asshole who's so damn full of himself." Cocky is the nicer of the two [and I don't really know him so I feel bad being mean], and works as a double entendre that's almost as good as his real name, so we'll go with that). Then Tibicina and I ran through the giant blow-up obstacle course (I won both times, I am the giant blow-up obstacle course champion) while Closer and Mistake went to get movie tickets so Mistake could avoid Cocky Guy. She's pretty lucky he declined to join us when Tibicina invited him.
I know what Mistake told me about what the kid did to piss her off, but honestly, sometimes I wish she'd just let him know that she dislikes him, rather than making him think it's her being a jerk. Because honestly, if she told him "I was really offended when you did _______, and that's why I've been avoiding you" he'd probably get mad at her and stop trying to contact her, thus making her life easier, or he'd realize she had a point, apologize, and maybe try to be better about it in the future, or, more likely, somewhere in between. But honestly, she doesn't need his friendship, so what could it hurt to give him a little constructive criticism?
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Anyway, Tibicina works for Vector and she and I talked about it; she's actually quitting soon, though she still defended it a lot. They get some devoted people there, you know. I think it's the water, though there might be some nifty air-vent chemical-release program they've got set up.
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But it's 2 AM, so... tired.
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