God damn am I guilty of so many of these. Especially number 15. I can't say that personality types are exactly a hard science, but there does seem to be some consistency when looking at reoccurring traits. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/26/highly-sensitive-people-signs-habits_n_4810794.html


I just realized that it has been a few days since last I cried. In a way I'm amazed I didn't notice sooner. And yet I'm not totally surprised, because I haven't really felt a shift in mood. I still "feel" about the same. So I don't know if I'm having a shift in attitude(as in, letting go of stuff or becoming more comfortable), or if my body is just sort of cutting down on the emotional stuff for now. To be fair, its very difficult to go through that for long periods of time and be any sort of functional after a while. I just didn't think my body had a cutoff point. Still, I'm glad for the break. This week is going to be a little rough, and I might just want to cry by the end of it. I've never been part of a "professional" opera production, so its both exciting and a little nerve-wracking.

I suppose if I start to feel on the edge of breaking again, I can just find that video that's a string of different individuals' ridiculous laughs(including that guy with the fucking 'hyonk hyonk hyonk' laugh). I seem to fall prey to laughter pretty easily. Although that might just result in a confused laugh-crying state, wherein I'm still upset but I can't stop the physiological reaction to other people's laughter. Which I've experienced, and it actually feels a lot more confusing and creepier to experience than it looks to other folks. D:
There is a robin's egg on the ground which I cannot save. I turn and they fill the space on the ground, surrounding me. But they are all dead. I know they have been cold for hours, or otherwise the life was shaken from them. My heart weeps for them, vomiting blood into a sunken area of ground to create a pond. I place the eggs carefully within, letting them bob gently. It resembles a carnival game involving water and ping-pong balls. They move together, slowly, creating a vortex. A partition comes to the edge, and I am invited in. My lack of blood makes me light, and I walk on top of them as I am guided towards a swirling tunnel in the center, made of eggs. I walk on one stair that appears and reappears in front of my feet, moving me forward and down. I hit snow. It is blue. I squeeze a clump in my hand. It is warm. I eat it, and I am turned into liquid. I seep into the snow, leaping in and out of it to move. I hit a piece of ice. It is a frozen lake, made of a mirror. I look at myself. I am blood.  I cover the mirror. I see a different landscape in its reflection. I sit up, and I am somewhere else. I am made of separate parts of marble. There is no sky. The ground is made of large crystals, and I sit in a purple puddle. I see foothills. I run to them. They look soft. They caress my retinas. I jump on the top of one, and it sends me upward. I fall into the no-sky. I grow wings. I stabilize myself. I find a nearby planet with nothing on it, except a gold staff. I take the staff, and it unpins the planet, sending it spinning. I find the world. I save the world with my staff and my wings and my marble body. The world dies. I cannot save it. There are worlds around me in ruin. I killed them all. My heart vomits blood.

This is not a story.
I can see this course being quite difficult if I cannot remember the precise language expressed. Every test question answered seems to take a piece of my certainty with it. I hate the questions where he asks which things were stated, and even if the answer would fit the situation, it has to be the one he stated. I can't remember whether he said "Steve is fat because he eats too much" is c. a rude thing and not necessarily true. I could watch the whole damn lecture three times and not remember whether he said that or not unless I was looking specifically for that information. Luckily he doesn't construct his test questions that way all the time, but it is frustrating nonetheless. Any assuredness of my answers goes out the window when it comes to precise language. Does the thermometer explain high temperatures, but not cause them? Or does it predict high temperatures, but not cause them? I actually thought it would be the former, but since that's not what the guy said in the supplementary lecture, it's not the correct answer.

The only conclusion I can come to is that while this course will be very good for me, it's going to push my brain to the limits of uncomfortable thinking. I just hope I can actually enjoy it and not be too butthurt over being wrong now and then.


"What do you want out of life?"

"...my own?"

Five years ago, if you told me I would give up my interests for those of someone else, I would never have believed you.

Today has been in an altered state. Or just me. But its more poetic to think about it the other way. One moment I'm fine, perfectly content, and the next my mind is roaring.

 It began to suddenly feel like spring on Thursday, regardless of the fact that the vernal equinox doesn't happen for another month.

I've been appreciating the time I get by myself lately, but today the silence has been deafening. I try to fill the stillness with music, with tv, games, activity, homework. If I can no longer focus on homework then I attempt to dive into another activity that takes my attention, whether its unpacking, drawing, writing or reading. I should be practicing but I don't think that's happening today. I think I'd just start crying.

I really crave peace in the outdoor world right now. But when I finally give in and go outside, I don't know where to go. I still want privacy, and all the places I could go are quite far.

