I Guess This is My Stop… Goodbye, Wagon

Song of the moment: Brown Eyes Lady Gaga

So, I had a cigarette today. And, in order to have said cigarette, I bought a pack. Awesome, right? I’m so fucking good at this. But I couldn’t handle what it was doing to me emotionally. And no matter how many times I told myself it was just the chemicals in my brain whining for nicotine, and that if I just gave it some time I would be fine… Well, I’m weak. What I do and what logic tells me I should do often do not correspond. Thus my rampant self-loathing. [ADDENDUM: Upon trying this whole smoking thing again, I find the taste even more repugnant than I did before. So, I can’t smoke. I’ll just suffer through this depressing withdrawal bullshit until my dopamine levels normalize again. Also, I’m sitting on a pack of smokes I now have to pawn off on someone.]

Speaking of self-loathing, I’m full of confusion and disgust with myself as of late. I don’t feel I need to elaborate on the why- I know why. Suffice to say, I’m gearing toward the same type of fuckeroo I’m known for.

Fucking awesome.

I need a word stronger than “fuck” to describe how I feel right now. Anybody have any suggestions? Maybe another language has something that sums everything up for me…

Not that I would know it, because I suck at languages.

I haven’t had the most spectacular of weeks. I’ve been working my ass off in my free time (i.e. time I’m not sleeping or in class or in meetings) to get all my papers and shit done that are due this week and next week. Thankfully, I only have two actual finals (history and German), so I’ll be done with everything by Wednesday. Anyway, like I said, been working my ass off so that I’d be able to take a few hours Monday night and Tuesday night to hang with people. Nothing too intensive. But they all bailed at the last minute, so that was just disappointing.

Hell, I ended up spending Tuesday night helping Stauff with his stupid paper. Well, when I wasn’t threatening to break bottles over Ben’s head. The latter was certainly the more entertaining part of my evening (and, sadly enough, the interaction this week that’s kept me from falling deep into a state of depression). I hate helping Stauff with his papers- he writes in the most maddening fashion, absolutely cannot do the most basic things, and spends hours on something that should take 15 minutes. He’s a prime example of someone who shouldn’t be an English major… so why is that his major?

Speaking of English majors, I’m so sick of my major. I want to throw Ruth Mowry and the rest of the department through a window. She is the worst advisor known to man. She’s flighty, forgetful, and extremely unhelpful. How many times should I have to contact an advisor in order to make an appointment? Isn’t that her fucking job? But no, she’s out of town or just MIA. Or she just doesn’t respond to any of your messages for weeks. And good luck trying to find her at office hours. When Sean and I talk about going down there and devoting the extent of her office hours to camping out until she sees us, we’re not joking. I have literally waited hours to see her. Bullshit.

And don’t get me started on the fuckers in my courses. And my professors. Analyzing literature is one thing. But there comes a point when you are beating a dead horse, and English classes breeze past said line into the realm of pulpy, beaten horse bits. When you leave class for the day, you are covered in sticky red pieces of equine insides. It’s awful. If you let them, they will analyze down to the word each and every phrase in whatever piece we happen to be working on. I hate them. I hate them so hard.

Maybe it’s because English is a bullshit major, and they really don’t have anything else to fill their hours and hours of class time with.

In a complete segue, I have recently felt an overwhelming sadness in relation to how disconnected I have become from some of my high school friends. Were there many of them I really liked? No, there weren’t. But… god, I miss my best friend, Rachel. She was so goofy and weird. She never made fun of how strange I was, because she was strange, too. Neither of us made sense in Greybull, and we banded together to tell everyone else to fuck off. The fact that I so callously stopped attempting to keep the lines of communication open after HS in my attempt to distance myself from everything that was the state/people I hated… that was one of the biggest regrets of my life. And only recently am I starting to realize this.

Gah.

Another random segue, on the topic of friends… I have discovered, as of late, that I really, really want a friends-with-benefits relationship with someone. I have always thought they were perfectly fine, and that I would be able to handle one without getting emotionally attached (it’s just sex, for crying out loud), but I’ve never really wanted one. Till now. I think it’s because I know a few guys who I really don’t want to date (I think that type of relationship would probably be detrimental to both of us), but would really like to fuck. Friends-with-benefits would solve this. I wonder if I can convince one of them to go along with this idea of mine…

Bonus link of the day: For all you Twilight fans out there. Enjoy.

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