HOHOHOHO

christmas is just as horrible and sad as i knew it could be!!!!!

the tree is lit-up, housing presents for me and literally only me (awk) and meanwhile i am being forced yet again to take pre-med classes for another semester!!!!! what a happy holiday time this is. 

that went excruciatingly badly.
i don't know how bad to feel about my private education and the fact that my parents think i'm throwing it away because i want a career in design. the stress of this entire situation is making me unable to do anything, and channeling energy into anything besides work and sleep is daunting and seemingly impossible. my education has had a huge impact on who i am as a person and that place of privilege has given me many opportunities. my 'stubbornness' in not wanting to be a doctor or engineer is neither a positive or a negative, and i don't think i should feel guilty about wandering outside the #realm of those two professions. i shouldn't be afraid to fail. i shouldn't have my mom tell me to my face that i don't love my parents and that i am a 'stupid toddler'. and yet all of these things are happening and i do feel bad about them.

today i sent a tumblr poet a pic of my boobs

it got 16 notes.

washu v. vandy: which is more evil?

washu has a fucking building named after monsanto.
vandy has a culture of entitlement that allows GANG RAPES to happen on campus with very little student body or faculty acknowledgement.
washu is not need-blind
vandy has yet another rape culture red flag (re ATO letter)
washu has very little student body diversity
vandy has too many republicans
washu attempted to expel a student for his mental health issues

shave ur pubes into art

i'm shaving a kiwi and a coconut for an experimental film. this is the culmination of my time on earth. my video prof described it as 'curious'.

the pt of life is to look skinny until u have kids

i stopped taking my medicine because i assumed (correctly) that it generally 'turned down the volume' on the good bad and beautiful parts of life. the first few days of not taking it, i was so on edge i didn't know if i was going to burst into tears or eat anything or eat everything.

i remember going to bongo when the sun was shining and observing everyone there so intently, to see them for what they really appeared to be as opposed to neutrally existing with them collectively. anti depressants keep you from caring to much about anything or anyone bc you have proven (by virtue of needing to take them) that you can't handle caring that much. i was acclimating myself with a space ive known for years in a totally different way. i watched a 6 yr old boy hold hold the door open for ~15 ppl over the course of 10 minutes. he said things like 'everyone is coming in! all the people in and none of the people out!!'. i was actually close to tears watching this kid do something so nice, yet he didn't even think of it as 'nice', it was just interesting to him to see people coming in and out. totally unselfish.

then i picked up e (a person not drug) and couldn't stop talking to him about totally nonsensical things. he didn't respond, it was literally just me talking at him for an hour. it was so good to talk to someone about nothing and care so much. in summation, i dont feel neutral anymore. for better or for worse.

list of quasi-famous people that have acknowledged my presence on twttr

rob delaney- favorite
dapwell- favorite, mention, & rt
kool ad- favorite & mention
crispin best- favorite, mention & rt
steve roggenbuck- favorite, mention & rt
jordan castro- mention
megan boyle- mention & favorite
tao lin- rt (not from main acct)
mira gonz- favorite

just cried for almost 2 hours now im trying to watch mean girls online

meeting becca's parents today, i realized how a lot of people are at least vaguely similar to their parents. i'm totally envious of this, seeing as my differences from my parents are honestly sort of ruining my life and my relationship with them. so much so that i don't see any point in pursuing to keep in touch with them after college. they are extremely depressing individuals that cannot see this culture from my perspective because they are so profoundly and culturally different. in that regard it isn't their fault. it isn't anyone's fault, it's a totally unfortunate situation that makes me want to cut off ties with my family, which seems inevitable at this point.

trying not to consider myself 'doomed' but currently all points lead dere. i am holding out for 2 more years. two more years and i can move very far away or kill myself or shave my head and not use a cell phone.

***

how many chocolate kisses do i have to eat before someone confronts me and my 'problem'. at work intervention organized by me for me. coworkers will offer me time off w pay in exchange for not coming to work because my quiet depressing presence is rly depressing and they can tell i'm silently hoping for someone to rob the bank so i can go home early.

currently working at the drive-thru at the location near walmart. my coworkers are very pretty and young and have small children. i feel bad for them but they are happier than i am i think.

take me

"An eagle soars overhead, clutching a Confederate flag in its talons and chewing tobbaco in its rugged beak while simultaneously screeching the Price is Right theme song..."

my recurring day dream is interrupted by the actual theme song to the Price is Right, hosted now by a ghoulish Drew Carey, a skeletal gameshow host version of his former improv self. The TV perches in a corner, so Drew can watch me make deposits, withdrawals, and cash checks for Ipshemeg locals. Between customers I scowl at Drew, getting single moms and college students excited about the prospect of a new car, only to watch them lose at a challenge that is designed to have no wins. the only contestants that win are featured at the end of the show, and usually win living room sets or 3 day trip to New York. The players at the start of the game are still incredibly excited and literally jump up and down like children, squeeling at the opportunity to win (but more likely lose) a jetski on TV. The couples wear matching tee shirts with hopeful slogans emblazoned in Sharpie like 'it's our anniversary!!!!' or 'i'm feeling lucky!'.

