introversion

OK, I admit it, I felt bad when Prof. George “scolded” us for being all giggly and generally not paying attention in class today. But I’ve pretty much learned not to pay attention in that class and this is probably the second time she’s “scolded” us with some indirect comment. But, really, it was quite amusing when people did walk out of class like 10 minutes later–hey, she invited them to. We probably should have too, but by then stubborn pride kept me in my seat. But, really, Dana makes me giggle. How can I not enjoy her offhand comments?

But I guess in the end I just feel bad that I generally just blatantly disrespect my Lit prof. And my Lit section. Sometimes Hum section too. Wow. I was goin go to say “There, better, conscience?” but it seems somewhat… hypocritical now.

I found eraser shavings trapped in the crevice of two pages of my Spanish workbook. I wondered how many lost words blackened their once white surface, how many misused, misspelled, unwanted. Too many. Wiped from the face of existence, I will never get them back. I wonder why I want to forget all my innocent mistakes.

Isn’t it funny how I don’t like kissing, but that sometimes the wild impulse to kiss a stranger, a friend will seize me when I study a pair of lips? I wonder why that is. I wonder what I want. I don’t think even my body knows. I am no longer running on instinct.

I learned things I never knew about my suitemates. They’re amazing people lurking beneath the surface of carefree fronts. Amazing people always make me question myself. I feel just that much more inadequate. But what does it take to feel adequate? When does the bar stop rising?

Due dates are evil things. Worse is not procrastinating. Sure, it’s nice to have something done, but anything done early sits there in the background, quietly mocking, boasting of all the errors I believe are in it. Better to have it handed in, out of my hands. I want someone else to take control, but I hate it when they don’t meet my expectations. Why is that? Why don’t I have the strength to step up? But responsibility is a weight I can’t bear. The more you have of it, the greater the counterweight: failure.

I think I’ve stopped listening out of insecurity. Don’t rock my foundations; I don’t want to learn, not really. Learning means accepting that what you believe may be wrong. I don’t like the thought of having been wrong (what have I been doing all this time? what meaning does all that time have now?); I don’t like the thought that my own beliefs don’t matter. But whose does and why? I’m not hurting anyone. Not yet.

Sometimes I believe I can really write something, that in a few years I’ll find a pen(cil) in my hand and suddenly magic words will appear on paper. I want to believe these words will come from my heart with the eloquence of something that has some intelligence–or at least a mind–and that they will touch other hearts and other minds in a way that the great ones have touched me. I want to be like the authors in those wild biographies a page, half a page long, the entirety of lives crammed into the exciting/depressing events of life, work, sometimes marriage, but always somewhere death. Even if they’re not dead yet, in a century the anthologies and reprinted versions will remember and finally add the second date in that blank spot behind the dash. Yet I always know I will never live a life like theirs and I wonder if it’s the life that produces the work–if so, I’m out of luck before I’ve even begun.

Someone tell me if that day is coming. That day I can finally say, “I did something.”

Marat/Sade. How fucked up. And at the same time, how utterly awesome. The UCSD theater program should get lots of love. Greatest way to start a play: have half of the actors already on stage acting as they would in the situation. In this case, as insane inmates. Awesome.

Random tidbit for today: we get the word sadism from the Marquis de Sade.

Wow, I just lost my entire post by clicking the wrong button in my browser. I will start again then.

So, I never did talk about that random night. It ended up being two random nights. Sun God at UCSD is basically an excuse for debauchery all over the campus. Although I missed the lesbians making out on the killer hill, although Ally claims that they were going at it while Michelle says they never even kissed. I’m still not sure how I missed out. Amy did too. Anyway, Ally, Michelle, Dana, and I decided that Sun God wasn’t our thing, so we went out to eat at TGI Friday’s and then went back to Ally’s room to figure out something else to do. We also got in touch with Christina who rendezvoused with us. This is when things started to spiral out of control. So we played a game of Apples to Apples (a fun game with the right group of people), which somehow lead to the most perverse pictionary I’m sure UCSD has ever seen (never again will Christina be allowed to make the prompts–although admittedly it was all horrifyingly amusing and embarassingly funny), which lead to some charades and then more party games that lead to even more randomness, like someone acting out a tampon. … Yes. So while we were playing the question game, the RAs walk through, probably thinking we were drunk as all hell considering how loud we were being, but the real icing on the cake was someone actually telling these poor men about the tampon bit. Just… you know, as interesting as I think it would be, I’m very afraid to think about all of us (the Lit Crew, I suppose) being drunk at the same time. The horror, the horror!