I've been thinking of libretto ideas. I would take commissions but I need to demonstrate to myself first that its something I can actually do well. I find the idea of Dante's Inferno really appealing. Really, I don't think there is a setting of that which exists in operatic form yet, which is surprising given the different versions of Faust that exist, and Dante is as much of a heavweight in the literary world as Goethe is. However, that would be a huge undertaking as a first project, especially considering the fact that I still haven't read the entire thing. At the risk of going into Sam's literary territory, I would love to try a Lovecraft tale. They're short, they're weird, they're beautiful, and the opera world needs more serious horror/sci-fi material. Of course, there are still the Nabokov tales which fall under similar guidelines. Oh jeez, I bet youth subculture of opera would form if there was a series done of Poe's short stories(if his estate gives the rights, of course). Hmm, better not. Though now I wonder if art song settings exist of his poetry.


I can be incredibly silly. How to be myself? Stop trying to fit into the expectations of others or my assumed expectations of others, I guess. The harder part is recognizing when I'm doing it. It happens almost subconsciously, and it's often not until long after I'm involved that I start asking myself why I'm doing something.

I'm a little peeved still that he seems to think I stole the idea of chemistry from him. I understand his stance, but I wish he would give me a little more credit now. I'm trying to step away from that old me. The "hard sciences" do not belong solely to him and it was not the first time I had ever considered studying a science. I wanted to become a nuclear scientist for the Navy when I heard how high my ASVAB scores were in high school. But I didn't have the grades they wanted. There were a lot of other things that I was "into", but I had no idea how those actually related to a career. Someone describing themselves as wanting to grow up to be a "scientist", "businessman", or "artist" sounded incredibly vague. I didn't actually know what I would do after high school, after I figured I wasn't that good at the visual arts even though I enjoyed them, that I couldn't be a scientist for the Navy (sounds ridiculous but for all I knew that was the only place I could study nuclear physics), that my chances of becoming a famed actress or writer were close to nil, and that I had fucked up on a lot of other things and even though that "7 intelligences" retarded test we all took pointed me out as being good at kinesiology, I didn't want to be a fucking gym teacher.

I did know that at that time the most joy I was getting out of school was in choir and percussion ensemble. Music seemed to come easily enough for me, so I embraced it as much as I could. I'm starting to think I gave it the death squeeze by mistake. :/ Even at Shasta, I didn't know for at least the first semester what was expected of me as a music major, and I didn't have any of the classes I was supposed to have. I remember enjoying the hell out of my chem lab at Shasta, but I didn't realize at the time what was meant by "for the liberal arts" as a course descriptor, and was pretty discouraged by the fact that that class and chem2a were not really equivalent. The longer I spent without being enrolled in a lab or something, the more terrifying the prospect became of trying to do it over. Did I give up on what could have been something great? No use wondering about it right now. And even though I'm using my past to rationalize future decisions, I'm not going to drag up every little polished rock. It's about using the past to help identify what I'm still interested in now, not just what I used to be interested in. I remember when I wanted to be a veterinarian. Today that would be a hell no.

Perhaps it is a little early to stop the spinning wheel and declare a new major. But I'm trying to find something that both stimulates and challenges me. I may think of something similar, or a specialization within the field. Or it could be entirely different. I'm past that freshman fear, I suppose. Knowing that I'll already be done with a degree, that terror of not knowing whether I'll be good enough to understand something or pass a class doesn't even apply. I DO have a life-long fear of finding out I've been utterly unintelligent my entire life. But that's different. Even then, all humans have their idiotic moment in the sun. Perhaps I should be giving a little more credit to stupidity. Anyway, I just don't feel like I have anything to lose at this point. I may as well see what sort of tough stuff I'm made of, quite literally. 


A note to the past

It's sort of amazing to think you're 29, if you're still actually around. I have no idea, but I like to think you've found happiness somewhere in your life. Maybe you've even made it back to Huntington Beach. I remember your real name, and I don't know what you go by nowadays, but you'll always be Dirk to me. All searches come up empty-handed. I don't feel the need to contact you directly, I just wish I knew that you were doing well. I'm aware that this message may just hit the ether and not be heard.

Happy Birthday Dirk, wherever you are.


I'm getting tired of finding something new to cry over multiple times a day. Or not new, just a constantly renewing source of fear/frustration. Even in other emotionally traumatic events, I don't remember ever crying this much, this regularly. It's exhausting and is seemingly unproductive. I feel fractured, and as though I'm never entirely aware of what's going on around me because I'm too concerned trying to figure out what I should be feeling or doing. It seems that none of my reactions to anything lately have been appropriate. In the end all I can do is tell myself to shut up and try to calm down(which doesn't typically work for long), or else find a place out of view to break down in until I can get a hug or something. Whenever Sam asks me what's wrong, I find it difficult to answer, either because it was spurred on by a variety of legitimate concerns, or specific concerns that I had a highly inappropriate response to and I really don't want to admit it, or even none at all which just makes me feel crazy.


