I'm going to eat this entire one pound block of cheese and then throw up.

Hungry.

Fuckin' hungry.

No sleep 'til Brooklyn, baby.

I have an outline! I had an outline three months ago but nevermind that, now I have one that almost makes sense and is partially coherent!

But I'm sitting here shivering and stroking my goosebumps.  And I wish it was less cold.  It's SO COLD.  It's warmer outside than in here.  I mean, I understand if they don't want the computers to overheat or something, but it's friggin freezing!!  Sheesh!

Anyway I'm working on things, but getting distracted by the coldy coldy coldness, and also anything else I can possibly find to distract myself.

Draft must be in by this evening!

Overdrive Engaged.

You know how sometimes you have so many things to think about that your mind can't focus on any of them?

Or so many things to do that you're immobilized, because you're trying to go forward and backward and left and right and up and down at the same time?

Or, like, when you have a gun to your head, and the person holding it tells you if you don't give them a urine sample RIGHT NOW you will die.  But you just peed and you're totally parched, and there's just no way it's going to happen.

That's me, right now.

So, I clean house.

Is today the day?

I complain so much about all my hardships, and look at me sitting here on a laptop that I could afford to buy with my own money, in an apartment that I could afford to rent for a whole year (with a little help from my friends), on a couch given to me freely by a kindly amigo.

In front of my computer desk and my bookshelf full of books, next to the five guitars of my household, two dynamic recording microphones, mic stand, basically a whole little home recording studio.  I have never gone hungry for more than a day or two.  I have a job... well, sort of.  It's dwindling away, and that's one of the things I complain about.

But I'm in America.  I have a family who is mostly alive and well.  I have no friends with terminal illnesses, and I myself don't appear to have one (though you never know, I guess).

Yet somehow I manage to fully convince myself that the situation that I am in is just so entirely stressful that I can't go on doing the daily tasks of living.

Sometimes I don't shower for two weeks.  This is partially because I can't find the time, and partially because I can't afford the quarters to do a load of towels in the laundry and I am NOT drying myself with those mold covered mildewy things that have been lying around my apartment for months.  And I am NOT taking a cash advance so the whole nearly $2000 balance on my credit card can get its interest rate hiked by over five percent.  Not for a shower, not for anything.  Especially since my credit limit is $2000, and then I would start getting overlimit fees on the interest.

I complain about being poor, but if I bothered to manage my money properly I wouldn't be poor at all.  I would be living at home with my bitch of a grandmother (who is alive and well, provides food and shelter and clothes, does the washing, pays for cable tv and internet...) and I would not be able to go out to dinner with my boyfriend (despite being able to afford dinner, we wouldn't be able to afford the airfare, hotels, etc etc etc).  Well I still can't, but we can make dinner at home.

I live in a place where I can get food stamps and I am in just the right situation where I qualify to receive them.

Really I need to just get the hell over feeling sorry for myself and get to work.

But I think I've convinced myself too strongly that I can't.

Gave up on that English nonsense.  Still have more, as per always, but oh well.

Done with the emo show, I hope.  Anyway, working on looking up sources as I am way behind on my outlining-and-writing process.

I am a little sad that I bought all of those notecards and the notecard box and all those coloured sharpie pens for nothing.  Well, at least I use the sharpie pens in Math class (teacher does things colour-coded, so I like to do so as well).

Anyway I'm catching upppppp.  Hopefully.  We'll see.  Maybe it won't actually ruin my life, eh?

Still loooooove my books and my topic.  Advisor can go to hell, though.  I guess I still have to go see her tomorrow.  Not seeing a purpose to this whole mentor thing.  Don't like it.  Would rather have mentor be someone I actually like and who gives emotional support and/or is actually helpful in any way.

So, yeah, that's about it for today.

All Honors work is on hold until I finish my English bullshit.

More news to come after I am done wading in animal feces.

Okay, I realize that I'm definitely at least 3 times as intelligent/perceptive as the average student in the average community college humanities class, but come ON.  This can't possibly annoy them any less than it annoys me.

How am I supposed to write an essay on something that we've already discussed to death?  What's more, the only resources I'm allowed to cite in the essay are CLASS DISCUSSIONS.  Seriously?  This is just so completely redundant that I am going to vomit all over myself.  Or maybe that's because of the raw meat I had for breakfast... I really should have cooked that X_X

Anyway, I'm complaining about it here because I need to pretend that someone in the academic community will read it.

I can't believe the extent to which this busywork has me stressing out about everything in my life -- granted, most of the other things in my life get me stressing out about themselves, so I didn't need much of a push in that arena, however... I'm pretty much completely paralyzed with fear of not getting a perfect set of 4.0's on these three essays -- two of which are complete bullshit anyway.

I have one paragraph.  It's an introductory paragraph, and as such it introduces all the points I have to talk about in the entire essay.  I just can't bring myself to give a shit about trolling through transcripts of old class discussions and repeating and regurgitating and redunding (is that a word? I will make it one) to even write full paragraphs about the things.

Seriously, my introductory paragraph pretty much explains it all.  Yup, here's what we talked about.  Got it?  Good.  The only person reading the damned thing is going to be the teacher anyway -- she already knows this shit and I can't imagine how in the hell she would enjoy this any more than I do.

This assignment is making me seriously consider faking my own death to avoid having to pay back my financial aid, and disappearing from America.

Also, I think I have an ulcer.

On the bright side, I might get to cite myself in my research project?  I guess.  Maybe.  Who knows. What the hell.

Mehhhhhhhh.

I don't like writing papers.

=/