The commercials for this brand of depressing daytime television include 'As Seen on TV' products, and different kinds of electric wheelchairs and hearing-aids.

I don't yet have the courage to ask for the remote. I'm not even sure there is a remote. The other tellers are all women, ranging in age from 22 to around 60. They all have children, and 3/6 take regular smoke breaks. These women are easily excitable and constantly reference ailing family members and low-profile gossip, which does little to brighten the predominantly gray and beige interior of the bank. I have little to contribute to their ritualized gossip, as most of my friends live 60 miles eastward in a Chicago suburb. Ginger, although I'm not sure this is her real name, frequently tells me about her ex-husband and latest sexual conquests. She is the closest to me age (her 22 to my 20), so I am obligated to feign interest in her most recent purchases and photos of her two year old son. She changes her hair frequently and wears jeans with rhinestones on days other that 'casual Friday'. I considered her attractive on my first day, probably because she was the only employee not significantly overweight (she's actually quite skinny). Her beauty quickly faded when she returned from a weeklong stay in Guadalejara, her olive skin suddenly a deep orange, and her normally brown curls now a stick straight jet black.


Wayne Brady has taken Drew Carey's place, and 'The Price is Right' is now 'Let's Make a Deal'. This gameshow is identically to the former, but it's evidently 'hip' and 'young' via a youngish black comedian host and more interactive challenges. Instead of flustered grandmothers guessing the price of canned soup, twenty-somethings in costumes participate in skits that somehow end in the acquisition of either luxury handbags or 'zonk' prizes, ie furry plates or a 10 foot long pencil. Unfortunately, contestants don't actually receive these faux prizes. The main difference between the two shows is that contestants that have won something can choose to trade that prize in and potentially win larger prizes.

The current challenge, an offensive skit about a turban clad fortune teller, is suddenly cut short. A hand clutching the remote, followed by an arm, extends past my head and shuts off the TV.
Clumsily, i spin my low quality office chair to meet my employer's tiny blue eyes. I cheerily offer a "hi!!!" and am met with a sterner than i'd like,

"Hello. Could you follow me to my office?"

I momentarily consider staying in my chair, pretending I've suddenly had a mini-stroke like Frankie Muniz.

I awkwardly climb the musty stairs, following him, unable to peel my eyes away from his flat 48 year old ass. His office is a cramped yet unusually clean nook in the corner of the second floor. Tucked behind the women's restroom and supply closet. Despite the location, the office has an almost fresh scent, and I find myself wishing it stank so I could more easily hate him. He is trying to contort his  round, pink cherubic face into a look of dissapointment (sp??? no spell check on this fucking computer).

"We're concerned about your internet usage. We need you to complete the assigned tasks before surfing the net. You could lose your computer priveleges if you continue abusing your inernet priveleges. I have been told you were even using the internet during your training."

He pauses, waiting for my explanation.
I consider slowly unbuttoning my floral chiffon blouse, like I saw in a film once. Maybe a mini-stroke after I take off my shirt. After a few seconds I retardedly reply,

"Hmmm. yes. I will...work on.."

"Just take some iniative. Ask the other tellers if they need anything. Even if you're only here for the summer, you need to keep up with the other employees."

"Ohh. Okay, yeah. Sorry about that."

I slowly get up, letting him know I'm leaving but he has time to say other stuff if he chooses to.
He doesn't.

I leave and feel like crying. Then I consider how much more 'trouble' people get into at real jobs and how I am doomed to poor work performances for the rest of my life. I leave hastily, before any actual tears.

