Would you mind reading my poker face? Oh, you cant?

I feel a little guilty for spewing yesterday.
It took me a long time to forgive Todd for what he did, but after I did I felt so much better. I know I should be the bigger person and just learn to forgive and move on. By holding this grudge I'm only hurting myself, not them. I guess I'm just afraid of getting hurt again.
I guess it was just the crappy mood that egged on the anger. I feel so much better and happier today. I'm just not quite sure what's going on in muh brain.
Cody and I have been dating for 7 months today. I'm so lucky to have him in my life. Just when I thought I'd never find another person who 'got' me, who loved me for me, and who would stand by me through thick and thin, Cody walked in to my life. Or, should I say, responded to my Facebook message. And now I wonder how it's possible that I lived 20 years without him. He may prefer calming music when I'd rather boogie, he may hate my BFF Wes Anderson, and his eyes may glaze over when I start freaking out about Zac Posen's new line at Target, but when we're in a crowded room, he's still the only person I see. He's my best friend. He's the love of my life, or as he would say, the wrub of my lime. :)


And to end this surprisingly cheerful post, I'll add one of my favorite quotes from Albert Camus (I think...it may be another existentialist...maybe Sartre):

You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life.

This is way longer than I intended.

In a weird mood today.

I've been forgetting to take my meds in the morning, so that could explain the blah-ness. Also, the university wont turn the AC on until later in the month, so it's hot as hell in my room and the local farmers just put out their new batch of manure. Hot weather + cow poop = agitated Berkeley.

I spent a great break with Cody and my family, but because I've been down I feel like I've taken my time with them for granted. I apologize compulsively because I feel so ashamed. But then I feel even more stressed and embarrassed due to my major insecurities. I feel great one day, destructive the next. I hate these old feelings coming up again. Just when I thought I had nixed the negativity and knee-jerk self-trashing it bubbles up to the surface again. I don't know what to do about it. I know I could easily talk myself out of it, but when it gets to a certain point, it almost feels like a comfortable blanket that protects me and keeps me warm. It's pretty counter-productive to therapy to constantly hold on to your depression. The most frustrating of all is that I understand the many blessings I have in my life, yet still find it incredibly hard to be happy. I find myself being more and more judgmental and hypocritical. I can't take my own advice. I can't shut up. I can't say what I feel. I have no creative outlet to turn to because I compare it to the immense skills of others; if my product isn't perfect, then I can't get myself to do it. It's very stupid, but it's how my brain works.
There's actually a part of me that feels terrified to get over my depression because I have become accustomed to thinking that it defines me and makes me....special, almost. Again, I understand how messed up that it, but it's very hard to rearrange my psyche. I have no idea what it would feel like to have confidence in myself and my appearance. What would it mean to stop having this crutch? I mean, that's essentially what it is. The weekend I spent playing four-square with Kate&Jon&Cody was probably the best weekend, mood-wise, I've had all semester. It felt wonderful, and I know I am capable of that freedom and joy. Even Cody remarked on how different I seemed. But I guess I feel like if those days arrive, I will embrace them happily, but it feels physically exhausting to try and achieve that level of happiness each day. I always let something stupid weigh me down, whether it be people I know, people I don't know, people I wish I didn't know, and the people in my head that tell me all those terrible things about myself (and man, are they convincing!).

