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ESTROGEN COMING THROUGH
Thursday. 10.25.12 2:55 am
I used to pride myself on being a confidant, back when I was still in high school. I didn't really have feelings, back then. I would support people, or tell them what they needed someone to tell them, or tell them what everyone was too scared to tell them--whatever the case, I was good at it, but it wasn't because I felt anything towards their stories. I just knew what to say. I was decisive and a good listener. That pleased me.

Somewhere along the way, I started to feel like I'd lost that vibe, because people stopped automatically coming to me. Maybe it was that we'd known one another too long and they didn't need my advice, maybe it was that it became so routine that I didn't notice it anymore, I don't know. I was scared that it was because I became more empathetic. I thought that, maybe, it was useful to be fully impartial, emotionally, and that this changed how often people would approach me.

But now I'm at college, and people are coming to me, and some of it is really heavy. It's still the same protocol--I take secrets more seriously than anyone I know--but...man. Takes you back to that comical truth that most therapists have therapists. After listening to the things people have to go through, all day, every day, it consumes you.

I'm thankful to my friends (and, lately, the complete (yes, sober) strangers), who rely on me to keep their secrets, don't get me wrong. Sometimes, though, I get so frustrated, because I don't know what else I can do for them. When is it going to be in my power to cure the disease rather than treat the symptoms, you know?

A lot of them cry, too. Which is fine, and understandable, and I'm not shaming that in any way, shape, or form, because people cry, and it's fine. Get it out. Crying is acceptable. I accept them. Shut up.

But crying makes me cry. One time, I watched Up with friends, and I was TOTALLY FINE, until I heard sniffing. And someone laughed about everyone crying--WHILE CRYING--and then people started talking and backlashing, and it was in that sad voice where you're still crying and all mucusy and whiny, so NATURALLY, my eyes start watering and I'm begging everyone to shut up and stop crying because hearing them cry makes me so sad AND GUESS WHAT THINKING ABOUT THAT TIME IS ALSO MAKING ME CRY.

Man.

It was never like this, when I was younger. No one saw me cry, between the ages of probably ten and eighteen. It was so good.

Then I stopped being a rampant sociopath and it all went to hell.

I guess my point is that I cried all the way to Walmart, tonight, because one of my friends is just...in the worst of situations. I don't know what to do, what sort of small kindness to bestow on her to make her day a little lighter. I feel like there's more to do than be an active listener. Listening is good, but...listening PLUS doing something kind is better.

Oh, and I'm writing my final paper on Doctor Who for my academic writing class, and I proposed the idea to my professor and her mind just exploded. First thing she said when I got to our one-on-one conference was, "Where is your annotated bibliography...I was just using it as an example because it was so good..."

POW
POW
POW
KACKAW

I had four papers and two tests within a three day period, and it was just...





And all I really did was go to the library more and stop using Facebook. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA



[EDIT]

Speaking of things coming through, I thought I had a popcorn kernel stuck to my gum, so I tongued it, but then it didn't come out, so I rubbed it with my finger, AND IT'S MY WISDOM TOOTH CROWNING.

I'M TWENTY YEARS OLD, COME ON.

WISDOM COMING THROUGH.

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Friday. 10.19.12 10:31 pm
School is stressful.

I've stopped doing much other than working and sleeping.

This weekend is going to be a weekend to remember: I'm going to volunteer, tomorrow morning, and then I'm going to spend the entire day in the library. Sunday, I'm going to...spend the entire day in the library.

WOO.

Lab practical is coming up in a month, so I'm studying for that NOW (and for the next month, half an hour, every day), and then I have two major, grade-changing tests and three grade-changing papers. And one paper that doesn't make a huge difference, BUT WHATEVER.

I think "overwhelmed" is a good term. Luckily, our university counseling office offers free yoga classes, once a week, during the month of October (notoriously hellish).

Keeping afloat.

Sort of.


Recipes by a Unicorn

BAKED APPLE A LA MODE

Session One
Need

Baking apple (I used honeycrisp)
Sugar
Cinnamon
Peeler
Knife
Metal spoon
Glass baking dish
Do
Preheat oven to 300F
Peel apple, hollow out (with knife and spoon--so it's a bowl)
Combine cinnamon and sugar, add to inside and outside of apple
Pop that sucker in the glass baking dish and put it in the oven for 30-45min.
Wait till there are about ten minutes left baking the apple, then follow Session Two

Session Two
Need

Sugar
Butter
Whipping cream
Vanilla ice cream
Walnuts
Whisk
Medium sauce pan
Do
Heat maybe 1-1.5C of sugar in a saucepan--should melt and boil (medium heat is effective)
Once it's boiling, add 6T butter
Whisk that sucker till its all combined, then remove from heat
Add whipping cream till it looks like caramel
Cool
Remove apple from oven, pop on plate
Scoop ice cream and add to apple bowl
Add caramel
Add nuts


You're welcome, autumn lovers.


[EDIT]

Wait till it's cooked to peel the apple! It cooks into a softer, juicier fruit.

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The Best Christmas Present
Saturday. 10.13.12 2:25 am
Be it extremely emotional, controversial, messed up, or whatever, this entry has been password protected.

If you know it, enter it; or, ask me for it.

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Waiting for a Date
Tuesday. 10.9.12 10:10 pm

I mostly watch passing couples. I see elderly ones, especially, on days like today, when the date is early in the afternoon on a weekday, when people usually have classes and work. It helps keep things in perspective; sometimes, the dates start to feel so serious, when I consider that dates are almost always leading somewhere, romantically, and that these people consider me an option for that particular "somewhere." I have to keep looking at these couples, and asking myself, Could I be happy there?

It is almost always an immediate No. The last Maybe I had was Mike, and before that there were exactly two emphatic Yeses.

I consider my last Emphatic Yes while watching these couples, and try to switch the song on my iPod so I can temporarily forget he exists. It doesn't work.

The sky is really bright, and it's a weird, light shade of blue like I haven't seen in a long time. I tug at the black sleeves of my fleece. It's freakin' cold, but mostly the tug is a front for my subtle watch check, so the passersby don't think I've been stood up. Lateness means we won't be seeing Date Two, which is a rule I almost always live by--tardiness comes off as a lack of respect and enthusiasm. He still has six minutes; I'm always earlier out of some residual nervousness.

A woman in a green turtleneck and grey slacks emerges from the restaurant and gives me a common stranger smile; I've been noting more and more that these smiles make me feel weird, because they aren't smiling, but they are, and they aren't supposed to be smiling at me. There's no logical reason why someone would smile at me out of nowhere. Politeness doesn't make sense. That smile is the bane of my existence, and I consistently meet it with a more genuine grin.

She, like all the others, breaks from the stranger smile and beams.

The grin works. It says, "I'm so glad you're walking the same earth as me."

Small kindnesses that aren't even considered kindnesses. If you're going to smile at someone, make them feel welcome, not placated.

With a passing thought, I worry that I might be underdressed, after seeing her slacks. A mental response: "She was probably on her lunch break."

I'm thinking of a rainbow scarf I should have complimented when he arrives. He sees me, but looks away during his walk towards the building, which is a fantastic and unique sign of nervousness reserved for those who don't serial date.

I decide to go easy and play along, until he's closer. We greet each other, and he holds the door open for me.

The worst part is over.

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