These and more than these

There's this cat that lives in my grandparents' back yard (well. She comes to the back yard for food and stuff and she's there a lot. There are a number of feral/outdoors cats where my grandparents live, and they put out food for them.) We call her Sagwa because there's this cartoon about a cat called Sagwa and she looks exactly like the cat from the cartoon.

She's taken to doing some really silly stuff lately; I just saw her run across the yard as though in search of something, stop because there wasn't anything, and run to the other side of the yard and chase her tail in circles for a bit. This makes me very happy because I'm unable to have a cat since I'm horribly allergic, and watching a cat do silly cat stuff in my grandparents' back yard is the closest I'll ever come to watching a cat of my own doing silly at stuff.

Hello. It's 2014 now. 2013 was a total sod, so I'm glad that 2014 is happening now. I started 2014 by watching "The Time of the Doctor" (the Doctor Who episode where Eleven regenerates - I hadn't seen it yet, hadn't had the chance) and I think the Doctor's views towards regenerating were pretty good for me to know. He said it was okay to become a new person, because that's how life is, as long as you don't forget who you were in the past. Maybe this year I'll become a new person. I'll become someone who's not a whiny self-pitying sod with a god complex and a co-dependent need to identify with whatever group of person is easiest for me to be part of. That would be nice.

Now, today started out brilliant (I drank three wineglasses full of tea, did a fiction submission, watched Doctor Who with my Aunt Dee-Dee, Uncle Gary, and Becky - my sister and I spent the night at our aunt and uncle's on New Years Eve - I ate a waffle with whipped cream for lunch), and then I...well, I went home to talk to my dad about things (namely how I was going to my grandparents' house today to spend the night - I'd had his permission). I didn't make him angry per se, but I did do something that got an irritated reaction from him and he's not listening to things that my sister and aunt are saying, by which I mean he's misinterpreting them through not properly hearing or comprehending some things they're saying. It's not a big deal (well, not to me, because I'm not at my house right now) but it is business as usual for me, and I don't like that this is business as usual, especially since, for most of the end of December, it wasn't business as usual and I just wish it weren't business as usual.

I'm at my grandparents' house and I'm going to sleep here and I'm just avoiding things now.

I had a conversation with my aunt Suzanne wherein she suggested that I might be a miracle - that is, my very existence might be a miracle, much like, say, in Doctor Who, some of the characters' very existences are time paradoxes - because I'm able to do a lot of things that I simply shouldn't be able to do. (I pick up skills and become good at them in a ridiculously short amount of time, I can do most of my school by getting by on BS skills, I do a number of disordered behaviors that I should have repercussions for but don't). I didn't feel comfortable with that because 1. I don't believe legit God-given miracles are very common and not lengthy enough events to cover the lifetime - no, the existence - of another person, and 2. the only person whose existence I believe was a literal miracle was Jesus Christ, and...well, I do not think it is my place to be put on a comparable level to that of the savior of mankind and all.

It's a real shame I had to refute the idea that my existence is a miracle (as in, a literal one, not a figurative one - not like how Gamzee calls things miracles or anything). I refuted it on basis of the fact that I don't think real miracles work like that. It would be really nice to let someone think I am a literal miracle, but you can't think things based on how nice they seem on a metaphorical level. You can't treat metaphors like they're reality.

No one had ever called me a miracle before and now I'm sad I had to explain to her that I wasn't.

I apologize for how rambly this thing was. Due to anxiety due to the thing with my father, I took one of my anti-anxiety pills, and they calm me down but they make my head go all funny, and yeah.

On Saturday, we - by which I mean my sister, cousin Hannah, and I - did something with our grandma which we now call "Gramie Day". (Gramie is what we call our grandma.) We used to call it "the Black Friday Thing", but we don't really do it on Black Friday anymore. What it is is our grandma takes the three of us shopping for stuff sometime between Black Friday and Christmas and, while she's at it, takes us out to lunch and to see a movie. It's a really fun thing and we do it every year and it's fantastic.

This is the first time we called it Gramie Day. I came up with the term (and I may or may not have modeled it after "Birling Day" as in from Cabin Pressure whoops that's exactly what I did). My Arthur Shappey facet was all excited and he kept singing "Get Dressed, You Merry Gentlemen" and "Happy Birling Day To Us" but with "Gramie" replacing the words "Christmas" and "Birling" respectively. Loki was also out for a bit, because Becky was there and it makes him happy to see her happy. Also, Charlie was out when I went to certain shops because there were things he liked. (Mostly it was in the Disney Store and this shop that sold Japanese/anime-type stuff because he likes those sorts of things.) The facets don't come into this story much, though.

