Shot to the Head

This Year's A Party

2011-10-08T11:05:00.000-07:00

So I have a tentative idea for this year's NaNo. It will be a humour/romance story, that plays with modern religion. There will also be the undertones of how people believe only what they want to believe, or trust millennial year old people who aren't the best role models.

Like I said, its tentative. But it is interesting, and new for me. If I can just come up with a plot, now, things will be good!

(This is just a short post because I am working on posting once a week. And I didn't really have a topic in mind as life is quite quiet right now. Though I celebrated my 19th birthday this week, which is both cool and scary as hell.)

(One last thing - If I didn't like my current roommate right now, I would be planning her murder. As such, I am just fantasizing her loss of limb. Or two.)

Heavy, It's so Heavy

2011-09-28T13:58:00.000-07:00

I know I rag on all these self-diagnosers and hypochondriacs (which my newest roommate is - please do not even get me started on that), but I have recently decided to figure what, exactly, is wrong with me.

Truthfully, too much to count. And it's best if you don't comment on that, either.

But for the longest time I have had this pretty serious problem with social awkwardness. Now, this isn't the root of my problems, but it is the most damaging. I have a hard time making eye contact with people I have known for a while now. I can't just go over and say hi to someone because I have convinced myself that they don't care. In class, even though I know the answer, the thought of raising my hand to give it makes me break out in a sweat. I can't even make eye contact with my professors, I am so afraid that they will pick me and I'll make a fool out of myself. I even get mini-panic attacks thinking about having to do something social. I will try my absolute hardest to get out of it, though I know that is just making it worse.

Take note - this is some stuff that I have never actually told anyone. But I am working through it.

So I was assigned this personal essay for my writing class this semester, and one of the topics was "Something (a disease or ailment) that has persisted throughout your life." So I chose anxiety. I always knew I had some forms of anxiety - you can't have consistent panic attacks and not have an anxiety disorder. So I researched it.

And found the two disorders that are related, yet not. Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Social Anxiety Disorder. And they just clicked within me. This is after, of course, my denial (there is nothing wrong with me!) and I had calmed enough to realize they made a lot of sense. (I will later post my essay, once it is revised a few more times. I really like it though!)

Then I found what is called the Liebowitz Social Anxiety Scale. So I trolled over it for a few minutes, taking the little test. Lo and behold, I score a 112. When a 92 snaps you into the "very severe social phobia", scoring such a high number kind of frightened me. I hadn't realized it was that bad.

But then I thought about it. And how many opportunities I have missed over the years, how many grades I sacrificed, because even thinking about them made my heart pound and my muscles ache. I realized it really wasn't too far-fetched.

So as of now, I don't know what I will do. I will attempt to conquer this on my own - and I know I can. Because that is who I am, and now that I really get that something is wrong, I can't just leave it alone. I have to at least try.

(I would, however, like to note that I still have never said any of these words out loud - admitting them sounds like defeat, not to mention how I am afraid any one I tell won't believe me. Its irrational, I get it. Its supposed to be.)

Update: Roommates

2011-02-27T18:50:00.000-08:00

Roommate number two could very well be worse than roommate number one.

First and foremost - she's foreign. Not that I have anything at all against foreign students, my best friend on campus is foreign. Its just that this particular foreign kid seems to not understand social niceties or common courtesy. At all.

At first, it was cute. This little Asian kid giggling and making quiet fun. But then her little quirks began to add up. She's ask me to carry back an obserd amount of food, daily. She stays in the room all day. Every day. She only ever leaves to go to class, then she's right back up in her bed. I can't bear it, I'm going crazy. She has her computer on all day - loudly - and she is up until 4 in the morning making these really awful cough-nose-exhale thing, every three minutes like clockwork. Then she takes naps all afternoon, so I can't make any noise, or turn on the lights. Because I have common courtesy, I go to the library, or the common room, or anything, really, just to be nice. But does she afford the same concessions on me, when I got to bed at like 1 or 2 in the morning?

She doesn't shower often - its been at least three days now, and she doesn't appear to realize she has acquired a stench. She wears the same clothes everyday and hasn't changed in weeks I believe. She even wears the same outfit to bed - without doing laundry. That's the same clothes in the day and at night. And I can't say anything, because obviously I need to make this one work.

