Right now I’m sipping decaf to try and stay up maybe just a little longer. Last night was one of those nights where I went to try and sleep, and I ended up thinking about three million things for all hours of the night until I think I finally fell asleep around 3:30am. These nights are always filled with the type of thoughts such that, when I wake I say to myself, “What were all those crazy thoughts I was thinking as I was trying to get to sleep?” I proceed to discard them as wild fancies. In actuality, most of these nocturnal thought patterns ping back and forth between mapping out deadlines and trying to determine the validity of my even being alive at this point in the game. Sort of morbid, but then I go off on the hope-tangent where I come to understand that: everything is as it should be.
To be frank, I found myself surprised to find that I could finally count the number of acquaintances I’ve managed to acquire on the whole of one hand. Wow. So life wasn’t so bad after all. When I think of acquaintances, I have to pan out in my mind, out of some self-esteem issue lurking somewhere, that someone is being either nice to me to “play it off,” or that they are genuinely nice. Always in the end I realize my paranoia needs to find a boundary, and that if someone sits next to me for more than one class period and still talks to me, maybe I don’t appear like Frankenstein after all. To the silliest end of my musings, I’ve even met a couple of people just as new as I am, and conversations have taken place. I’m melting inside at the thought, but on the outside, I’m as cool as a spring breeze, so I don’t look like a dork. I guess that’s what being on the edge of survival does to a person.
Sometimes I wonder if my musing doesn’t resemble the musings of a 19yr old (I try and provide the full dish when I write about myself). But I’ve gone and experienced a life path that’s been tampered with, so I’m experiencing feelings that appear conflicting or self-questioning, all the while being analyzed by the doctor in me, a figure I like to call Dr. X. He’s my inborn psychologist representing my actual age, and he helps me direct the crazy emotions and frustrations I encounter. If that doesn’t sound scary, I don’t know what does, but it’s just a coping mechanism that seeps up through my subconscious, though one I’m completely aware of. This phenomenon isn’t new, and can be likened unto talking to oneself while doing the dishes, only slightly more complex due to some of the odd aggravations I experience.
To be real, if I continue to focus on what is so awesome, being here and having goals, sort of like what I did the other night when I sat looking up at the stars while sitting on a bench at campus, I feel a spirit that hovers and wants to be a part of me. I let that spirit in as I sat there, and I felt great. Reality checks me, however, and the pressure of getting on with achievement generally tends to frighten the spirit away. On the contrary, I’ve also come to understand the dreadful cliché of self-pity. Self-pity is a trapping cliché just like the old adage for almost every male that’s ever lived: “she left me and now I can’t live…bahahaha…” Yeah, dating is rough, but if one can’t hang, then don’t complain. Don’t get me completely wrong here though, dating is the pits for the most part. How does it start? She’ll either accept or reject me. Then I get dressed up, depending. Act like someone I’m not, or just be. Be rigid and think about everything she might be thinking about me. Spend money. Hope for the best I didn’t have snot hanging from my nose at any point during the night. Check email. Nothing famously rewarding about dating, but a guy has to swing the bat does he not?
Aside from that crazy psycho-rambling, I’ve learned one of my classes is situated directly next to the wine making facilities. Does this place reek!
Bring all your jars and your bottles when they drain the vats, and get a crap-load of high-in-alcohol-content, cheap wine leftover. I would do well in this class, but I might do the beer making one instead. Beer is more to my liking, though I’d just assume drink a Guinness.
Here I am, blurred in the frenzy of being crammed into a bus. Thankfully, the ride is short, but it’s interesting riding on a bus chalk full of yapping students cropped together like sardines while being shifted around by the rules of gravity early in the morning. Everyone cheer for spearmint gum!
In other news, we’ve had a visitor come around with some frequency. One day this little guy had a collar on that said “Buster,” so that’s what I and my roomie have been calling him, but the collar disappeared. We still call him that, however, so I’d like to introduce Buster to everyone here at the blog.
I’m supposed to be writing a term paper, but last night’s sleep ordeal was hard hitting, and I’m not thinking quite on par, hence the lack of topic and sophistication. I feel a restful sleep on the horizon, so the updates and ramblings will continue at some point in time.