Anyway, what happened was this. Gramie picked us up (and brought Hannah with her) and we started off doing a few errands Becky and I needed to do, then going off for the fun stuff. We went to a shop where Hannah and Becky got some dresses and shirts and stuff and where I got a sweater that basically looks like the off-white cable-knit jumper John from BBC Sherlock wears, only it's burgundy. (Even Becky, who told me, "You don't need any more sweaters!" was pleased.) We then did some Christmas shopping for other people/ourselves. Funnily enough, I got a Christmas present for my four-year-old cousin at Hot Topic, of all places. It was a My Little Pony grab bag type thing, where you open up the bag and it has a random My Little Pony figurine in it. I figured my Ponies-obsessed little cousin would like it. I got a similar thing for myself, only mine contained a Lego-like version of one of the eleven Doctors.

I don't remember what Becky and Hannah got after that, but I got three boxes of tea and a black plaid flannel shirt. It looks really nice with the jumper and I'm actually wearing them together even as I type. I also wore them together when we went to lunch, immediately after leaving the shop at which I got the shirt. I imagine Becky and Hannah were a tad embarrassed by my changing out of the shirt I'd previously been wearing, while I sat in the front seat, with everyone around able to see me. But I didn't care.

It was at lunch that I opened up my Doctor Who thing. I'd purposefully been saving it because I knew it would be more exciting if I waited. And this was correct. It was more exciting for my having waited. The Doctor I got was the First Doctor, which was pretty awesome. I set him on the table and immediately pulled out a Lego Bilbo Baggins I'd acquired the previous day. (It's a keychain, actually, but for all intents and purposes, it's Lego Bilbo Baggins.) I started playing with them; I've decided that Bilbo Baggins was walking along in the Shire one day when he found a strange blue box that contained a man who Bilbo thought could be a wizard, though he'd never seen a wizard wear such strange clothes. The man in the box decided that Bilbo had seen his box and therefore knew too much and had to be kidnapped like he kidnapped those two teachers who followed his granddaughter home. They later ended up finding a planet made entirely of tea. Then our food came and I had to eat like a civilized person who doesn't play with Legos at the table whilst being a college student.

We had to take Hannah home soon thereafter, but my grandma still wanted to have fun with Becky and me. She asked us if there was a movie we wanted to see. The conclusion was reached that she would take us to see Catching Fire, a decision that both Becky and I questioned (an old grandma seeing The Hunger Games when she can barely stand some of the content of Les Miserables? When she hasn't even seen or read the first one?) Well, she took us there, and on the way, we summarized the plot of the first book/movie. She seemed to follow pretty well (sometimes she doesn't), and we got to the theater. The film had already started but it wasn't too far along, and Gramie kept up fairly well. It was Becky's third time seeing the film and my second. Gramie didn't like some of the violence, but she liked the characters and story, and she told us that she wants to see the third Hunger Games movie when it comes out. We have corrupted her into liking the Hunger Games. Ehehehehe yesssss.

I spent most of today at my grandparents' house. Mostly I helped them put up Christmas decorations (my family's been so behind this year) and did chores for them. I like doing those things, actually. I like helping my grandparents. I also spent a lot of time writing (I got my typical 1000 words in!) and playing Ib. It's an RPG Maker game and it's pretty scary (or at least it makes me jump a lot) but I like playing it. I have to play it in broad daylight when no one's around me, though, and I could achieve these things in a back room at my grandparents' house. I think I'm becoming an RPG Maker game fan. I've only played two RPG Maker games before Ib (they were Pom Gets Wi-Fi and OFF) but I like the format of these games, and I got people on Tumblr to recommend some games, and I have many of them downloaded on my computer. When I'm done with Ib, I'm going to play Yume Nikki.

Tomorrow, I'm going to...well, I'm going to do a bit of an interesting, exciting thing. First, a bit of backstory: I've got this friend who's been my friend for about two years now, I think (though I've technically known her a lot longer). She's the only person from my old school I still talk to (and leaving my old school and the friends I had there...well, let's just say it's probably the most traumatic thing I've ever experienced and I've experienced a few other things in life.) She came into my life during a very important part of it, and I think that's part of what makes our relationship so amazing.

