Yup, still here.

I'm getting my Ph.D., I think. We've had some issues, but I think this is a good choice. I certainly feel more informed about my decision. Also, celebrity that I was mildly crushing on is married. The interesting part isn't that he was married, but that I was actually disappointed that someone who will likely never even know I exist is married. Well, as long as he's happy. I'll just keep admiring the figure he cuts in the music videos. I wish them happiness; it's a nice thing to have and I think they deserve it.

Thank God for this blog

I don't know if I can do this. I'm almost done with school (only 7ish more months), and yet this semester is the most class-intensive, stress-laden, HELL RIDDEN stretch of time I've ever endured. I'm not even 4 weeks into school yet. I'm honest to God petrified that I'm not going to make it to the end of the semester. I keep trying to tell myself that next semester's going to be ridiculously easier (because it is; only 3 real classes, no team leading, no grading, maybe just some working to make money) but that doesn't help me now! I'm so busy and time is going so much slower and I can't complain to anyone because that's fucking whining!

I have all these emotions bottled up inside me and I have to go around acting like everything is okay and that I'm enjoying myself. Most of the time I am, but there are times when I stop thinking (or my brain forcefully zones out) and I get all melancholic again. And I'm supposed to apply for grad schools now. My future is depending on this time right now and I barely have time for extra projects, I'm fucking barely getting by on my regular assignments. And now swimming is starting and my free time to do work just got halved. There's not even anything that I can really give up; all of my academic classes I either really like or need to take in order to graduate. The only thing that I could drop is my kung fu class, and the requirement for that class is Th, 7-9 PM, which I can usually do. I want to cry, I'm getting emotional, and I HATE IT. Couple this with some loneliness (which I'm sure you're tired of hearing about) and a recent obsession with Avenged Sevenfold, and you've got a maelstrom trapped inside human skin, i.e. me.

I'm tired. Already tired. Tired of working so much towards a goal I'm not even sure I wanted in the first place, let alone want now. I don't give a fuck for advancing science, I just want to help people and I'm not even sure that a job in academia is the way to go. I'm scared, man, scared shitless and I don't know how to fix it. I don't even know who I can talk to, because I feel like, as an adult, I can't go to my mom anymore, sit on her lap, cry (which I am finally doing now, thank God) and ask her what I should do. I'm so uncertain what to do right now, AND THERE'S NOTHING THAT I FEEL I CAN DO ABOUT IT. I don't have time to sit back and reevaluate my position on life and where I want to go. I DON'T FUCKING KNOW. How can I decide my future now? And what if I fuck up? I mean, life is short, and we only live once, then we're dead. What if I fuck up? What if I do something wrong and my life is one big shitshow? Well, this is retarded, I could go on with "what if's" forever and get nowhere productive.

So, I think I'm going through my midlife crisis. I have to chart my life now, apparently, so I'm putting pressure on myself to choose correctly now. On top of what I'm already going through, the pressures of my coaches to have me perform well and work hard, the pressures some of my professors put on me unintentionally, the pressures of being in a leadership position in a year-long team project for credit, the pressures I put on myself to perform academically, it might be too much. Ooh, plus a little side dish of body-image insecurity to wrap it all up into one nice little gift-wrapped package.

Long story short, I'm a bit of a mess right now, but writing in this blog (and finally getting myself to cry a bit and get some of the emotion out) has helped a ridiculous amount. I know what I'm going to do. I will research Ph.D. programs and find which, if any, seem interesting to me. Do they have the potential to save lives? Am I making the world a better place? These are the questions I want to be able to ask myself and say, with resounding authority, yes on both accounts. I can do this, I know I can. Thank-you, nonexistent readers. I am more at peace. Whoever said that holding in your tears is good was fucking RETARDED.