I return to my 'desk' (really just part of a countertop at the 'drive-thru' section of the bank), feeling almosy angry at Drew Carey for contributing to my low productivity. In an effort to look busy, I recount bands of one dollar bills by hand, punishing myself.

prompt:

this is my 6th hour watching cbs.. all of the daytime programming is bordering unbearable. i think this is a government ploy to encourage people to get jobs since there won't be anything good on tv during the day. i am currently watching 'the talk' which is the 'the view' with darlene from roseanne on it. she's the angsty, gay(?) one. the overweight black lady is the black one and one of the funnier ones. sharon osbourne is the famous one. my feet really smell but i like it. i haven't showered since saturday but i think i like it. i'm stressed about this vanderbilt thing but i would also be stressed about going back to washu. everything stresses me out. i find myself very easily stimulated lately, which perhaps is a product of my increased introversion. i'm extremely unproductive in the company of friends, so the alone time is good for increasing my 'artistic' output ie sketchbooking and illustrator. whenever i see certain friends now i'm really animated and 'fun'. i'm convincing myself this is a good trade-off since i can develop my 'skills', assuming they exist.

i'm really bonding w my room. i think it's my favorite room that exists. i can't really think of any rooms i love right now though. i really like the art library. that's really just one large room. maybe that's my sercond favorite room.

oh no that wayne brady 'price is right' type show is on. i don't get it, wayne brady and drew carey(?) should quit being shitty gameshow hosts and have another improv special. wayne brady has a wonderfully shiny bald head. i remember having a lot of sexual fantasies about the bald comedian on  a hawaiian cruise w my family. the comedian seemed liked he hated his life a proportionate amount to being a cruise comedian. he was pretty funny and i really wanted to fuck him. i think i was 17 at the time. maybe 16. i ate a lot of pineapple on that trp and puked a really acidic pineapple puke. i think i was depressed at this point in my life.

i'm very stressed out about this semester and my writing and my art and i don't know how much to care about having friends or making new ones or even connecting with people i don't already know.

yung death

a couple days ago, dylan pitman killed himself.

dylan is one of those people that I see once or twice a year (since high school) and still get nervous and tight-chested around. my middle school crush on him has never ever ever subsided, and i've always been completely fascinated with him. i've literally never met anyone funnier in my life, and although that humour came from a very dark place, it brightened everyone around him. i don't know who failed dylan, if anyone. i don't know which institution could've worked harder to prove his worth to him. but it isn't that simple. david foster wallace uses a metaphor for suicide that reads something like, suicide is jumping out of a building that's already on fire. it is the less painful of two deaths. to choose life in such a situation is to choose a slower, more painful death. dylan hasn't wanted to be alive for a while, and maybe it would suffice to say the world wasn't ready for his spirit and sharpness.

tyler perry's escape from auschwitz

the opening scene begins in media res; camera pans into a bird's eye view of a dark cell being slowly vacated by gaunt prisoners. a few shots later, only one prisoner remains. tyler perry lies eskew, covered in excrement and sobbing quitely. '

doing things is hard!!!!

i'm trying to learn things and draw things and read things but i still spend more time watching things! i'm currently 'enrolled' in codecademy, an online html and css tutorial that is super well-designed and honestly sort of fun. After a few days of having it at least I can recognize code and set up a document. It's definitely a rush to finally have some exposure into the language, but i'm reallyjust looking forward to making my own webpages.

another lil project i'm thinking about (haven't started at all) is putting these here blog posts (i think there are 47 at this pt) into indesign and designing them into a book, with a front and back cover and w.e else. i'm not gonna illustrate it too much, but i'll add in captions with the photos. i really don't want to lose any indesign knowledge so i have to force myself to work in it.

i also have a good amount of drawings i want to put into illustrator and then upload onto my portfolio. i'm not sure how to present them or how to print them out so i have to look at some examples maybe.

also also also i looked up some design exercises online; a lot of them center around designing a logo for an imaginary company, but i have literally no idea where to start for that one.

a plastic bag filled with helium

recently i read an article about a brooklyn couple who hosted a self-help radio program together and subsequently committed suicide together. i read their individual biographies, and the seemed like a 'normal' creative couple, as in they fought, played in bands, went to shows, w/e. is there anything more romantic than committing suicide together? the implication is that neither of them can live without the other while also being unable to live at all. so it appears that the joint suicide is a compromise of sorts and through the romantic implications seems somehow less tragic than if only one had done it.

also the method of suicide employed is interesting, as it is a departure from the usual wrist-cutting, shooting, jumping, etc. it's less glamourous for one thing and seems 'safer'. no blood. no mangled parts strewn over the bathroom or intersection.

and so it seems i've found my preferred method of suicide if the time comes for it: helium in a plastic bag! yay! 