At the time I met her, I was questioning my sexual/romantic orientation for what has so far been the last time. I used to think I was a panromantic asexual; a series of events made me realize that I was really an aromantic in denial, and I now realize I am (at least for now) an aromantic asexual. Discovering what aromanticism was really like, I discovered some of the terms associated, such as "queerplatonic partner". I have always liked the concept and I've sort of wished I had a queerplatonic partner, but I understand queerplatonicism about as much as I understand love - that is, hardly.

But. Uh. I think if I were to have a queerplatonic partner, I'd want it to be her. And since I'm seeing her tomorrow, I think I'm going to ask her to be mine. I, uh, I'm actually really very nervous about this not because I'm afraid she'll say no (I'm reasonably sure she'd say yes, though the last time I thought someone would say yes to this sort of thing, they said no and that's a story I might tell in the future). It's because I'm not sure this is a good idea. What if it doesn't work? What if we were better as friends and that does something bad to our relationship? What if we break up and - oh, I don't know, a bunch of bad situations. (This is what living with general anxiety disorder does to you, I suppose.)

I shouldn't be scared at all. I shouldn't be nervous. And I definitely shouldn't be contemplating taking one of my anxiety pills because of this. I'm not going to take a pill. But I'm going to have trouble asking her tomorrow, certainly.

My Eleven facet came out once he noticed I was freaking out inside my head, and he asked me what was wrong. He thought he could help. I explained. He realized he couldn't help me with this and he proceeded to run around headspace, yelling and waving his hands and knocking into stuff. That was actually pretty entertaining.

Well, everything's alright for the time being. I did something fun yesterday! And I'm going to do something exciting tomorrow! That'll probably be good. Yes. Good.

Today, I got a Christmas tree with my grandpa, did chores for my grandma, learned what to do when I want to have a nice, relaxing time at my grandparents and young cousins won't let me because they're loud (I barricade myself in the room I sleep in at their house, that room without internet), did some unexpected Christmas shopping, got some rad stuff for my cousins and figured out what I'm going to give Ashley and Rebecca, got a small Lego Bilbo Baggins on a keychain for myself, started playing Ib, and opened the contents of a Christmas cracker that one of my dad's employees gave him.

It's been a cool day.

Okay so I just saw my final grade in my Math class, and it's a B.

I don't know how I feel about this.

On one hand, given that I was afraid of literally failing the class, it's pretty cool that I DIDN'T fail. On the other hand, my family was really happy about me and they were congratulating me and I felt kind of conflicted on the inside because they were congratulating me on mediocrity. See, I see B's as mediocre. I'm supposed to get A's. A's are what I normally get.

They're so happy for all the hard work I put in, they're going to celebrate. Like we're going to go out to dinner or something to celebrate my good grade. It made me feel nervous. Here's my family, being happy - that's a good thing, right? - and they're being happy over me doing something really ridiculous, like getting a B. Getting what, for me, is a below-average grade. But I worked really really hard to get that below-average grade, and now I just don't know how I feel.

Let me tell you about yesterday, because yesterday was awesome and there's a bit of negativity going on right now and I'd like to relive the good stuff.

Yesterday started with me going to school and having to unexpectedly say goodbye to my English class and everyone in it. I made a journal entry about that earlier. That wasn't so good, but I left about as well as I possibly could, by which I mean I said what I needed to say to whom I needed to say it, and that was pretty good. It was better than I would have done in years past. Also, I found out my grade. I got 103%. My teacher told me he "[didn't] know how that's mathematically possible", but I got it. No matter what I bugger up in the future (because I've been feeling like a general failure lately), I got a 103% in my English class, and no one can take that away from me.

Well, things got even better immediately after I left class, because I remembered there was going to be a stress relief event at school in which some people who keep therapy animals would come and bring their animals for the students to pet. It was called "Paws For Stress Relief", and it was so benefit all those stressed-out students who are taking their finals. I had originally been under the impression that there were just going to be dogs there, but when I got there, I found out there were also rabbits. This is huge for me. I love rabbits. A lot. There was one particular little black bunny who I really liked and who really liked me. (Her handler jokingly accused me of "hogging the bunny", which was accurate.) There was also a piano in the room, and after I pet all the dogs and rabbits, I was allowed and even encouraged to play the piano. I played two original songs and one They Might Be Giants song, and everyone liked it.

