morethanthese: (black books)
My human development class (the first class of the day) was cancelled. The teacher sent no note or anything and that was two hours of my day I had to find another way to occupy. I didn't have my computer today, either (I didn't think I'd need it, lol) but I finally went off to the library, in deep resignation, and alternately studied for my math class and read. That was probably a productive use of my time.

I got somewhere between a B and a C on my math test, which is pretty good for me, because for me, a math test is successful if I even passed. I bet I passed.

I'm now at home, and my sister's not here. Which is great, I love being home alone. I'm going to alternately read Hannibal crack fic and play Porpentine games and at some point eat.

I have literally no homework I have to do and frankly, my plans for today are to do some serious goofing off.

Let the goofing off begin.
morethanthese: (Default)
I went to the Mind Palace yesterday night. I think I was a little nervous. I didn't want therapy, I just wanted to be there. Dr. L and I played pool despite my total lack of knowledge on how to do so. It works like dream logic, how you can do something in your dreams even if you have no real-life capacity for it. Then I left and he played pool while I held onto my stuffed dog, my back to the table. I imagine myself standing in that room holding onto my stuffed dog a lot now. When I'm anxious or unhappy or experiencing a lot of emotion of whatever kind.

Dr. L asked if I wanted to explore the new rooms I had created. I said I didn't. I just wanted to be in the room I already knew. We decided to call it the Red Room rather than the Therapy Room. Because it has red walls and frankly, I don't want to use it for therapy all the time, I don't want it to be known just for therapy.

Today, I was able to go there in the car on the way to school. I was there only briefly. I stood with my back to the table, holding the dog again. Dr. L asked me what was going on. I was nervous. He knew it was about school but he asked me why anyway. I told him. He made some sort of highly logical and analytical statement to the effect of "you can do it, Jude".

Progress is made. I like the Red Room. I like my Mind Palace.
morethanthese: (Default)
You know what?

I choose to accept the grade I got in math.

I choose to accept that B.

I choose not to view it as mediocre.

I choose to no longer say that A is for "average" and the B is for "bad". I choose to say that A is for "awesome" and B is for "brilliant".

And you know what? I quite like the word "brilliant".

Grades

Dec. 15th, 2013 09:44 pm
morethanthese: (Default)
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.
morethanthese: (tea 1)
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.
morethanthese: (Default)
I've, uh, I've just gotten out of my English class. It's the last time that English class is meeting this semester, and I didn't know that. I thought we had one more day. As it is, though, we don't, and this was the last time I'm going to see my teacher and all my classmates. Or at least the last time I'm going to see them in that setting. It's not really likely we'll all ever meet again, though. It's not.

I told the teacher that I liked learning from him and I'm going to miss this class, which was my favorite college experience so far and will likely be the best I experience at this school. I suppose he could tell that I was sort of tearing up as I said it, because he said he had similar sentiments towards me. Like I don't even remember what he said (it wasn't like what I said) but I could tell the meaning was rather the same.

I then asked him what my grade was in the class. I had a 103 out of 100. I was extremely happy about this. I was actually proud of myself. That's huge for me. I'm never proud of myself, especially for academics. For me, 90+ percents are not something to be proud of, they're expected. (This is why my math class is so hard for me. I have a 73% and that's way out of the range of expected, acceptable grades.) But somehow I got that 103 out of 100, and that grade's permanent, and it's not going to change, and no one can take it away from me, and I'm proud of myself.

After talking to my teacher, I talked to one of my classmates. I told him I had grown to like him a surprising lot during the short course of the semester and that, for some reason or another, I had grown to trust him. And I found that strange, because it's very rarely that I trust people, and I don't know what I trusted him with or what I even meant by "trust", but I trusted him. He was pleased about this, and I began to tear up a bit again. He asked if he could hug me, because it seemed to him to be the "appropriate thing" to do. I let him, and that's odd for me because I'm touch-aversive. But that happened, and I left.

I don't know if I'll ever become real friends with this guy. I've got his e-mail so we can still communicate and stuff, and he seems to be as interested in me as I am in him (in a totally platonic sense, naturally), but one never really knows what's going to happen. I don't think I expect him to become a real friend. It's good not to have expectations like that. But whatever happens, I'm glad I had the experience of knowing him and giving him my trust, whatever that was all about and however that worked.
morethanthese: (Default)
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.
morethanthese: (tea 1)
 

See this guy? I've had this guy for quite a while. It’s been a while since I've used this otter for anything, so I'm giving him a new name (plus I can’t recall what he was called earlier anyway). I'm calling him the Skipper. Yes, that's a Cabin Pressure reference. That's also something I think an otter should be called. Yes, he has a scarf. An old friend of mine made it for him. He's been on my bookshelf until now, and I’m bringing him down for a while. I've been getting really nervous at school because I'm scared for the semester to end. I've been more afraid for this semester to end than I've been afraid for any college semester so far, and many times I've felt the need for a small object like a stuffed animal to squeeze when I get nervous.
 
This otter is going to fulfill that purpose. I'm going to carry him around in my school bag so I have him whenever I need him, and once school's out, I'm going to make sure I have him whenever I need him because I can guarantee that I'm going to get excessively nervous this holiday season (because this is my family's first Christmas without my mother, and that's going to cause a lot of emotions on everyone's part, probably).