i can't read good

books i've read this summer:
the namesake by jhumpa lahiri
hurt others by sam pink
the blind eye by james b stewart
the stranger by albert camus
skippy dies by paul murray (again)
the myth of sisyphus and other essays by albert camus
possible side effects by augusten burroughs
brief interviews with hideous men by david foster wallace (still working on it)
how to lose friends and alienate people
various works from the american anthology of short fiction, edited by joyce carol oates
taipei by tao lin

hey so yeah

i'm doing this thing where i only watch hugely popular cable television series 6 years after the episodes air. case in point: weeds, arrested development, gossip girl, and most recently, desperate housewives. interesting because i don't really care for any of the characters and yet the show is actually super well-written. i think im working at a bank. im not sure if this news is bleak or exciting. more 2 cum

the depressed person's guide to staying awake

-the long awaited sequel to the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy and harry potter 8 (the ride)
-today i felt like crying four different times
-i still think i can love bb, but the child-like state i've entered at the hand's of my childhood house and my parents is crippling my ability to imagine myself hanging out with people my own age or in an even vaguely sexual situation. the summer will end and things will return to normal. 'normal' being how things were 2 years ago: more innocent, more fun (strangely), but less visceral and i dont know, let's say 'thought catalog'. my parents are of course passionately albeit indirectly, campaigning for themselves to be my 'role models'. truthfully, i don't think i have any role models. the closest things are more like entities: thought catalog, certain twitter accounts related to alt lit ppl, das racist, bb even. i don't know' is my mantra. karma. dharma. when can i unashamedly identify as indian? i think im less embarrassed of this cultural baggage, and more protective. seeing a white person in a sari truly irks me in a way that i know is unfair, as my parents love seeing shit like that, and they can lay claim to that culture way more than i will ever deserve. i'm ashamed to be discovering parts of this culture through things like jhumpa lahiri books and song lyrics, as opposed to just absorbing it while growing up via cultural osmosis.

i wore a bindi with normie clothes and loved it
yet i have to wonder, am i only noticing the stylish quality bc it's currently trendy for white girls to do on tumblr? i am struggling w this whole 'bi-cultural identity' business. i have to at least know more about india and hinduism than shitty white culture hoarders, no?

god these are so stubby. do i not even have the patience to write a full post. jesus. 25 yr old me will re-read these and know how much of a lazy asshole i was/probably still am.

maybe he isn't a good person.
i wonder if my dad will actually die soon. he seems depressed enough to completely give up on living. i feel awkwardly nonchalant about the prospect of this happening. moms is not speaking to me at the moment and i also don't really care. reconnecting with my design work and some friends (all girls, i noticed). i'm not really trying to be nice to people. people like it when you don't care about them. i also think my metabolism is speeding up?? if i was fat on top of all of this i actually would kill myself. 

he is a good person.
i will continue 'seeing' him.
he will take me to taco bell and i will buy three tacos and immediately regret eating them.
he will say not to worry.
i will kiss him outside.

nothing to see here

move along

race war

...finally

jesus christ i thought this would never happen,

who are you rooting for? (lol)

the black people or the white people? (lOl)

i'm definitely rooting for the black people because the white people here kind of suck and i assumed (incorrectly) that white people knew about white privilege. shucks. 

if only we (unclear who the 'we' is though) could assess wealth privilege simultaneously but washu is not ready for that...everyone love they $$$$