( Trigger warning for discussion of sexual harassment. )

Then I had my math class, which turned out way better than I'd expected. I think I did really well on the test (we had a take-home, and my math-loving cousin and I did it together, and we apparently got everything right). We then studied with problems the teacher wrote on the board for us to work out together. I understood most of the material, and I was even able to explain much of it to my fellow classmates. I was able to explain math to other people. This is huge. I'm rubbish at math. But I did the math and I explained it to other people, and I think that as long as I do some studying and remember what formulas to do with what sort of problem, I'll do well on the test.

After school, I took the bus to my grandparents', as I usually do on Tuesdays. I ended up having a conversation with someone on the bus, which was interesting. Conversations with people on the bus are something that happens sort of a lot in my life, and I like that. I nearly missed my stop, but when I got there, my grandpa was waiting for me. He took me to my aunt's school. I had a psychologists' appointment to get to, and it was more convenient for my aunt to take me there than anything else. A bit of a stressful conversation took place in the car on the way there, and I talked to my psychologist a bit about it.

Mostly my psychologist and I talked about viewpoint and the way people/I view things. I was telling her about what was going on with me, and we both understood a lot of it was a matter of perspective, but I couldn't help having my perspective. I couldn't help feeling like I was losing something that had been good in my life when I left my English class today, because I don't understand how the permanent end of something good isn't a loss. I couldn't anticipate my future classes as another "adventure" (the term she used) because I don't know enough to be able to imagine those upcoming scenarios, and until I experience them, I won't have enough information to do that, and you can obviously imagine why I'm not going to be able to do anything in-between now and those classes to help me imagine and look forward to those classes. I basically can't help viewing things in a somewhat negative light because I actually think and I consider things and I see things for what they are, and I know that I can't see things as something they're not and I know that I can't properly imagine things if I have no experience with them.

The most interesting thing, at least to me, was that I told her about my facets. We were talking about how I have some disordered behaviors that might be really actually disordered in other people but that I can somewhat control, but I told her that one of these things was something that was sort of like "controlled multiple personality disorder". I then explained how my facets are like parts of my personality personified or fictional characters I'd absorbed into my personality, the fact that I call them "facets" and why, and how they help me. Not only did she think it was okay, she thought they were good. She asked me if there was a facet that could have helped me during the stressful conversation from earlier. I realized there was (Martin), and when I realized there was, I told her I'd bring him up next time the situation came up. The conversation with my aunt was resumed after the meeting, and I was able to get Martin to help me. Also, while Martin was out, we/he made a decision that I wouldn't have ordinarily made but that I recognized as a good one. Maybe I should get my facets to help me make decisions more often.

When we got to my grandparents' house to have me spend the night there, my grandpa was asleep, but he woke up after we rang the doorbell enough times, and he let me in. I studied there, using Powerpoints I downloaded from my history teacher. I knew almost all the questions on my history review off the top of my head, which was pretty heartening. Also, I discovered that listening to glam rock music makes me feel really good about myself, so I listened to a bunch of it that night. (Also I may or may not have consumed too much ice cream, something my grandparents usually have in abundance, and I am not ashamed.)

When my grandma came home from her Bible study, she gave me a porceline figurine of a Scottie dog for no real reason. It was supposed to go with the porceline figurine of a corgi, which I have in my room at their house. (I spend the night there often enough so that I have my own room.) I was really happy about this - it made my already pretty good day even better - and I related to her at length the things I did that made my day so good. She was happy about them, and she then showed me something that made my day profoundly better.

I should first explain what the Ashland Shakespeare Festival is. It's a theater festival that takes place in a town called Ashland, in the state of Oregon (I live in California, for reference). It's mostly centered around productions of Shakespeare, but there are other plays there sometimes. My grandparents have taken me there on summer road trips in the past. Well, my grandparents subscribe to a newsletter sort of thing that is sent out by the folks that put this event on. It has information about upcoming plays and stuff. It lets them know what's going to be performed there and stuff.

Well. Apparently there's going to be a production of A Wrinkle in Time. The world premiere of a stage adaptation of A Wrinkle in Time.

You probably don't know how big a deal this is for me. A Wrinkle in Time is my Actual Favorite Book and it's meant a lot to me for a very long time and I saw the film, but the film was infinitely disappointing. If I see the play next summer (which is possible), I will get to see a visual adaptation of it that quite likely doesn't suck.

