School Again.

I'm typing this while simultaneously trying to watch an instructional video about Teddy Roosevelt, which is no small feat, let me tell you. Especially since I am sitting less than two feet from my erstwhile history teacher. At least it's not like it was in middle school -- if you pulled out your laptop then, you were instantly surrounded by a curious crowd. Hey, whatcha typing? Why aren't you playing RuneScape? Are you typing about me? Didja know I got a rune scimmy from PKing last night? Bosh.

Anyhow, what was I going to say? I forget. History is really upsetting these days. So are chemistry and math...but then, math is always traumatizing. I hope my math teacher never reads this; she'll kill me. You never can trust math majors.

Same with biology, I assume.

Valentine's Day is in a week! Oorah.

Inspiration

Today, when I woke up, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, You are the end product of hundreds of years of fighting against racism and sexism. Oh, if you could only see the suffering that went into getting you where you are today. Remember your grandparents? "No, we don't serve Indians here?" Or your mom? "No, even though it's below freezing, you're not allowed to wear pants?"

Remember how your mom never got past geometry and your dad never got above a C in math until his junior year of college? Look at you. An 87 in precalculus. Girl, every step you take breaks stereotypes.

It was only then that I found the courage to get up and get dressed.

I am the next Woodrow Wilson.

Dreaming

I don't dream anymore. Or, rather, I do, but my dreams blend so seamlessly into my reality that it really isn't worth the trouble to distinguish them anymore. Last night, I dreamt I was in a sunlit room, eating cereal and writing, and then I woke up and I was in the room and just picked up writing where I had left off. I am living my dreams, which is odd, because isn't that what everyone wants to do? If I had a choice of what I wanted to do, I would never pick living my dreams.

I blame all of this on an even three-way split between powerful medication, the slow and rocky maturing of my mind, and my treacherous heart going about the process of healing itself. Bah. Love sucks. Like that hasn't been said a thousand times before. And even though I am in love, again, because I am a hopeless romantic and quite a needy person (which no one will ever believe) my mind keeps racing ahead at a thousand words a minute. It must be my calendar, because how else would I know that spring is coming? It has rained and rained in the desert, so that a river has formed behind my house and ducks have somehow appeared on its brown surface. Cold wintry rain. Unforgiving.

After Christmas, I stole a string of lights and hung them on my bedroom wall.