so yeah great conversation fodder and facebook is simulaneously a race to see who can take more offense. who are you rooting for?? jk angry black people win every time

~~~more on this later!!!~~~ but maybe not

being a person is hard

feel interested in making out with asian guys
somehow i have a preference for koreans and/but i am unclear on the racial hierarchy (if any) i am playing into with this assertion. do koreans have more 'white features'? feel interested in this question bc i was recently in bed with boy and he remarked that indian girls (me in particular) have 'white features' (my words not his) distinguished only by a darker complexion. reflexively, i took this as a compliment and further remarked that east asian girls had more distinctly 'asian' facial characteristics. this small and vapid conversation was heavy with racial politics and looking back on it, it's actually pretty disgusting how much 'white beauty' standardizes beauty even at the cognitive level. hmmm. will expand on this later. but probably not.

im feeling extremely fucked for this test / unclear on how much addy to eat. will try to study briefly tmrw sans addy. expecting varied results. shunning the general public this week; should be met with success.

sit down

i regret not crying last night during a pseudo 'intervention' staged by 2 of my closest friends re my study habits in bIo. sorry you can't hold your addy, but don't come at me like that and leave absolutely no room for a conversation wherein i could explain myself and my situation within two larger situations. if you don't really give a fuck about the two (or three, or four(?)) larger situations than do not question anything about how i'm dealing with this test, or my parents, or this white wine. no one has shown consistent empathy or even sympathy for what's going in with my family and my education except people that are paid to care. i don't need someone too but don't fucking choose when to care at your convenience because i will have certainly already considered whatever your about to say and there is no place in your little brain that i haven't already been. fall back bish.

anaphase: crippling vyvanse addiction

i consider myself 'seeing someone' although the person I most sexually attracted to is my ~35 yr old lit professor who more resembles a young quentin tarantino crossed with an old john malkovich. malkovich malkovich malkovich. my ideal friday night is drinking red wine with this person and discussing/re-watching charlie kaufmen movies and making him feel pedophiliac(?) when we kiss. this is the only sexual fantasy I'm currently entertaining. thursday night (in olin) i was feverishly thinking about fucking him so much so that i came twice with my bio notes in front of me. the indian guy sitting across from me didn't seem to notice. 

relationship with parents is plateauing in a bad place. i'm trying hard not to care. my hair is falling out all over max's bed and sometimes accidentally into his mouth. i don't want to make him deal with me right now but i do feel like i need someone to pet me and play with my tits. feels good to write about little things like tits and movies but most of the time if im not on amphetamines i just want to sleep or enter a thick tumblr glaze. this pathetic slide is viscous but has a certain sheen. a sheen that comes from not caring about people and having them notice and want attention that is accessed by a circle of ~15 or fewer. this is an arrogant thought but it strikes me often enough and      genuinely enough that I quietly accept it as true. the quiet seclusion that comes from anti-social behavior assures me of my ability to entertain myself and my ability to snap back into an extraverted version of myself. feel only interested in socially connecting further with suitemates, professors, and boy. this could also be a menopausal (read: emotional) post with no grounding in reality. 

this 1.5L of 'barefoot moscato' wine is 'making eyes' at me and I think i'm gonna go ahead and drink the whole thing while pretending to do bio (read: pretending to be a premed to pretend to still care about attending washu to pretend to care about 'the future')

baBy bAcKpaCk fOr tHe fRoNt!!!!111

currently day-drinking and arguing about the validity of checking one's email often. I argue that yes, you wouldn't come from a 'thai massage', but you should still continually check your email in case your 4-530 class with BB gets cancelled. currently planning out the next 3 years. I finish out the semester; i take a semester off, and the semester turns into a year. I move. I get scared. I do a sizable amount of coke and hopefully have a pregnancy scare or two. I study for the mcat, i bomb the mcat. i try to get on the autism spectrum via excelling at certain things and completely failing at others. I get on said autism spectrum and overdose on tylenol and bombay gin. i marry rich have a child die along

too much stuff in the world i need to read i just want to talk about books maybe a lot so yeah words

i want to be objectified for my body and not my mind

my conscious life is catching up to my subconscious life; for better or for worse. three nights ago i had a slurry of stressful dreams brought on by my parents visit to stl. punctuating these high-intensity dreams was a lull in which i hung out w daddy in an ambiguously romantic context. the next day i had an extremely tense lunch with my parents and two friends, followed by a text from him asking me to dinner. my instinctual response was: 'yes, yes of course' followed by a realization that i already know what it feels like to let someone down so intensely that you rely on so heavily. i flatly replied that i was busy with my dog (true) and have been have lingering thoughts about the small episode ever since.

this coincides interestingly to a decision i made a few weeks ago to stop caring about impressing men and 'do me'. this has been met with pretty successful results, as my unicorn is not the only male that leaves me quibbling on the autism spectrum. my newfound resolution to not date anyone hasn't softened by desire FOR TEH FLESH!!! and i still want to be 'objectified by my body as opposed to my mind'. thus i have decided to 'get fingered' by someone this thursday after my bio test in an effort to one 1. encourage me to shave my body 2. show off my 'body by aderall' 3. amuse myself and others