I'm straight up terrified of next semester. Not for the daunting task of Senior Seminar or coming to the realization that the freedom and carefree lifestyle of college is coming quickly to a close, but because of this little pre-pubescent looking asshole who is coming back from abroad. He treated me like shit, saying some of the most out-of-left-field and hurtful things ever said to me last summer in a forum in which all of my friends witnessed the carnage. And out of like 7 of them, only one, who I'm not at all close to, actually comforted me. I feel a little shame in harboring this intense anger and pain for this long over something that seems silly from a different perspective...I guess it requires more backstory. But no one actually reads this blog, so I can save the details for the daily rehashing I do in my head. Anyways, it destroyed me that my friends (who had repeatedly told me how much they disliked this little shit) refused to back me up or even ask how I was doing. Not only that, but during the semester they continued a super buddy-buddy friendship with him and didn't give a shit when, after 7 months of not talking to me he sent me an email that read: "Not going abroad=big mistake. HUGE". Probably because they realized I knew they'd been fucking gossiping about me. Seriously guys, get a hobby. My life isn't that interesting. If anyone, ANYONE talked to any of them like that, I would've immediately stood up for them. Because to me, friendship means loyalty. You know, like the kind I gave to you when you spent a year fucking your professor's husband and then needed my support; or standing up for you when everyone else tried to tell me you were a pretentious bitch; etc. They're all so fucked up and self-absorbed that I guess I shouldn't expect compassion or whatever. Just thinking about this situation and their existence makes me so upset that I have to give myself pep-talks. How ridiculous is that? Since when is my skin this thin? Why do I constantly let them have so much control over me/my feelings? I waste so much time getting angry and postulating about the shit they say about me behind my back, and all the gossip they're spreading; I've got some substantial paranoia issues. A lot of times I feel like I've wasted 3.5 years and thousands of dollars at this place. It's made me jaded and tired. I have the irresistible urge to harm myself, but then my goodie-twoshoes side shows up and I can never get much farther then pulling my hair out and picking my nails/fingers until they bleed. I'm sure those girls find it hilarious that I can't even hurt myself as well as they can. Sigh...I hate my stupid thought processes.
Anyways, I have a paper to write for tomorrow. I promise that one day I'll write a positive, uplifting blog entry. Probably next month when I move in with my lovely man. :)

“A Night at the Opera” (Pantoum)
I embraced this blissful intermission
as a way to separate myself
from the black and crackled heavy breath
and dirty shattered glass

As a way to separate myself,
I feathered into ash
and dirty shattered glass
that sliced and sparkled simultaneously.

I feathered into ash,
forced to swallow your words
that sliced and sparkled simultaneously;
ruining the red and raw within me.

Suffocating—a deafening crush received
from the black and crackled heavy breath
as sickeningly sweet as your eyes; anger, for
I embraced this blissful intermission.

Soapbox.

Lately I've had the really serious urge to write again, but as soon as I press pen to paper I get nervous and freak out and stop. I used to be so good and so prolific at my writing, and then I came to college and started hanging out with the most pretentious writing majors alive...it kinda ruined the art form for me. I keep thinking, "What would so-and-so think of this paragraph? He'd/She'd probably make fun of it." Why the fuck should I care? My brain is a very scary place. And like my dearest Kate said, "The writing department doesn't consider anything legitimate unless you're writing about your anorexia." Quote of the month, for sure.

My graduation is coming soon, and I've started taking inventory of the non-academic things I've learned at Susquehanna University. Such as:
-Girls suck. It doesn't matter if they're not the typical sorority bimbo. They will invariably cause drama and try to fuck each other's boyfriends/girlfriends.
-There is no point in keeping close friends because they will inevitably let you down.
-Trust very few people. Those you consider to be mentors and leaders will turn on you in a second.
-If you don't like drinking until you puke every night and having random sex with guys in madras shorts, don't enroll here.
-Gossip is rampant. Part of it is that this is a small school, the other part..well...see the 'girls suck' section.
-You cant claim you want to bring diversity here and then do nothing to bring about change. For instance, you want to be welcoming to transgendered people? Stop making only women's and men's bathrooms. You want more Muslims to come here? Make an accessible mosque and don't serve pork at every single meal. Want more black students? Don't make them feel like usable objects to parade around on the covers of admissions brochures and trips with President Lemons. Get it? Good.
-Stop letting every asshole with a high school diploma into this place. I want classes with smart, challenging students who are prepared and serious. I realize that it's college and everyone has different maturity levels, but c'mon man. You should hear the shit these people say in class.