After a bit of verbal keymashing and screaming over seeing A Wrinkle in Time listed on the list of plays they're putting on next summer, I showed my grandma and explained it to her. She was excited for me, because she knows what a big deal that book is for me. I told her that, if she and my grandpa got me literally nothing else for Christmas but tickets to see that, I would consider that a really really huge present. I think they're going to consider that and probably do it.

My grandma went to bed soon after this conversation, and I went back to my activity of studying, wasting time on the internet, and listening to glam rock. Oh, and drawing. I ended up drawing this. It's OFF-related.

( It's under a cut because it's a sort of longish comic. )

So that was my day yesterday. Today, nothing's really happened other than the completion of some last-minute history homework. Oh! And I'm going to go to a party tonight. It's a church party. A Christmas party, actually. Even though I'm a college student, I hang out with the high school group at my church on Sundays (it's because I have some high school-age friends who I understand very well - these are Ashley and Rebecca, the twins - and it's beneficial for me to help them translate their ideas in the small group that meets after the sermon). The high schoolers have a tradition where each small group will make a funny music video, and we'll watch them at the Christmas party, where the leaders will judge them. The winners will get a prize. It's a fun thing and we all like it. My group did a video for "I'll Make a Man out of You" from Mulan, because that's the sort of thing we appreciate and that everyone else will likely appreciate. I've got an outfit picked out for the event, too (because I like dressing up for events) - burgundy cardigan, brown leather jacket, white shirt, blue bow tie. And jeans and shoes and stuff.

So my life went very well yesterday, it's going well today, and it'll probably go well tomorrow, too. Brilliant.

Right, I'm tired, and I'm going to continue to be tired for quite some time.

I initially thought I was going to spend yesterday at my aunt's house doing work for her (she's a kindergarten teacher and I often help her with lessons and stapling and stuff). It turns out she wanted me to go to her school to help her, which is a much different environment than I had expected. (Also, no internet, and I had been planning on getting some stuff done that required the internet.) We stayed there for much longer than I had expected, and I had to negotiate payment with her for this. Normally, she pays me for my work (which is fair), but she argued that since she bought me lunch and a coffee drink (which she did), she didn't owe me much money. This is one of the problems I have with her. She offers to get me stuff, and I don't know if she's going to say that it counts as payment or if it's literally just her being nice and offering to get me something. And since it's often stuff like lunch or other sustenance that helps me get through the day, there's often repercussions if I decline.

I was able to argue that I deserved to be paid because I technically paid for my lunch (she sent me to go get something from In-N-Out, and she said I should pay with my own money and she'd pay me back later, but she never paid me back). I got $10 for my work. I think that's fair. I still wish I didn't have to fight to get paid, though. I know I'm making a great deal out of nothing, because I know there are people who do things for people and don't get paid or given food and there are people who are made to do much worse things for abusive relatives and stuff - basically, people have to do similar but worse things - but it still doesn't make it any more pleasant. (Incidentally, she still has yet to pay me. This often happens, too. She doesn't give me money for like three days after I do the work for her.)

I thought I was going to get to her house after that to wait for two of my friends (twins) to come over. See, I was going to hang out with two of my friends for what I thought was going to be for a few hours, and I would have a little time between working for my aunt and seeing my friends to just relax and not have to do anything that stressed me out. This did not happen. My sister, who was doing a swim meet (because she's a competitive swimmer), needed some people to time her for an event, so my aunt and I had to go do that. We spent like an hour at the place the swim meet was taking place at so we could time her for a six-minute event. That tired me out and stressed me out. It would be funny how poorly I handle unexpected events if it weren't so stupid.

After that, my aunt and I left to get food for my me, her, and my uncle so we could have something to eat really quickly before my friends got to her house. (Because we were going to be at her house, since my friends live really close to my aunt.) She went to another restaurant and ordered something to-go, and we waited for it, I took a small walrus finger puppet out of my pocket and started squeezing it. Because the otter I posted about earlier just wasn't working for me as a stress object. It wasn't convenient to take everyplace, but I had a small walrus that fits in my pocket and that I can reasonably expect to be able to take everywhere. My aunt asked about the walrus and I explained why I had it. She asked me if it had a name, and I told her it was called John. Because of John Lennon and the Beatles and "I Am The Walrus". I then told her some stuff about the Beatles, and that calmed me down. I discovered that night that, if I'm really nervous and tense, I will feel better if I am made to talk about the Beatles. There are some subject that, if I just talk about them, will make me feel better because I'll concentrate my energy from the stress and apply it towards recalling the facts about the thing I'm talking about. I was extremely stressed out in that moment, you see. That's why I had the walrus. I need something to hold when I'm stressed-out.