That's what I'm doing.
morethanthese: (Default)
Today was a difficult day for me, emotionally.

It started in my English class (as so many things in my life do, apparently). My teacher was telling us things about how he wanted us to leave his class as "people of conscience" (his term; I quite like it, actually), people who learned to think critically and accept other perspectives and make good choices. It was really a lovely speech he gave us - he said a lot of nice things I agreed with - but it made me sad because it made me realize, "Oh crud, I'm leaving this class. I'm really leaving it. I loved this class and I have to say goodbye to it. I have to say goodbye to the teacher, and I have to say goodbye to my classmates, and I have to say goodbye to the great discussions we had and the wonderful environment and jlk;dfjgoiaejdgosfg I can't do this oh no oh no". At that point, my brain started having a freakout and I wanted to cry in class, but I wasn't going to do that. I really really wanted an object to squeeze, like a small stuffed animal or something, but I didn't have anything. I took out the dice in my pocket (because I keep three dice in my pocket at all times - it's an anxiety thing) and I rolled them around in my hand, but it only helped a little bit.

I'm not very good at losing people and things. I lose people and things all the time, usually for school reasons, but it's very difficult for me because I want to get attached to things and have them in my life for a long time, but this can't happen for me. (This is what kept my eighteenth birthday and graduation from high school two years ago - my birthday is really close to the end of the school year - from being enjoyable events. I was afraid of losing the people I'd become so close to and the place I had come to love. My relationship with my old school; there's a story, maybe I'll tell it sometime.)

Anyway, after class, I went on to take my obscenely long break. (By "obscenely long break", I mean "my class schedule gives me a full hour between my first and second classes".) One of my acquaintances found me in the place I normally hang out during that break. It was nice, because she was one of the first people I met this semester, and we have genuinely interesting conversations, but it's unlikely we'll take any of the same classes next semester, and we had a conversation I really liked. But as the conversation ended, we talked about my difficulty in making friends - I have trouble getting close to people, and it usually takes me a long time to really become friends with someone. But I can tell if I'm about to become friends with someone, and it's annoying and upsetting when I have to leave them before we can really become friends. We talked about that and the fact that I don't really have friends (not ones I see in real life, anyway).

Trigger warning for domestic abuse. )

I was expecting my math class to be over really quickly, but it wasn't. I was expecting us to turn in our homework, get our take-home tests, and leave. Because our test was a take-home test, because the teacher was absent so many times (she's having family trouble, as I understand it), and there wasn't enough time for her to prepare us for the test, so she gave us the advantage of having a take-home test. I'm going to review it with a cousin of mine who's very good at math, and I hope I get a good grade, because I'm practically failing math. I have a 73%, and I'm used to getting really good grades on things. Academics, you see, is pretty much the only thing I'm good for that matters. And I'm failing in one of my classes. Granted, I'm terrible at math anyway, and that's not really my academic strong point, but it's making me unhappy enough that my self-esteem has taken a tremendous drop because of my math class.

Anyhow. We didn't just get our test and go on our merry way. Apparently, there was material we still had to learn, and while I understood it pretty well, it made me unhappy and a bit anxious that my math class went on much longer than I thought it would.

Trigger warning for disordered eating. )

Trigger warning for self-harm. )

Things got somewhat better after that, though. I guess there's a certain point in the day where, if I've been having a hard enough day, I'm just so emotionally spent that I can't be sad anymore, so I immediately get ridiculously happy. This is what happened today. After eating, I did some drawing while listening to Christmas music. I have decided that one of my favorite things about the holiday season is the fact that I can listen to Christmas music without feeling dorky. Because I rather like Christmas music, at least classic Christmas music. It makes me feel nice much of the time. I also drew some 60-Second Zacharies. The term "60-Second Zacharie" refers to the fact that I recently discovered that I have the special talent of being able to draw Zacharie from OFF in about a minute and have it look kind of good. It kind of turned into an exploration of different facial expressions on Zacharie, though, and I was kind of pleased with the result. It looked like this:



I drew a few more unhappy-looking Zacharies than happy-looking ones, which is interesting, because I was actually really happy when I was drawing these. Also, notice how I don't even try to draw hands so that they look good anymore. Also, notice how I drew cat mask Zacharie once and then did toad mask Zacharies all after that. I've decided I prefer drawing toad mask Zacharie.  Also, yes, that is a little drawing of Zacharie with Sugar and the Batter. I thought it would be nice to see them together where they're happy (or at least two out of three of them are happy. Happy!Batter is a bit of an odd thing to imagine.)

Tomorrow, I'm taking a self-care day. I'm going to stay at home (declining an offer my aunt made for me to help her work at her school - she's a kindergarten teacher, and sometimes I help her). I'm going to knit, I'm going to watch a movie or two, I'm going to do a little homework, I'm going to do some writing, I'm going to send some poems and stories to publishers, and I'm probably going to do some drawing.

I suppose it can only get better from here. I've had a rough week/week and a half (my really bad feelings started like maybe two weeks ago and didn't really get bad until maybe ten days ago or something?) and I need things to get better. I think they're going to get better. I really really hope my saying that won't make it go wrong, because I find that, as soon as I say something or make a prediction, it turns out to be totally false. I hope that's not the case. Well, I can't think of why things wouldn't start getting better. That's something, at least, eh?
morethanthese: (Default)
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.

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January 2015

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