Lessons Learned

Things that I have learned that you might be interested in (because, after all, I'm writing this blog for you, right?):

To me, life in itself has no purpose. My goal 6 months ago was to get a high-paying job I didn't hate and pay off my debts, then invest and get rich. I know now that that's the fastest way for me to hit 50 and realize that I've done NOTHING with my life. I believe that my purpose in life, everyone's purpose actually, is to help other people that could use the help. I was lucky enough to be born into fortunate circumstances, so I sure as hell better try and pay back the debt that I have accrued over my life. Especially living in America, where almost every large company has some sort of malpractice issues. Just by living I am taking away from someone, so just sitting and working my ass off at some research job isn't going to help. My job is going to have to help people, to save lives, for me to really feel any fulfillment once I get old and die. And, since there is no heaven, God, Buddha, or whatever, I've just got one chance to get it right. And who says I'm not going to be run over by a bus tomorrow? It's rather scary.

Dating in middle/high school is a good thing, as long as you don't progress too fast. Actually, I think it would be better just to say "If you're inexperienced in dating and relationships, always take the first one slow." I usually don't go for certain "all" or "never"s, but I think in this case it's very applicable. Realize when you feel uncomfortable that something is wrong, and try to figure out what it is. My problem was that I thought I was okay with my first relationship being entirely physical; I thought it would be good "experience." I didn't really think of what it would be like when I had to interact with the person around other people. I ended up feeling as awkward as a wheelchair with square wheels and broke it off (by cell phone, no less) the night after. Long story short, I rushed in because I was excited that someone seemed to want me physically and wasn't afraid to pursue me, ignored the uncertainty that arose when I realized that he didn't go for monogamous relationships, and ended up with a memory that hasn't quite stopped bothering me yet. Luckily, I don't believe in regret and make a point of never mourning past choices, but I'm still waiting for time to make that one burn a little less.

Note to self: Himitsu, this post sucks. Edit better. But go to bed now.

The Art of Words

Well, after a long hiatus, a pause in my veritable verbosity, I have triumphantly returned to the site of my writings. I "wax poetic" when I am up late, doing nothing important, but not wanting to go to bed. It's even better now that I'm studying GRE vocabulary.

And do you know what? IT'S FUN. There are so many words in the English language that most people don't know of, let alone use, and they're beautiful words! Pretty words that sit in the back of the minds of select few, gathering dust and spiderwebs, fading away as they find their homes infringed upon by monosyllabic monstrosities that roll of the tongue and encompass many definitions. Specificity, man, now that's fun. Take "pulchritudinous," for example. I think that I may, at one point, have heard the word "pulchritudinous" in some class, or in some book. Did I know what it meant? Fuck, no! Now, I find I like using it wherever. Because it's specific, descriptive, it has a definite purpose, and there's a certain joy about using something that other people have lost.

But then again, the specificity, that's probably why it's dying, right? We use to have fancy, single-purpose words that the privileged could use in their pedantic (heh, there's another vocab word for the GRE) discussions to try and widen the separation between the lower class and the book-learned. Now, we seek to use short, curt, words that can be descriptive of many things. Excellent examples of these are "cool," "fine," and "fuck." Many people have marveled on the versatility of the word "fuck." It ranges from a verb to a noun and can even venture to adverb and beyond, though that may require some slight modifications.

So, what's better? The educated person in me leans towards the polysyllabic, the beauty of recognizing the Latin or Greek roots and suffixes in a word to delve into its meaning. The artist in me appreciates that as well, because to me these lost words are beautiful, and what is are if not that appreciation of beauty? The pragmatist in me, however, begs to differ. Why should we have fancy words when we can already have other words that work perfectly fine? I think the pragmatist, however, is quickly being drowned out, if only for the sake of writers and authors. Because, for both good and bad authors, it is very often that those simpler words simply will not work; I think there are probably poets out there who have spent days, weeks, possibly even months searching for the exact word, the exact turn of phrase to express a specific idea or emotion. (Having been assigned to write a Spanish sonnet, I can relate) I think these lost words are an art, I think that's the conclusion I've come to. It's an art some can pick up, like some pick up painting or dancing. I think the difference is that words cannot progress like music or dancing can. Which makes me wonder; how long will the art of words last?

