That sums up how most of the semester will be. Victoria and I are on section 1 and Victor, Angie and Irene are on section 2. It's the same class at a different time, though with the same professor. It's hard having so many things in mind and not being able to share them. I did, but only with Victoria at the end of the class; I told her about the nickname I'd given him and what I thought he looked like. I knew you'd have something to say about him!, she said laughing.

Mr. Miscellaneous is my Biological Basis Of Behavior II professor. AND he is a drag. I call him like that because next to his name there was a M.Sc, and I was so bored I just filled in the blank. He goes on tangents and is very monotonous. Like when someone goes on and on about something obvious, and your mind wanders off, and when you come back to earth you think to yourself: Jesus! he's still talking about that?!.

To my glad-ness, during class, WrongGuy and DrunkGuy walked into the classroom, and I thought that at least I'd have someone to laugh at, if I wasn't going to have anyone to laugh with. But then I discovered they walked in at the wrong time, for they'd signed up for the section 2 of that class. See? WrongGuy ALWAYS gets something wrong.

Between that class and the next one, Victoria and I had an hour off, so we went to the cafeteria to catch up with everything that went on these past four months. She said, when I told her 1 and I had broken up, that she always thought 1 was very weird. I agree. He was a boring-weird, nonetheless. He was a drag, like Mr. Miscellaneous. But at least Mr. Miscellaneous is related to psychology.

Next class was Methodology Of Investigation, with Mr. Ph.D. Just Ph.D, 'cause you know...you don't mess with Ph.Ds. And he's a big contrast to Mr. Miscellaneous. I can't wait to make reports! Ok, I'm a dork, but I don't care, because I feel capable of making reports.

If there's one talent I am sure of, is that I can draft, use grammar and spelling. My dad says I'm very good at drafting, and he often asks me how to structure a sentence. So when Mr. Ph.D said he knew there were people who do not know about commas and stuff, I almost raise my hand: oooh, ooooh, mr. Ph.D, I love writing!. I love writing scientific reports (I'd love to write something more literary, but on that I have no talent), I really enjoy that. So there you go, at least one class that rocks me to the core.

I still have two classes to discover (as you can see, my schedule is very light...the UCA has designed the careers in a way that it's advisable for you to take only four subjects at a time, because they're very heavy). I need my friends in class, because we doodle on each other's notebook, and write the mistakes and the flaws of the professors and our classmates. We give them names, too (Mr. Miscellaneous, WrongGuy...).

It's funny, making up a lot of stuff about the ones who surround you...it's my weapon of survival at the UCA. I just can't help it...not in a bad, "I don't like that person" sort of way. In a funny, innocent way, just to my own (and my four pals) amusement and entertainment. Like doodling a coughing face with the caption "EGH, EGH" when Mr. Ph.D coughed.

I talked to Carmen online last night. I haven't logged on in the longest time...I was feeling very sad at the time, and I thought anybody I could exchange a word with would be worthwhile.

All of a sudden, almost mechanically, I typed: one day I will kill myself, but know that I thank you for the birthday card you gave me...it rocked my socks off. And she replied: oh, don't talk about suicide...I have had enough. And she went on about how she'd had enough (enough of what, I never got it), and I thought it was a good thing I wasn't in a desperate need of help. She and other of my friends have this ability to turn every conversation to make them about THEM. I don't like all conversations being about me, but I hate it when people manage to spoil the one time I need to talk about myself and how I feel.

But then she thought of asking me if I still cut myself. I quoted Ringo on A Hard Day's Night: "if you're gonna get technical about it...". She said she worried about me, and I told her don't worry, Kyoko, mommy's just looking for a hand in the snow.

(It's a song...Kyoko is Yoko Ono's daughter)

She only typed "...", and then I changed to a lighter subject, to which she didn't oppose. Those who turn the conversation to make it about themselves are easily lead astray.

Yesterday when I was waiting for class to begin, I was reading Prozac Nation and out of nowhere a male figure leaned and kissed me on the cheek. I think I've never talked about my past when I was learning english, but let's say this guy took the english course with me, a long, long time ago. I stopped attending, we stopped seeing each other...but one day we ran into each other at the UCA, and I found out he was majoring there. So it was nice seeing him, he's a feast to my eyes, although intellectually he's just a little brat. I saw 1, too, but we ignored each other, and that certainly made half my day.

Sometimes I don't feel very good. Not depressed or anything, I just feel a little sad, unfulfilled, useless and unspecial. I get up relatively easily in the morning, but not because I think there's a reason to do so.

Oh, well...you see, I came here intending to type a depressing entry about how I felt last night after class, but remembering the doodles, and talking about Mr. Miscellaneous and Mr. Ph.D (specially Mr. Ph.D, because I'm a dumb nerd, hardcore like that) have cheered me up.

Besides, I just heard that this weekend we may be getting a new computer (I can't stand this one, it freezes every ten minutes)...AND I heard songs off the new Aerosmith album, Honkin' On Bobo (directly stolen from the official Sony site -I didn't do it, though-, only converted to MP3).

If I had to describe myself right now, I'd say I'm a smiling-in-tears broken heart whose stuffing has been removed. Because as a matter of fact, I feel really, really ambivalent. Almost bipolar.

prev / next