My life is littered with reminders of so many successful adventures.

I am unhappy with me and the path that I'm on.

I want to change. I want to no longer be this me.

It's a new year, I turn 30 this year. I would like to be happy this year.

I hope I can be.

I give up on feels.

Just make me a fucking robot.

It's only the first day and already I'm terrified of my classes again.

Jesus shit, leave it to professors to know how to scare the pants off you in only one email before you even get to their class.

Just one more year of this then we get to research. Oh jesus.

I've never been particularly good at keeping a journal. I've tried several times, mostly in private notebooks and on scraps of paper tucked into them, but somehow I keep coming back to livejournal. I find it interesting to carve back through old entries and try and get into my own mindset, but also the mindset of people commenting on my entries ( Read more... )

I got into graduate school ( Read more... )

You can really only see your personal monsters clearly in the morning. They're pretty clear then, they hop fully formed from the psyche like minor gods from the brow of Zeus, emboldened by our pre-caffeinated state of proto wakefulness. It's especially bad before the sun comes up, as if light dispelled them from our dream state ( Read more... )

Just read through the first year of my livejournal entries, I must say, I was a horrid, whiny, bitch of a student.

I'll be returning to The US tomorrow.

Let the rejoicing commence as my triumphant return heralds a new era for the world.

obviously.

Now you will excuse me but, I thought the democratic party line was that we support Israel. Conversely, I thought the Republican line was that we shouldn't support them as much.. so why is Obama now being criticized by Republican leaders for telling Israel they should return to the 1967 borders ( Read more... )

Eight across and eight down. All mathematical precision machined into plates of black and white, perfectly square, waiting... patiently waiting for theoretical blood. Dust is wiped from the battlefield sticking like memories on calloused hands ( Read more... )