meta

every spring I sense an escape. Arizona, New Mexico, Wyoming, Montana. that little place outside Las Vegas.. Red Rock Canyon. somewhere wide open and weird.

crying for nine straight hours is usually a sign that something is wrong.

that something, this time, is everything. and I don't want to talk about it because I don't want to keep breaking my own heart. it's school and work and lack of sleep and questioning my function as a human being and thinking I do not at all like where I am, physically and mentally and spatially and qualitatively and quantitatively.

my head hurts, my eyes are sore, I think I damaged my throat. I am nonstop. it got to the point where I had someone else call in to work for me because I couldn't speak.

now all my vacation hours are gone, and I am at home. my cats are here, and so are my parents. I went for a walk. it was nice out. I am alone in a carpeted room and my parents are laughing at each other in the next room. I like it here. but I like the other place where I live, too.

my nearest semblance of a solution is to withdraw from the class that has been the destroyer of my existence since the beginning of the semester. my first reaction upon seeing the syllabus was run but I thought I'd stick it through. and that's a good chunk of what's made me lose my mind these last few days.

I could have been so much happier without that class, without the bitch professor talking to us about anal orgasms in the voice of a 4th-grade teacher, then assigning us the work of a fucking doctoral level course. I'm going to withdraw, and I need two signatures to do so, and both of the signees are going to say, but what about all the work you did, and I am going to say, I didn't. I'm getting a C- in that class for a reason. fuck it. I'd be happier with no grade at all.

I ruined myself for that class and I have nothing to show for it. I have no time to make up for it. I don't even want to explain it.

one of the other ten trillion things that's recently gone wrong is the fact that fully half of my cds have been ruined.

this is, of course, my own fault, as I forgot that they were sitting on the floor of my car when my dad took it to the shop a few weeks ago. I didn't open the case until today, and oh, why, oh heavens why, do my cds smell like antifreeze?

some of my most precious one-of-a-kind mix cds have been destroyed. and I've been crying so long and hard I look like a fucking placenta. jesus.

I think my miserable rantings have jumped the shark.

someone show me something original.