thursday is also SUPR STRESFULL bc my incredibly incompetent typography group has our letter set due. my group is as follows:
1. incredibly scary fat blond girl who i suspect is bipolar and rightfully deals w issues of self-loathing
2. well meaning yet ultimately doomed frat bro who is so blinded by his false sense of community that he can't meet with his groups for 45 minutes on a monday night and whom i've tried desperately but failed to have a sexual fantasy about
3. well meaning blak grl who actually comes to the meetings i schedule (bc for some reason i was silently directed captain of this sinking ship bc apparently i'm not as obviously fucked as the rest of this group) but has both horrible craftsmanship and ideas.
4. cute and stylish korean girl that literally does not give a fuck but somehow i mind less that w the others.

tumblr image articulating current mood: (i'll try to post my own sketchbook stuff instead l8rrrr)

meta-porn

addressing the viewer in porn and cheekily discussing the audience's presumed reactions and comments

currently watching videos of male porn stars using variously sized 'ridged long-necked dildos' on themselves with an unnamed lil black gay best friend. i think he might be the only lil black gai for a 2 mile radius and he is a perfect human being. i could write 100 pages about him so i will later. first we looked up all these super weird sex toys that ranged from adorable tiny pink and green butt plugs(?) and a vibrator that honestly looked exactly like an alarm clock. then we were on this site with like, very extremely too huge butt dildos that looked like they were carved out of huge chunks of candle wax and had dimensions like 11' long and 17' in circumference. what the fuck does 17' cm in circumference even look like. i couldnt picture it (even though i'm usually really really good at picturing things like that) and couldnt imagine why anybody would ever want to use something like that on themselves or on anyone else (even though i'm really good at imagining things like that). we watched a video of a squat and muscular pale man using one on himself. with a pained expression on himself he sort of just sat on it until it sort of 1/2 way went in. the 2 minute video (on the company website for these products) was extremely depressing the 40 minutes of 'porn for women' we watched before that was also pretty depressing. not sure when the 'sexiness' of sex occurs to me

a diagram categorizing my current anxiety level via amount of hair on the shower wall

 

' a diagram categorizing my current anxiety level via amount of hair on the shower wall':

check back for annotations on said hair

'haze yourself'

i think i want this to be the title of my memoir:

' i vacuumed up my lexapro by accident so i guess today will be an 'off day''

my caprese ( with turkey ) is usually accompanied by avocado but today the panini press in the cherry tree cafe was set to 250 degrees F instead of its usual 300 degrees. i noticed Vicki, who usually works  at the cash register, hadn't turned the knob all the way and currently, my roommate is trying to convince me out of having sex. well. actually, i have a sort of diatribe against having a 'sex life' because of the slew of emotional and anxiety inducing issues it would bring into my already wrecked mind. i ended my monologue by saying 'but i have to do it'. she responded with an appropriate 'wut'. i explained further that i needed to 'haze myself' (in the immortal words of mary bishop) by starting my 'sex life'.

here are some excerpts from the conversation verbatim:

'do you know how long it takes girls who for their own personal reasons freak out about sex, which regresses them'

'pushes women back the inner woman cult revolution womens rights movement pushes back'

'im literally writing everything down.'

'take it out if it sounds bad'


'expression oriented v goal oriented
-go through different mediums. writing is a different'
'coming of age, where you ...

'hey im

stalking my roommate. it's too easy. ""

end.

other stuff i want to remember later :

writing is a different means of self expression but i just
remember this: write out these posts on notebook paper (or digitally???) and incorporate them into prints. concept: the absurdity of us all having our own websites and excessive documentation becoming the 'norm'
think aesthetically with the concept in mind goddamnit
art is hard and no one cares about  it

'delighted by her own disgustingness'

i often (for lack of a better word), become 'obsessed' with certain people who (to my paranoid lil brain) render me socially awkward to the point of autistic due to my inability to construct complete thoughts around said people. currently i'm holding myself back from this 'obsessive' stage and limiting any similar behavior to being 'shy' as opposed to thinking about this person frequently and imagining him/her and i in various situations and conversations. currently the closest person to this is my professor who i don't so much think about but instead wonder whether this person is truly 'happy' in his life and speculate to what his agenda regarding his own happiness might be. it's also totally disconcerting that i 1) nap for approximately 4 hours every tuesday and thursday right before that class and 2) yearn to be in the crew of english lit majors (all male, coincidentally) that sits in the front 2 rows 3) consider taking recreational anti-anxiety meds in an effort to 'loosen up' before this one class that seems 'tense' (to me only, i'm sure). huh.

muhduh muduh keel keel keel

yeeeeooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

keel keel keel

1) should i take all my classes pass/fail
2) should i then fail all my classes
3) should i then actually put effort into www.nameyourprice.com and get paid to go on dates with relatively disgusting older men
4) should i then develop and underfunded coke habit
