This is an out-of-body experience.

I hate looking at myself and hating it.

But that's what it is.  I have this small, and getting smaller, part of me that wants to fight it.  That small part that fights so hard to smile when appropriate and laugh when things are supposed to be funny and react like a normal person when in company of others.

Because I deserve to be normal and healthy and not the shadow of myself that I am.

Then there's that other part.  It's all encompassing and smothering.  It hurts to breathe and at the same time it doesn't.  Maybe I'm to that point where the pain stops and the numbness starts and...I'm so lost.

You know how much it hurts to be?  It's worse when your life becomes white noise and static.  It kinda feels like that tightness in the back of your throat when you're about to cry.  But you're not allowed to cry. When you do it's an endless time loop of sobbing and pain and the tears don't stop. You don't even know where they're coming from anymore or why they have to be there, but they are and you have to find a way to deal with it without everyone finding you and pitying you.

Because with pity comes stupid phrases like:
"Happiness is a choice"
"Just cheer up!"
"Jenny, you look better with a smile."
"Good to see you smiling, for once."

Oh sorry, I forgot to put my goddamn face on.  I had a moment where I slipped.  I'm sorry my perpetual depression caused you a moment of discomfort because I wasn't smiling.

I want to rise up and claw the person apart and smile while I do it.  But I can't because I'm tired and in pain and it's just easier to fake a smile and please everyone else.

And maybe that's why I hate being this way.  I'm not a strong person anymore.  I'm not extraordinary anymore.  Nothing stands out.  I've ceased to be anything special.  Maybe I never was.

...and there's no one there.  I have no lifeline.

So I guess I'm watching what's left of me drown.  Even if something pulls me out this time, there will always be a next time, and the time after that, and the time after that....

Things my best friend does...

…trips up the stairs

…likes laundry detergent on facebook

…comes over, then consistently makes my bed for me

…gets weirdly possessive of my bean bag chair

…yells “JENNY JENNY JENNY” across the entire dining hall

…yells “JENNY JENNY JENNY” across…anywhere

…gives me wrong directions, when she’s already using a GPS

…forces me to yell “IS IT CLOSER TO CALIFORNIA…OR TO THE OCEAN?!” When she can’t tell me to take highway east or west.

…trips down the stairs, lands, and stays there, then gets on her laptop.

…tells me that I can just wax her eyebrows for her.

…okay, maybe not the eyebrows, but will I do her nails?

…leaves me in the living room of her house with her family I’ve never been introduced to…because she really had to pee.

…shouts “OH BABY” every time someone says anything remotely sexual.

…and puts up with me.

You know the more I'm told to be positive the more negative I'm going to be.

Is it annoying? Good.  Because you know what? My personality is my decision.

The more I try to be a positive person the more it gets thrown in my face.   People will just return to my past behavior.  You know what people? You don't know why I acted that way.  And you never cared.

So why should I conform to the behavior norms that make you comfortable?  They make me uncomfortable.  You don't need to be around me.  You don't need to read this blog.  There's no reason for you to click that link, if you don't want to.  If you knew me at all, you'd know what you were getting into.

My opinion is mine.  It's certainly not the most hateful opinion on the internet.  Forgive me, I'm not a lovefest.  I believe that I should be able to talk about the things that upset me, annoy me, hurt me, or make me happy.  The proportion of unhappy posts in relation to the happy posts follows my life. It's not meant to be caustic.  Think about that for a second.  If the majority of my posts are unhappy, it means the majority of the time I am unhappy.

What kills me is that the post that gets the most hate is my post concerning pot users.  People completely skate over the whole fact that I was harrassed and bullied on the internet (and in person) over the fact that I simply wouldn't use.  I feel like people can't take a different opinion.  I know it's different.  I don't want marijuana legalized.  I have my own reasons. And yeah, it's a differing, dissenting opinion.  GET THE HELL OVER IT.  It's not the end of the world, and yeah, you don't have to read it.  And get a clue, the last line of that post... is a joke.  That stupid ass phrase was popular at the time and I was making fun.  Because apparently on Blogger everyone takes everything so seriously.

No wonder everyone has a Tumblr now, including me.  It's so much easier to just reblog someone else's material without backlash, because that's literally all it seems to be.
Pictures, gifs...I guess it's harder for people to be offended.  What's the point of words, actual, composed thoughts?
I guess they're no longer worthwhile, because people can't handle it.

Debating on keeping this blog at all.

I smell it in the air...

...the bitter and yet sweet smell of leaves and condensation.  I feel the sharp sting of autumn air on my skin and smile.  It's starting to feel like my genuine smiles are few and far between, but at least I have this moment to myself.

