Beware! Long Touchy Feely Post Alert!

Oh well...I just got back from a Dosage Forms test...wow that was sad. I was kind of banking on doing really well on this one...what with the material being very simple and all..and apparently the professors had a different plan entirely. I suppose it could have been worse, but I was really banking on doing very well. So much for not having to take the final.

So I listened to the Dumple's Dane Cook cd today and wow that made my day. Hilarious. It was remarkably relaxing too. Which was strange. I really did not expect that at all, and am a little weirded out by it.

In other news, I think I need to stop being an emotional masochist. Or however you spell it. Yes Yes Hector came over yesterday. Yes Yes it was an emotional kick boxing event. Yes Yes I'm an idiot...and probably lost the match. I think I'm just not sure how to mend this. My usual solution is just sever all ties. But we both agreed that we'd try not to do that..sort of. But right now we have a hard time just being in the same room without it turning into an Olympic style event where we try to prove to ourselves that there would be nothing redeeming about continuing a friendship and that all the time we spent was an utter waste and making each other out to be the ultimate source of all of our unhappiness. It's miserable. One of the things he said to me though that was very striking was:

"Jen, you just think you're better then everyone else."

This morning I was thinking about that, and it felt very Chapter 1 of the Princess Bride (p. 37, for those of you that have it. For those of you that don't: "you think you're too good for anybody, don't you, Buttercup?" "No, I just don't think it's going to rain, that's all.")

But now I'm thinking that some of my insecurities about school and...well life in general have begun to manifest themselves in severe introversion and general snobbery. I hardly leave my apartment, or talk to people. I guess I do it more then I did before, but it all feels very forced. Like someone turned up the Bravado Meter on the Jen Mobile but I'm not equiped with the Know How to steer (..stear? stere? stare..no..steere?).

I was asking Carl online what the protocol was for speaking to your boyfriend's friends online if you've never met them--to IM or not to IM after an initial conversation. His response, regarding the intitial conversation, was:

"Did you flirt?"

I was a little taken aback by that. I wasn't aware that I was the kind of person that merited the necessity to ask that question.

Then I got to thinking--do I? And I guess I kind of do. Not in a Come-On-To-People kind of way, but in the Wow-Sitting-Here-For-Three-Hours-Doing-Nothing-Really-Wasn't-That-Bad-And-I'm-Not-As-Akward-As-I-Thought kinda way..if that makes sense. Sort of what I do when things feel akward sort of thing--try to make other people feel like they have something to offer the world sort of thing. Make me not feel so terribly out of place sort of thing.

But I don't really do that anymore.

I stopped that 8 months ago.

Probably before then. Truth be told I don't always pay much attention.

Maybe that's where the implied superiority complex comes from. Or maybe I'm just being a jerk because I'm afraid I just might make some friends in my classes and have to grow up. Or maybe I'm just afraid I'll be the social outcast, so I'm trying to beat the world to the punch. Maybe I'm just really tired and haven't been drinking enough water.


And now, something I found:

There were footsteps on the hardwood floor outside. Creaking. Echoing. Scraping. Scratching. Rising. Falling. Heavily they fell. Like big heavy objects rising and falling on the hardwood floor of the hallway that echoed. Heavy objects, like the feet of a large person.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Or

Right. Left. Right. Left.

In one violent movement Carley Patterson tore the scribbled page out of her note book and threw it across the room. The beginnings of a very scattered pile were forming there. She stared at the ten or so half written on, crumpled pieces of paper that now littered her betroom with mild frustration. She sighed heavily and scratched her head with her pen.

What am I doing here? She thought desperatley.

I'm not a writer.

With that, she shut her notebook quietly and continued to stare venhenemently at the papers that lingered on her floor.