One thing I found myself saying that I kind of regret: I mentioned how stressed-out and anxious I was, and I said, "You know what? I deserve a medal for getting through this."

About as soon as I said it, I realized what a gross sense of entitlement this displayed. I've developed this mentality that "tiny victories" like not having a breakdown in the face of anxiety-inducing events or even just continuing to physically exist through the course of a day are things one deserves a medal for. I suppose I think that, because I have anxiety problems, I deserve recognition for doing things that people do everyday and that aren't anything special at all. What's worse is that I have friends and acquaintances who agree with this mindset whenever I express it to them. It's not good. It's really not. I need to dismantle that part of my thinking. But when I compare it to the other parts of my personality I'm trying to remove, I realize that's a particularly hard thing to get rid of, because it doesn't make me hurt others or myself, it makes me feel good about myself. The thing, it's wrong and it's a symptom of a false sense of entitlement or an overexaggeration of the few genuinely impressive things I do, and that's just not good.

My friends came over. They stayed much longer than I thought they would, but we enjoyed ourselves. Mostly we made jokes about Disney movies and YouTube, and this was much more entertaining than one might think it was. I decided to spend the night at my aunt's house, because I was supposed to go to church in the morning, and I figured I would sleep at the house of my family who was also going to church in the morning.

I'm finally home, and in a little less than an hour, my older cousin comes over to help me with my take-home test for math. This is making me nervous because this take-home test is one of the few things that will keep me from failing this math class altogether. I wish the last of my math-related concerns would end with this test, but no, this Thursday, I have the actual final for my math class, and I don't know how well I'm going to do on that. Likely I'll fail it as I did the last math tests. Though, I might get a B on it or something. I got a B on my first math test in this class. Who knows. I just hope I pass, because I'll be very very lucky if I pass.

I'm stressed and anxious still and I shouldn't be blogging about stress and anxiety and I don't know what the point of this entry was.

I found myself having to be rather brave today. Or, rather, I found myself having to deal with things I didn't want to deal with or else preparing myself to deal with such things. Or, rather, I did a large number of things that would have taken tremendous bravery for me to have done not so long ago.

It started when I had to give a presentation in my English class, which would have been quite alright had it not been for the fact that I hadn't prepared for it, I didn't exactly know what I would do until my fellow presenters talked to me in class, and the only reason I wanted to be in that group was because I would get to finally have a practical use for some charts I'd found on Tumblr. We're reading a book called How to Lie with Statistics, and for extra credit, we can present on a chapter of the book and make a presentation on what principle of "lying with statistics" it talks about. I did a presentation on a different chapter earlier, but when I found out there was a group doing a presentation on a chapter about the "correlation equals causation" fallacy, I wanted to work with them, too, because I found these charts on a semi-argument on Tumblr, which can be found here. (They're charts that were made to show that correlation does not equal causation, so they were basically a bunch of charts with really absurd correlations.) In our presentations, we had to discuss a modern-day application of the information given in the book, and I figured that pulling out something funny from an online argument was as modern as anything. Cecil, who had been out this morning and helped me pick out my outfit (because apparently he's normally good at giving fashion advice), helped me give the presentation as well. Or at least, I got him to help me because if he was going to be around, I figured I'd get him to help me do what he does best; that is, talk for other people. (When my facets help me, it's sort of like they're in my head while I have to do something that they're good at, and I get help from either knowing they're there or giving them a little bit of control in doing the whatever-it-is that needs to be done.)

The teacher and my classmates liked the presentation, and all was well. They also found my/Cecil's fixation on mountains amusing. Because there was a chart that compared a particular mountain range to the number of murders in New York, with astonishing similarity. And we kept saying surrealish things about mountains (my class is used to my surrealish comments) and, you know, we shut up when it was necessary. So nothing really bad happened there. However, after class, I found myself having to actually do some math homework that I didn't want to do. I decided not to do it and instead go to a taco shop that's near my school. This was at 10 AM. I took advantage of my really long break and went to get tacos at 10 AM. Ah, college life. Ah, not knowing what you're really doing anymore.