Writing...

Fuck it. I can't think of what to write here, so I'm going to write what I want.

My parents feel oppressive, and I'm being obsessive about dreaming about some guy who can't stop thinking about me. Some guy who's hot, and smart, and can kick anybody's ass, and now I'm laughing at girls who get angry at guys for wanting a hot chick. As if we're any different, fucking hypocrites.

I want to write well, but I'm not sure that I have the right style, the right flair. The stories themselves might not be good enough. Then again, it'd be hard to write with nothing to write about.

I'm spinning my wheels in the muck of adolescence, flinging up bits of frustration, of worry, of angst(fear). The jeep is stuck, it's not going anywhere. But is this normal? Maybe if I sweep the wipers across the mud-splattered glass of the windshield and squint real hard I will be able to see other vehicles stuck, just like me, in the mud. Maybe that's the real path of life. You start being able to go anywhere, a true all-terrain vehicle. Time goes on, you get bogged down. You choose a path and it sucks you in, sucks you down and hardens around you until there is nothing left of you but a rectangle of colored metal in the ground. No need for a wooden coffin, you have a metal one already.

I'm not there yet, though. I'm still revving the engine, spinning the wheels before the brown slosh stiffens and stops me from changing. The mud is flying through the air and I'm watching it, looking at it, glaring at it, shouting at the top of my lungs bestial yells and snarls that echo through the mudland, bounce of the globules that cut through the fetid air and lodge in the muck.

I worry that I will soon be stuck.

"I just had an apostrophe."

"I think the word you are looking for is epiphany."--Hook

"Lightning just struck my brain."--Smee

MENIAL LABOR SUCKS. My summer job is working at the local water/wastewater company. On the surface, that sounds interesting. But I am working with a subset of people who are trying to take the GPS points of all the water shutoff valves in the city. All, oh, I don't know, about fifty thousand of them. Which means my day consists of...

7:50 am--show up for work, check email

8:10 am--leave in car with three other interns, begin taking GPS points of every key box in the grid

12:30pm --stop for lunch

1:30 pm--go back to work

5:00 pm--leave

It is so mind-numbingly boring I think I'm going to go insane. I wish I had books on tape on my ipod, because then I could a least enjoy the day. But then I might be rude to my partner. My brain cells are decaying, I can feel it.

But at least I'm getting paid for my rotting brain cells. Sixteen bucks (plus chump change) and hour is not bad for a summer internship. I think as time goes on it will get better. Or I'll expect less. Probably the latter. I think the true reason I'm going to college is to avoid situations like this.

Filter Fail

So, you know that filter between your brain and your mouth that tends to break down when under pressure?  Mine broke just now.  You see, I am having an affair with my model-hot boyfriend and when he and I were having raunchy sex I called out the name of the guy I cheated on him with.  Haha, not.

Actually my friends and I were playing Catchphrase and I had to get them to guess the phrase "make out."  Of course, the first thing that popped into my head was that one of my friends, Alice, had just gotten the ball rolling with another one of my friends, Chad, and had done the exact same thing last night.  So, what does my mouth go and say?

"Alice and Chad did this last night!"

And, of course, Kyle (who's a girl, fyi) yells out "MAKE OUT!", informing the other 5 participants of the circle what had happened there.  Needless to say, Alice is probably royally pissed at me and I feel pretty frickin' bad for letting her secret out.  I'm hiding in my room now.  Baaaaaaaaaka.

I head home tomorrow, and still have a shit-ton of packing to do.  I'm trying really hard to pare down how much clothes I have, but it's still freaking ridiculous how much stuff I have accumulated.  And organizing which things go home, which stay here, and which have to go in which storage bins is even worse.  Excuse me while I go call the wambulance.

Ah, well, happy ending.  Alica and Kyle just burst in here.  Alice promptly yelled "FUCK YOU!" with a smile on her face so I knew I was forgiven.  Too bad I was so relieved I started crying and worried them half to death.  But Kyle ran and got me a Kleenex.  I love having friends.