5) should i then enter a downward spiral culminating in an episode of redemption (filmed via nude vlog entries
6) should i then gain a rather large internet following
7) should i then go on a keeling rampage

currently scouting for a ~33 yr old boyfriend

the internet at this fucking starbucks is so fucking slow i want to punch the indian gentleman sitting next to me in his fucking face.

the prickles came back this morning and i contemplated having a beer or smoking a bowl by myself in an effort to 'relax'. however the self consciousness that comes from drinking a beer alone at 12 pm is almost double the original anxiety i am attempting to combat in the first place. currently i am trying to solicit $15 from either of my parents in an effort to buy a purse i completely don't need but feel a 'need' for. this is hour 4 of my date with myself. if this were a date with another person i would've found it a 'great first date' and texted the other party two days from now and given him book suggestions since i (we(?)) went to 'subterranean books' after 'beasts of the southern wild'. based on all of the praise i've heard surrounding the film, i was honestly expecting something a little more 'sweeping'; the budget allowed the filmakers however to utilize a more stripped down filming style and utilize minimal set design that actually supplemented the content of the narrative. the lil cutie that was nominated for an oscar deserved the oscar based on her cuteness and ability to remain a 9 yr old despite being filmed by 10+ cameramen. the father (wink(?) was his name? maybe?) was the most unnerving character, based on his fragile mental and later physical state. he was objectively unfit to be a parent but was able to sustain a bond w hushpuppy based on the premise of survival. ie, he enables her to live by providing food, shelter, etc, and withholds companionship, warmth, or any of the other 'modern' (from an evolutionary perspective) implementations of parenting. in that way, most of the film seems removed from contemporary society, and instead feels more like a mid 1850s swamp town or a post-apocalyptic new orleans. i also liked how the audience's interpretation of hurricane katrina was shunned completely and the shelter employees were briefly the 'bad guys' while the swamp-dwelling protagonists yearned (as did we, on their behalf) to return to their unhygienic and non-literary society in the bayou.

there is too much science for my lil brain!!

in no particular order here are the 'little things in life' to enjoy/look out for

-when i want to cancel plans w/ someone and they do before i have to
-when i am unsure about wanting to cancel plans w/ someone and they do before i have to
-eating in class
-eating in bed
-looking prettier than my enemies
-successful social interactions w adults
-going to bed hungry/on the verge of hunger (ie waking up skinny)
-finding candy/money/aderall
-good poops
-okay poops
-listening to a new artist and not immediately hating them
-emails from peggy
-mac n cheese at bd (friday)

im nervous about dying

i am a paranoid person. i have been paranoid all of my life for various reasons and at times the paranoia has objectively helped me but always always always gnaws at my inner monologue. in middle and high school i was paranoid about not having enough friends and have undiagnosed (varying from slight to severe) social anxiety. In high school, the end of this socially anxious period of my life (perhaps coincidentally) coincided with the beginning of my weed usage around 10th grade. Ironically, weed causes fits of paranoia, but seemed to help my sober state. My paranoia now centers around my reservations about art making and fully exerting myself academically for fear of 'choosing the wrong thing' to excel at. typing this out illustrates how much of a 'first world problem' this is and puts the problems of higher learning in a less severe perspective. my professors sense my growing fog of apathy via cognitive dissonance and goad the class frequently to 'commit to the material' and 'dont under estimate this class'. they are referring to me and me only and i will respond by returning to my introvert-roots and slowly absorbing material and hovering in the 'class average'

917 584 4893

the 'sorryhouse', 'muumuuhouse' and popserial publishing groups are (i guess) responsible for all of the
altlit' scene i am currently familiar with. tao lin is the most famous member (and will remain the most famous, i think) and one of the affiliated attractive twenty something living in bk posted his number and is seeking socialization. i'm tempted to respond and start a long distance relationship with him. i want to 'catfish' him so i can end up on the mtv series of the same name and meet nev shulman and his whipping boy max. i want to date the former using my long distance bf as lure and the 'switcharoo' will be so unexpected that nev will agree to go on a date with me in order to boost the ratings of his show. we will bond over our indian heritage (although he is ethnically jewish; perhaps he is an arab). i will use this tv exposure to fuel my internet presence and give up on ever having to get a real job.

i like being a girl and i am sexually attracted to men but i a hidden penis to swing at things and take fun dick pics for my own photo library. men dont take advantage of their penises (except maybe by imposing it on others in a sexual way) to my knowledge, and i think i would enjoy having one for the 'fun and creative' things i would do to said penis. i want to somehow take the sexual power and connotation away from the penis and see it for what it truly is: a hilarious fat little worm that should be wearing tiny outfits and pretending to read a tiny newspaper.

so i had this dream last night: ***disclaimer: i acknowledge that the 2 things no one cares about save f0r their own are dreams and poetry**

kurt cobain dressing as an elderly woman in order to acquire crack (or money of crack?? maybe just the crack i didn't really elaborate for myself mid-dream) as his crack addiction becomes more and more consuming, his state deteriorates to the point where he is recognizable as a crack addicted man despite the elderly lady outfit and makeup.