I'm exhausted but the sensory overload energizes me, even if only for a second.  Walking into the dining hall where the smell of heat lamps and disinfectant overrides the fresh smell of outside brings me down.  Tea and a pumpkin muffin bring me back.

The tea feels good in my hands; a small mug I can hold so tightly my fingers overlap.  My head is starting to hurt for the 10th, 11th, maybe 12th day in a row, but what else is new?  Beating the headaches isn't my accomplishment for the day, getting myself out of bed was.

Beaten down, overworked, burned-out, over-tired.  Exhausted, irritable, hopeless and angry.

But as I leave the dining hall and my feet crunch the few leaves that have already fallen, I take a deep breath.  It's made all that much better by the smell of fall in the air, and the coolness of the wind in my throat.

I can do this.

Too hot in my first class...

...friggen FREEZING in this one.

At least now I'm mostly awake.

I've been super busy, going on busier. But that doesn't mean there isn't some funny stuff going on.

Take my friend's birthday party, courtesy of yours truly.

I went to Wal-Mart earlier in the day with one clear goal: Get her an ice-cream cake.  Also...some sort of present?  Didn't know what.

So I'm wandering through Wal-Mart looking for a birthday present thinking that I'm gonna get the ice cream cake last so it doesn't melt.

Totally smart right?

And I'm thinking, what do I really want to get this girl?  The thought popped into my head that I'd just LOVE to give her the chance to beat the crap out of some of the crappy people in her life.  Hahahah....wait.

Idea!






.............So I'm in the pinata section, which is an actual section in the party section at the Leicester Super Wal-Mart, pondering if getting a donkey pinata is advocating animal cruelty.

But pinatas, as it turns out, are friggen' expensive and even though her ResHall is Hello Kitty themed she's not getting a Hello Kitty pinata.

As funny as a beaten Hello Kitty would be.

So the donkey it is.

Everyone knows what you're doing that night when you carry around a pinata and candy.  Everyone.  They think you're having a little kid's birthday party.

And I'm in college, so yeah,  pretty much.

So me and my festive multicolored friend make our way to the ice cream section.   Where they don't have ice cream cake.

So I head over to the bakery section, only to find that the freezer was totally empty.  Cool.  Alright.

I'm looking at the other cakes, including a ridiculously large cookie, and thinking that dammit, all she wanted was a friggen' ice cream cake.

Is that so hard?

Finally I ask, and yay!  Their freezer broke yesterday but they have all the other ice cream cakes in the back in a separate freezer.

So I got the cake, proceeded to check out, and walk into the almost 85 degree heat and to my truck with no AC.

I pretty much raced back to campus to make sure my hard-won cake did not melt.

It doesn't, I get it into the freezer, and as far as I know life is good.

I'm mentioning the party to a couple people at dinner including my new supervisor.  I explain the cake fiasco (because to me it was a fiasco) and finally remember that oh hey, I bought a pinata.  It comes out a little something like this:

"Non-melted ice cream cake.  Good stuff.  Also...pinata"

Now "Also...pinata" is kind of a joke.  All of my program proposals now have to have "also...pinata" somewhere within them.  It's necessary.  Trust me.

I haven't even gotten to the good part.

It's finally time for the birthday party.  We've got the whole thing ready to go, played 50 cent when she walked in:

(Yo Yo Yo Yo, Yo Shorty, it's your birthday...)

Hehe.  We sang Happy Birthday very off-key, and then it was time for the pinata.

I tied the pinata with some ribbon to a sturdy ceiling beam in the basement that is popularly thought to be haunted.  No big deal.

So we get her down there, and I hand her an umbrella (because hey, it's a lot for me to remember that you have to have a STICK to break a pinata).

Andddddddddddd I forgot the blindfold.  But with this particular person, the honor system works fairly well.  She spins 3 times, eyes screwed shut, and swings.

And misses.

Always so funny.  So she swings again.  And clips it.  She's getting frustrated.  She finds it with the umbrella, gears herself up, and SWINGS.

And decapitates the pinata.

The body is sitting on the floor, the head dangling from the ribbon, and the candy is still safely contained within the donkey.

At this point we tell the birthday girl to open her eyes, because man, she's gotta see this.

She opens her eyes, and at our encouragement, starts beating the pinata on the ground with the umbrella.

Are you picturing this?  It was amazing.

...but the pinata still wouldn't break.  I tell her to stop, I pick up the pinata, and tell her to get into the batter's box.

She shifts the umbrella so it's like a baseball bat, I slow pitch the pinata to her, and she swings.

And it exploded.

Candy went flying all over the room, at everyone, and in every corner.  We cleaned it all up and placed it all back into the decapitated head.

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You better believe that she still has that decapitated head in her room.