But it isn't working. She turns the heat way up, without consulting me at all - even though I have flammable things on the heater and the air becomes so dry that I can't even breathe. Its already seriously dry here. You don't need to make it any more so.

This one isn't so socially unacceptable so much as annoying as hell. When I am sitting at my desk, obviously trying to study, with headphones in, she asks me a question. Every five or so minutes, she asks me a grammar question, or she says something about how "she's so confused". So I can't get into a rhythm in my work, having to stop every few minutes. And she likes to play music. Loudly. From crappy speakers that sound awful.

And the creme de crop, the icing on the cake, is what she decides is proper guest etiquette. Apparently it is okay for her to invite people over - guys, mostly, people she is trying to get something from - at any time of night, even if I am in my pajamas, even if I am in bed, sick. And apparently it is okay that they just stay there, not even fucking talking.

Apologies. I am still a little sore over thing one.

Continuing, she also seems to think it is proper etiquette to invite someone over, with whom I have a very rocky past with, and with whom I get VERY annoyed with, VERY quickly. And yet she seems to think it is completely fine.

So I HAVE to leave, at least every two weeks to go home, or I will probably kill her.

Unfortunately, I am seeing no other alternative.

I shall endeavour to survive till midterms are over, and will be able to go home for a long, relaxing, roommate-free week.

First Rant: Roommates

2011-01-15T17:27:00.000-08:00

This shall probably be the first of many, many rants. But before I get into it, I "won" NaNoWriMo, with 50,106 words, though I'm not nearly done with it. Finished a day early, even.

Begin Rant: Roommates

Betrayal is a funny thing - it comes when you are least expecting it, like a knife gliding smoothly through the cartilage between the ribs.

I hadn't really had a problem with my roommate (let's call her Maya), and I never really thought she had much of a problem with me. I mean, we didn't really talk a lot, but that was how I was with everyone, so I didn't see it as anything new. Here's the thing about me - I'm pants at reading social cues, or more particularly, I can't read social cues. I just don't understand them at all.

So, we never really hung out or anything, but we were relatively friendly with each other, so I didn't really think anything about it. We had our moments, watching TV or discussing awful teachers, but apparently that isn't good enough.

I was off campus for a weekend, just needing to get away, so I traveled down to Boston to chill with my sister. Sunday morning rolls around, and I get this text, a text, telling me what an awesome idea switching roommates was. Maya was all excited, saying how great it would be for me, and her, and the other two girls. Because apparently these other girls were having trouble (one likes to "study" when it's loud, the other needs quiet), and since Maya thinks I need it quite (which I can't do), so offered my room. Without consulting me.

Oh, and I should mention that Maya, and this girl she would be rooming with (Harriet), are best friends. So obviously there are some ulterior motives there.

But I don't text her back for a few hours, otherwise I would have either been really nasty, or said something I would regret - and I don't like having regrets. So when she texts again, probably around 5, asking if I got it, I was sufficiently calmed down. And I replied with a sane and rational argument - it was two days before we were leaving for Thanksgiving break and just another two weeks until finals. I should also mention that I said I didn't feel comfortable with changing the situation, so late in the semester, with a girl I barely know, and don't particularly like.

She jets me back with a message saying that we should really talk about it - asking me when I'd be coming back - "because I thought you would have been okay with it so I started to move a little".

And that sets me off, just a little bit. How could she have honestly thought I - or anyone - would be okay with it? Was she really so selfish that she thought that her wants were the only wants that mattered? I mean, theoretically, I could have grown accustomed to it, had I had a bit more time to think about it. But seven hours after the first text message, I was arriving back at school, and my anger was bubbling at the surface.

Walking into the room, my room, was painful. It didn't matter what I felt - every single thing was packed up in boxes, and she was sitting there, with Harriet. I never knew she was so manipulative. And I hate myself for what happened, but I was peer pressured.

The entire thing was orchestrated perfectly, and she played me so well. She knew I wouldn't challenge it with someone else there. So I said yes, and they got to work.

I could not stay in that room a second longer, so I left, went to the library, had a nice walk around the campus to clear my mind in the cold. And then I talk to my friend, Missy, and she's telling me these horror stories about this girl that was going to be moved into my room. How, my best friend on campus, wasn't about to step foot in my room anymore, even if she wasn't in there.