i want to write  a short film screenplay where a man (not kurt cobain) goes through the same thing but maybe instead of crack it could be a drug that's less 'hokey'. like crack is just lame at this point. heroin can still be sexy (see: heroin chic) if you've somewhat got ur shit together. but crack use is comedic (ironic crack use could be a funny thing??) maybe something like keyboard cleaner or nitrous?? (..are they the same?

am i motivated enough to write a screenplay???

n0 h0p3

facebook shouldn't have a 'status' option. instead people should be allowed only to post links and comment on such links. twitter should have a literacy/aptitude test before allowing people to create profiles. it should be mandatory that everyone keep a 'journal', online or otherwise.

my fear is that people think they are 'expressing' themselves through fb/twttr when really they are just re-hashing(re-hashtagging) tiny events in their day that say nothing about who they are or how they feel. i'm not totally 'bummed out' about this however, the dullness that shrouds my peers allows others to shine brighter perhaps?????? this is an uncharacteristically positive view

how many mg of prozac is the obama family on collectively

there's too many politics in the world for my lil brain!!!

for most days this week, i have somewhat purposefully gone to bed hungry, knowing this will be last week i have a limited selection of food available and thus could loose a couple lbs relatively easily. on the mornings following these hungry nights, i would wake up surprisingly satiated and, according to me, a bit thinner. yesterday, however, i decided to be 'normal' and eat a light dinner. this morning, i floated out of bed a stinging, bloated mass, hovering above my bed in pain before drifting downstairs despite dizziness and back/neck pains. the pain spread form my stomach to my uterus(?) resulting in a brief and always hilarious pregnancy scare. ive spent the past ten hours mostly horizontal, wincing in pain and farting un-satisfyingly at random intervals. it also hurts to breathe deeply or even somewhat deeply. in case i am dying, refer back to my last post as a suicide note-equivalent.

i think in tweets now--is this what a coma feels like / bob loblaw

2 weeks of the past 4 have involved blanketing myself in a silence that comes only with a fluctuating family situation, wealth, depression, and long-distance travel. nothing like a visit to your third-world country of origin to remind yourself just how different you are from your white middle/upper class friends. this silence is punctuated only by ~40 episodes of arrested development watched in 5 hour increments in a cerebral palsy like trance that can be achieved only through desperation at a 6 yr old nugget of pop culture that 'culture' actually got right. Occasionally during the two weeks, I have ventured out into the surrounding town of Hopkinsville, KY, to one of a handful of places: taco bell (drive thru), subway, the ymca, wal-mart, kroger, or my dad's office. The latter (grammatically correct to say the latter in a sequence?). Although this is objectively depressing, my increased lexapro dosage is still a new and exciting regimen to my life, and the extra serotonin has helped me adapt and sustain a voyeuristic view of my current situation. After busting my knee via severe constipation, I laid off the lexapro for 2 days because they induce nausea and constipation. during the two days, i initially felt no different and perhaps even in an elevated mood (although this could have been in part to the extra positive attention I was receiving from my overly and unfortunately doting parents). the bookend to our trip to india bookended these two days, and it was at the hyderabad airport that i felt myself slipping into a panic that rendered me literally speechless. the anxiety i'd been subduing for the past 5 weeks of medication enveloped me once again in its prickly arms. I quickly slipped another tablet and within minutes felt calm once more. The speed at which the drug took hold clued me in on its at least somewhat placebo affects, but I was comforted, and that was all that mattered. on the 16 hr flight I slipped two nyquils and awoke only for the 3 in-flight meals, my circadian rhythm embarrassingly primed for adorably plated yet unappetizing plates. after coming to what i consider home (nashville), i was prepped for 2-3 hours with my friends. i settled into bed to rest my throbbing head, and woke up 7 hours later once again to angry parents. after 2 weeks hanging out exclusively with my parents, i became aware two possible scenarios: 1. i love hanging out with my parents, who are hilarious and loving people that genuinely want whats best for me and the people they surround themselves with
2. i am so good at adapting to a given circumstance that i could have spent 2 weeks with anyone + lexapro and had a great time.

either way, the first day back in america seemed bleak in comparison to the warm, sociable, and colorful climate that had so readily taken me in.

the past few days have been better. i am nestling back into my thick blankets of silence, attempting on 3 occasions to listen to music only to shut it off and drift back into the noiseless void of tumblr, thought catalog, vice, and fashion blogs. somehow i think i enjoy reading about music more than actually listening to music.

it's almost like, there is too much good music in the world so why even try to pick some of the vast selection available via blogs, spotify, torrents. etc . but this is how apathy crept into my life and has since loosened it's knot tied around my neck but not enough for me to slip my head through to the other side.

sigh that's a really emo/gai image but i think it 'works' in the context of the rest of this post. although im going to be the only person reading this. me and me in 3 years stalking my 2013 internet presence and finding that i was clever but too lazy for it to matter. which is coincidentally the same thing 55 yr old me reflects on while absentmindedly staring at a blank word document.