Today is an off day. I don't feel horrible, but I definitely feel lonely. He's here, but not here for me. I have to get used to that. And yet how dare I say that? He still does so much for me, and if he doesn't proclaim his love for me as he does it, I think it doesn't matter? Bullshit! He could get a place anywhere, but he wanted to help me. He wants to be around someone he can trust. And it's not like he moved in and ignored me. He cares. And yet I'm still upset that I can't get a proclamation that my brain and vagina are valued above all other brains and vaginas.

And now I'm more upset at myself than I wanted to be. Why do I treat myself like such shit?

How can I possibly think that someone else can love me unless I stop the self-loathing?

...or do I really deserve the care and concern of anyone?

And yet even when I shower(ed) affection on him, it was never about me being worthless before him.  I just really want him to succeed, in all things. Everyone should have some sort of support network. In terms of money, he has his family of course, but in terms of presence there aren't a lot of everyday faces. I'm not all-sacrificing. Though I have always been the sort of person to try and go the extra mile for those I really care about.

God, I really need a fucking shower.


This is my first module test for philosophy of Science. I've read, re-read the chapters, watched, re-watched  lectures, written the journal answers, and have done and yes, re-done the practice quizzes. Is it bad for me to be frightened of the final test?

So much information. So much precise information.

I can't rely on rote facts or common sense; this is conceptual learning completely apart from what or how I've learned about anything else in school. The practice quizzes were not too difficult, but a few of the wrong answers definitely left me asking what I possibly did incorrectly. There is no room for vagueness. If the one of the answers does not reflect exactly what is said in the text, then it most likely is not the real answer even if it still sounds acceptable.

Update: I can't say I did amazingly, but I did pass. Most of my incorrect answers came from a podcast about thought experiments. I should have listened to that one more time, because I couldn't really remember anything that Baggini brought up that became a test question besides the experiments themselves, which were not any of the test questions(and yet I remembered his name :/ ).

After that though, I have a much better idea of the teacher's expectations of what are the important points to remember and think about. And I'm just a little proud of not having done it at the last minute.


It seems as though I have a constant stream of homework, and I'm kind of amazed I'm keeping up with it(at least it seems), even though my anterior cingulate cortex is on fire. Perhaps I ought to stop falling asleep next to the fireplace. :P

It's interesting to note how I can function much better even when having a bad day. It actually drives me harder to do well, sometimes, because I don't want my emotional state to absolutely control my every-day functionality. My teacher has remarked that she finds my resilience remarkable(heh). Perhaps I do have some tools which I take for granted, or simply don't notice since I cannot look outside myself.

If you tell yourself you're stupid or hear it often growing up and you are not sure whether or not to believe it, or even worse, that you absolutely believe it even while trying to gain an education, does it take a measurable toll on your cognitive abilities even if you were not stupid to begin with?

I know that if I continue to dwell on this, it will only hurt me in the end. And the longer it goes on, the more we both will suffer. I need to get a fucking grip. GET A FUCKING GRIP ON YOURSELF.


Today was most definitely supposed to be "I have no class so let's be super productive and clean and practice and catch up on online lectures today!"

Instead it became "Let's be sleepy and disoriented and weak feeling and have what should be considered drug-induced dreams and be unsure that reality is really the thing you're waking up to today!"

Seriously, dreams of hiding in the woods to plot to kill a psychotic new girlfriend of a completely fictitious ex-boyfriend, trying to stop another ex from stealing bacteria and viruses to unleash on all our old high school teachers, and another about the Metropolitan Opera's use of orphaned babies as stage props, yet they openly refuse to act as an adoption service or intermediary. There was also something about a rollercoaster going through a museum and a trailer. And seriously, I would wake up in my room and think that it was not where I was supposed to be in real life, that I was still supposed to be somewhere in my dreams.

It was entertaining, but I am wondering why the hell I've been so tired and just all around out of it for the past two or three days(they seem to have blended together).

Random aside thought: Sometimes it seems like there's a slightly different way I write on here than I do on paper. I may have written this somewhere before but have been too ashamed to hit "publish". But yes, I write differently on here than I do in my written journal, and even more differently from either than when I write on loose-leaf paper. And I think it has to do with a little more than just the editing process. Most of the stuff I do on here is still first take save for spelling errors. I think there's a difference in the organization of thought when I'm not conscious of the fact that I'm writing out letters and on here I can focus more on what I want to say next. It feels more compartmentalized whereas on paper I'm figuring out how to string various thoughts into something comprehensive.

There are benefits to writing on paper though. There's more of a flow. Stream of consciousness writing is fun, and it's much more effective with pen and paper.