It broke me, just a little. I was having this slight panic attack as I go back to my room, maybe talk to Maya, tell her it was going to quick. But when I get there, everything is moved. Completely and utterly moved, in the time-span of two hours. Then other, personal stuff crowded me, and I had a full on panic attack.

Gut churning sobbing, that I am famous for, and I couldn't breath for a number of minutes. I made my way to my quasi-older sister, and told her and her roommate about all that happened.

The most heart warming thing that happened, was how both their hackles raised, and they went all up in arms. They alternated between bitching out Maya and bitching about the RA who allowed such a move to occur. The thing that made me feel most comforted, ironically enough, was when they offered to "cut that bitch". I was amused and my sobbing tapered off into a few watery chuckles.

Then they bullied me into talking to the RD - which I really didn't want to do, because then everyone would be so pissed at me. But that wasn't a good enough excuse, so we traversed across campus, for the third time for me, in the cold, and banged on the RD's door.

It was just shy of eleven, I believe, and she was outraged that they had moved already - no paper work was done! So she stomped up three flights of stairs, myself and this quasi-sister in tow. And the RD let it rip; she bitched the two girls out for nearly ten minutes, making them move everything back at 11 at night. So I cleared out, again, while they did that, because the looks they gave me when they passed were deadly poisonous.

Maya then displayed an intelligence far beyond any she had shown thus far and progressed to guerrilla warfare. She'd come in early in the morning, make a racket, turn on the fucking lights, and generally disallow me to get any semblance of sleep after seven in the morning.

Now she's gone, paperwork filled out and I will never have to deal with her again.

Maybe roommate number two will be a better success.

Check It

2010-11-15T16:46:00.000-08:00

A second post not two months after the first. If that isn't dedication, I do not know what it.

That was sarcasm, by the way.

Anyway, I thought, on top of my college school work, that I could participate in NaNoWriMo. It was great for the first week and a half. Then I had three papers due, a presentation to prepare for, and two books to read. And so I fell behind. And when you fall behind, you get fucked over up the ass. Hard. I'm down by 6,000 words, but I can't just not finish now - I'm already 19,000 in the hole and that's hours of my life I'll never get back.

And I like my story, as well as my characters.

Like Detective Sammy Wolfe, who has a bit of a major depressive, alcohol problem - while she's trying to catch the most notorious serial killer the Bay City region has ever seen. Post-traumatic stress from the death of her husband leaves her cold and heartless to the outside world, as well as her inner world where she no longer feels emotions. She's deathly afraid of psychiatrists - especially the one who works with the department from time to time - because she is afraid they can see through her and know how damaged she really is.

Her partner, a whipped married man, Henry Kempis, tries to help all he can - but he never really knew what happened, as it happened before Wolfe came to the Bay City area. Laid back and genial, he is the calm to her manic.

Then there is the psychiatrist, Thomas Zucker, who is a genius of almost incredible proportions. He gets along with very few of the police, and surprisingly enough, he likes Wolfe in a purely platonic way. He likes that she doesn't treat him with kid gloves - and actually listens when he has a smart idea.

Thats it for now, but maybe later.

Can't wait for thanksgiving break and sleeping.

Obligatory First Post

2010-09-23T20:34:00.000-07:00

I'm not entirely certain as to why I created a blog. In theory, sure, its pretty sound - showcase some writings, rant about school, rant about people, rant about life in general, etc. But in practice, I will most likely end up forgetting about this, though maybe I won't.

Maybe I'll end up actually posting every couple of weeks, maybe more often. Maybe less. Maybe I'll learn to articulate better, really express myself. Maybe I'll actually have people who follow me, maybe they'll actually care what they read. Maybe someone decides they like what they're reading, and maybe my style amuses them. Maybe they're sympathetic to starving college students, who know that they'll never really use their creative writing degrees. Maybe I'm not really wasting my life, and maybe I'll publish one of my books.

Or maybe nobody ends up reading this. Maybe day after day, I will forget to post, people will forget to read. Maybe I'm just deluding myself into thinking this is something I can really do, maybe one can't make a living being creative. Maybe I fall deeper and deeper into depression, writing more and more, less and less, until I make the decision. Maybe I can't cut it as a writer, maybe I've just been deluding myself these many years.

Maybe, just maybe, I can continue with what I've started. Maybe there's a possibility for something greater. Maybe there's a chance.

Maybe I'll fail.

Maybe I won't.