I went back after some time, found the building my next class was taking place in (it was history, and we were going to hear a lecture in another class). I suppose my resolve strengthened somewhat because I found myself doing my math homework while waiting for class to begin. I completed one chapter, which was pretty good for me. Ah, I realize I haven't explained: I am good at virtually all areas of academics except for math. I have never ever been good at math, and even though I'm in my college's equivalent of pre-algebra, I'm practically failing it. (I failed the last two test, and only the fact that our next test is a take-home test is likely to save my grade.) I'm deeply ashamed of myself, because I'm doing poorly academically, and...well, that's just an extremely shameful thing for me, for many reasons. And I've been really aversive to doing math since I failed that last test. But I did it, and that was rather brave of me.

It came time for the lecture, and that was interesting, but for no real reason, I started having flashbacks in the middle of the lecture. It wasn't like PTSD flashbacks, because I don't have PTSD, but every so often (more like "every day", really), I sort of relive certain memories of things that have happened to me. Yes, most of those things involve my mother's death and things that happened afterwards. And there was one event in particular, which I don't care to talk about, and I hadn't really thought about it for a while, but for no real reason, I just started reliving it, and I had a little freakout inside myself. Fortunately, I don't think I showed any signs of being upset, but it was hard to deal with because I needed some way to physically deal with the problem and I didn't know how. I've never really tried to deal with my flashbacks. Normally, it's enough to just let them happen, but I felt a real need to stop it, and I couldn't. I drew all over my arm with marker, which sort of worked. I'm not sure why that would work, but it did.

Well, I survived history, and I went on to math. Math...math took a deal of bravery, too, because I'm scared of my math class now. But I was able to pay attention in class and not freak out that much, and the material actually made sense to me. We're learning about radicals. That's all I want to say. (Oh. I avoided making "radical" puns, which was pretty good of me, because I'm strongly inclined to joke around in that class, and, embarrassingly enough, "radical" is something I sometimes say when I ought to say "cool", and...well, I suppose I don't have to say much more. That was good self-control of me.)

I was able to take the bus from school to my grandparents' house, because I spend Tuesday nights at my grandparents'. (Normally I stay up late there, because there's nowhere I need to be on Wednesday mornings, but these plans were not going to be fulfilled, as my dad told me this morning that he was taking me to get a flu shot tomorrow morning at a hospital near my grandparents'. I hate needles.)

Now, I used to be afraid of taking the bus all that distance (because it's rather a long ride) but now I can do it. No matter how many people filled the bus, I kept my little freakouts inside me and kept it together. I even talked to someone on the bus. (She was at the bus stop at my school. We both go there; we talked about our majors and books that we like.) There was also a point at which a lady got on the bus and stood at the front for lack of a seat, so I got up, tapped her on the shoulder, and said, "Pardon me, ma'am. You may have my seat if you like." She took it, and I felt pretty good about myself. I like being nice to people. Being nice to people is good.

When I got to my grandparents', the first thing I did was get online and register for my classes for next semester. Because I talked to my counselor about that, and we figured out what classes I was going to take. Today's the first day to register, and I like getting things done promptly. I was confident as soon as I logged onto the website. When I saw the forms I had to fill out for registering, I proceeded to freak out because I didn't quite know how to do it and I wasn't quite as prepared as I thought. But I figured it out, I filled out what I could, I had a question and so I looked up my counselor's number and called her, she answered my question, I went on, I registered. All I have to do is pay within three days.

I called my dad right afterwards, telling him I'd need him to pay (because he pays for my education, at least as of now), and we decided he'll help me pay for it online with his credit card, tomorrow. He also told me we're not getting flu shots tomorrow morning, because my sister isn't able to go, so we're going on Monday morning, because then we can all go together. Not only do I get to say up late, as I like to do, I don't have to do something that terrifies me. Like, it scared me so much I was "talking" to my facets and trying to figure out which of them was brave enough to help me do this. We decided that Martin Crieff had to do it, because he's the only one whose resolve to do what needs to be done - like doing something good for one's physical health - is anywhere near as strong as my fear of needles. I was going to see if I could summon him somehow (because he hasn't been coming out on his own for...kind of a while, and I can never really get his presence very strongly when I need him) but now we don't have to do that and that's really relieving.

I'm going to spend my night writing, doing poetry submissions (because I submit my poems and stories and stuff to literary magazines, some of which publish them), and using the internet. Alright. This'll be radical.