And unlike other certain pissed-off figures on this campus *coughSimonaHillcough* I've actually done my part in trying to make this a better place. I'm well-known all over campus, especially with the important administrators and the President. I worked my ass off these past 3 years, and all it has done is make me more cynical and jaded. I can't wait to leave and never look back.

“An Aversion to Love Poems” or “Matthew” (Sestina)
If I ever wrote love poems,
Breaking away from the usual destruction and death;
To peel away my jaded, broken skin
Like that of a tremendous fruit,
I would recall, in verse, your heart within me
And your endearing tendency to fail.

The faith I have in you will never fail,
But like Persephone, your fate is that of tragic poems,
Of warm life and bitter, shallow death.
Oh! The way the tempting flora scented your skin,
And the everlasting sticky-sweetness of the seedy fruit.
As you ascend, I know you will bring your blue-skied joy to me.

The colors of the sunset mean nothing to me,
They pale in comparison, they undoubtedly fail.
Only the birth of your star brings me sighs like poems.
You mount your chariot, prouder than death
And like Apollo, your golden sphere warms my untouched skin
As you crest my horizon, pregnant with the glorious life-fruit.

Like a fantastically plump fruit,
I have trembled in your wind. Me,
Forever standing on the banks of your tumescent river without fail,
The coin on my tongue as sweet as poems,
Buys my way into the kingdom of death,
And the water of the river felt like tears against my skin.

And here I thought it fine to rest you against my skin;
To bloom from my bosom, to blossom like fruit.
The name “leda” had not meant anything to her, or me.
In aviary disguise you cannot fail.
But unlike Hera, my tie to you flows like poems,
And I will celebrate this gradual death.

But within passion and courage there is no death;
Only the sick hypnosis of your heartbeat on my skin.
In spring mornings I dream of savoring you like fruit,
And of the day you leave your island for me.
Your Artemis eyes tell me (with lies) that we will not fail,
But that our rhythm is the stuff of endless poems.

But words do die—like love, like me.
They grow tough like aged skin.
And because of that, I will never write love poems.

Da Future.

I've been having a bit of an existential crisis as of late.
For as long as I can remember, I've always been the girl who has known what she wants to do with her life. I had a ten year plan that involved law school, Washington D.C., Congress, and changing the world. But since last summer, those dreams have been quickly dwindling. It's terrifying...I've never been the 4.0 student, or the dancer, or the prom queen. But I've always been the driven one. The one that was going to make it big and make a difference. And then, I had nothing. Nothing to rely on. Nothing to give me hope while dying in small increments at Susquehanna HellHole.
Last night, however, I watched a History channel special on the Klan. It reminded me of my passion for civil rights and helping the underserved. I felt that fire in my belly again.
I did some googling of 'civil rights jobs' and found a plethora of careers and positions that made me excited for life again. Cody and I are hoping to move to Portland next summer, so I looked up civil rights resources in that area. Low and behold, Portland State University (go Vikings!) has a wonderful social work masters program, and a great women's studies certificate program. And if we live in Oregon for a year before I apply, I get to pay the in-state fee. And compared to Susquehanna, grad school tuition is chump change. With that degree, I could easily work at a women's shelter, a civil rights advocacy organization (ACLU, holla!), or even teach. It would be a career that I could exercise anywhere, and would allow me a broad range of employment opportunities. The degree would also give me an edge over other employment candidates. It would be a solid career that would give me a stable salary and good benefits. And greatest of all, I'd actually be making a difference in people's lives. It might not be on a federal scale, but honestly, Congressmen don't do anything positive for American people. It's a big, bureaucratic poopfest. But of course, I'm a liberal. So I think everything needs to be reformed.
Who knows...my career goals have shifted wildly from day-to-day as of late, so I'm a little scared that next week this line of thought will no longer be attractive. But this feels real. This feels solid. I feel good again.

Feeling like Edward Weston.