There's nothing more embarrassing than having an emotional breakdown in front of someone you don't even know. Well, other than maybe melting down on national television, but hey, at least ratings would be good. I must say, though, having a good cry is quite the stress reliever. I sort of feel like now that I've got that out, my life can proceed.
Trying to figure out what to do about where I'm going to live next year is the most frustrating ordeal I've ever had to go through. Thus the semi-public emotional breakdown. Honestly, who schedules room selection on dates and times during midterms when there are classes scheduled? NCC's Residence Office, that's who. Jerks.
Everything is just sort of coming to a bottleneck. I've missed 80% of my term thus far because of speech. I had to spend the last couple weeks concentrating on speech so I didn't suck at Nationals, but now that I'm back in the real world, everything is catching up with me. I have two exams next week, a scene to memorize and perform with an only semi-cooperative partner, and a "short" 5-8 page paper due on the same day as one of the exams. I need to sign up for an oral presentation, register for classes, figure out how to be in two places at once to get housing for next year, arrange meetings with interview subjects, call Phil from WJOL and start working there, not to mention even beginning to read for the exams/paper. I'm already exhausted and I haven't even started. Oh, I also have to work at some point. Eat and sleep too, probably. It'd even be nice if I could hang out with The Boy here and there, but that idea is almost laughable at this point.
Fortunately, I hear women are masters at multi-tasking, and since I, too, possess two X chromosomes, things should fall together magically. It's the power of estrogen. Let's just try not to have another emotional breakdown.
Dear web log,
I will be treating you like a diary today, and actually acknolwedging that fact.
Sometimes my friends have the annoying habit of asking me "what's new?", as if my life is a series of exciting happenstances, instead of a monotonous cycle of "school, work, speech, no sleep".
Let's see, new things... new things. I've been hired into my first "real" radio station job. If I'm not mistaken, it entails me operating the board for WJOL AM 1340 for a couple hours a week. Nothing earth shattering or major, but a resume builder.
Brian mentioned a friend of his is moving to the city soon, and he's thinking about going with 'em. I think he was anticipating some sort of big, dramatic conversation where I may or may not have cried or gotten upset, but after him foundering around for about a minute I just told him to do what he thinks is best. I'm perfectly capable of figuring out what to do with myself. Plus I have parents I can live with should the occasion arise. I'm honestly not all that worried.
I still haven't had my State of the Union conversation, partly because I'm a big chicken when it comes to discussing "feelings" and "opinions", and partly because it's not of vital importance, yet. I keep getting clues that the conversation would tell me all the good things I want to know, so it seems silly to have to drag myself through something as painful as a Real Conversation.
One Nationals down, one to go, and I'm exhausted. All I want to do is sleep all the time. Alex said he doesn't understand how I can get so tired, but I don't really see the mystery in it. You average 5 hours of sleep a night and spend your days running back and forth across town, and cumulating them by standing for 5-8 hours having to be friendly to drunk people. I had fun at AFA, probably because it was a small group and the entire thing was pretty laid back. I even did pretty okay, but if you're not a Forensicator, be prepared for a long, confusing explanation of the numbers involved.
Here is what I want: I want to be able to wake up in the morning and look forward to my day. I want to be able to feel rested and energized. I want to have one or two nights a week where I can hang out with the few friends I have. I want to be able to spend relaxing time with Alex; not this hyper-intesne we-have-to-make-the-most-of-these-5-hours. I want to be able to afford to go out and do things, like see movies, go bowling, or even take a spontaneous weekend road trip. I want to have the time and energy to keep my room clean. I want to be able to have long coffee conversations with my sister. I'm still waiting to go on a photographic alley adventure with Miranda.
I just need a break, really. Freaking speech team.
I never have anything important to say anymore, and I really wish I did, because I heard blogs are going to be the new history books. Historians get all squishy when they find diaries from past times, "glimpses into real life from the past" and such. Look at how popular Anne Frank's diary is, and she didn't even particularly write about anything earth shattering. Just "Life is really tense. Living in an attic really sucks. I hope we don't die. I love Peter".
Pardon me if that was offense. I'm just saying she was writing about the trivialities of teenage life in the context of some tense politics.
If Cathi Martin were a beverage, she would be: Milk
Ever since I heard that bit of speculation-- that blogs will be future historians glimpse of real life in the early 21st century-- I've been wondering what, exactly, my scribblings have contributed to the collective consciousness of the world. My perceptions of major world events, that is, 9/11, the war on terror, catastrophic weather occurances and climate change, have been peripheral at best.
If Cathi Martin were a character from 10 Things I Hate About You, she would be: the dad
I plan to give a speech next year about how cell phone manufacturers are contributing to the turmoil in the Congo because they're greedy bastards. Yay!
If Cathi Martin were a building on NCC's campus, she would be: the library
I'm beginning to feel the first strains of my biggest fear of the whole "Alex going to UIC" situation. Talking (almost) every day is okay, I guess, but not a very good substitute for the real thing.
If Cathi Martin were a food, she would be: a pineapple