Saturday made me face a decision between John’s invitation to see Taylor’s show or Christina’s offer to see a play put on by Planned Parenthood (that alone should have been the warning) that she claimed featured warped Disney songs. It didn’t. Mostly it was a guilt trip about how the world sucks and we need to do something about it. It had its moments though of absolute, “Oh, jeez, I can’t believe this” and TMI, but I think we definitely broke Michelle’s brain in those two nights alone. I’m surprised she still associates with me. So anyway, after that was some Cold Stone and then we swung back to UCSD where we ended up being random in the Revelle Plaza. Some guy on a Segway came around, but since PotS was closed, he came back and let us test drive the Segway. It’s pretty cool, really. I ended up giving ‘er a spin across the plaza, with the dude walking beside me. This lead to speculation that I was macking on him. Admittedly, I did learn about him, but the thought never actually crossed my mind. Just my curiosity and compulsion to ask seemingly relevant questions to stave off awkwardness. *laughs* I almost wish I had had the thought to mack on him…

(more…)

Tonight has been one of the craziest, randomest nights of my life. More thoughts tomorrow, hopefully.

I write these stupid words
And I love every one
Waiting there for me.
Yes I do, I do.

-In the Garage, Weezer

Weezer has always had it damn straight and these words have spoken to me for years. <3

My Hum TA has this disturbing habit of smiling very widely and amusedly/hesitantly/unsurely when she lectures/talks/whatever even if she’s saying something that’s not quite appropriate for smiling, like… drawing and quartering a man or something equally not smile-inducing. There was a better example, the incident or comment which made me go, Why is she smiling? but I can’t remember it now. Combined with her habit of widening her eyes so that you can see the whites surrounding her very blue irises makes it almost painful to look at her while she’s talking. It’s already painful how dead silent the class gets and how no one wants to answer any of her questions. I really don’t care for Hum section.

Also, today after Spanish class a classmate that I never talk with suddenly started speaking to me. He made me feel very uncomfortable. Something about the insinuations in his voice or something–especially his comment about me being buddy-buddy with our TA. (I’m not, really, though the guy fascinates me utterly with his passion for Latin America, their dictatorships, his knowledge of communism, his very open views about U.S.’s relationship with Latin America, etc.) I’ve chatted with my TA outside of class once or twice, but something about what my classmate was saying really rubbed me the wrong way. I felt like I was being subtly mocked in some way that I couldn’t put my finger on. He was also invading my personal space, which did not amuse me at all. I think he patted my backpack at one point. It was strange and disturbing and I had no idea what to say to him. I hope that we don’t end up conversing again.

Thus today’s highlights.

Just right now, walking back to my dorm from Spanish class, I overheard two guys talking behind me. Actually, it would have been very hard not to have overheard them as the tall, ponytailed guy was lamenting loudly and wholeheartedly how he apparently wasted all his time and money going somewhere (where, I’m not sure, but I assume it was a cafe) because he thought he’d met a nice guy there–"good looking… not flamboyant… intelligent…"–who finally sat down at his table and then turned out to be “just a nice guy.” He went on to bemoan how he always seems to fall for straight guys or the guys he likes have boyfriends. (This guy, coincidentally, turned out to be straight and even started bitching about girls–"some hoes"–which finally set our storyteller off in a rage at the time. He walked out of the cafe, or wherever, according to him.)

Oh my God! He put the biggest smile on my face because he wasn’t really angry; he was speaking in this self-mocking, amused away about his circumstances–and he was so open and un-self-conscious about it. I loved it! I loved how he was completely at ease with himself and didn’t mind talking about this in a public environment with his friend as he walked around campus. I eavesdropped on their conversation all the way back with this huge grin on my face as I listened and tried not to laugh out loud.

He was kind of cute, too. I don’t dig the ponytail thing, but he was broad-shouldered, tall, had a little facial hair going on. Couldn’t see past those sunglasses though. If he cut his hair, even I might have lamented that he was gay.