Jul. 10th, 2005 07:18 am
allichaton: (Default)
All right, no more naps for me.

Remember what I did last week?

Yeah. Same thing happened last night.

This time, I even set an alarm! But no dice. Went to sleep at 8:00 or so -- woke up at seven this morning.

Fuckit. I took the nap so I wouldn't doze off for an hour in front of the computer at one in the morning like I did Friday night. But fuck, one lost hour is a hell of a lot better than an entire lost night.

So screw it. Caffeine pills it is. No more naps.
allichaton: (Default)
5:45am is supposed to be bed time, not wake-up time.


Good God

Feb. 6th, 2004 03:37 pm
allichaton: (Default)
Yeesh. What the hell is up with all the hubhub about Janet's breast? Good frickin' lord. Calm the hell down. It's a breast. People have 'em. People have seen 'em. Someone just posted a link in chat about a woman suing Janet and Justin for being exposed to "lewd acts". My God! Having sex on stage is a lewd act. Accidentally baring a breast is a prank.

How the hell are young girls supposed to learn to be comfortable with their bodies, when things like this are responded to with shock and outrage and disgust? Why the fuck is the human body so taboo? We've all got one, for crying out loud!

I remember I was watching TV about ten years ago (more or less), and the station I was watching played a clip from a bathing suit fashion show, in which the model wore a bikini whose top was, quite literally, string connecting pasties. One quarter-sized piece of fabric makes the difference between fashion and scandal?

*snorts in disgust and wanders off to go bury herself in her writing, where people actually make sense*
allichaton: (Default)

I want to go home. Mom's been home one minute, and she's already yelled about three different things. First it was, "WHO ATE ALL THE COOKIES???? I DIDN'T EVEN GET ONE!!!!!" Then, just long enough after the first for her to come upstairs, was, "WHO WENT TO THE BATHROOM AND DIDN'T PUT THE TOILET PAPER ON THE ROLL??? GODDAMMIT, THE BATHROOM IS A PIGSTY!!!!" (Guess what, Mom, only one of your daughters has been home to turn the bathroom into a pigsty. I may be a clutter freak, but I don't dirty places up THAT quickly. That would be Danielle. Don't yell at me because she can't keep her bathroom tidy.) After that, it was shouting at the dog, because she suspected he peed on the carpet.

And now she just came in here. "I need your help. NOW."

I got upset with her for that. She got upset at me. She said, "Ever since you've come back, you've had the worst attitude!"

*SNARL* I've had the worst attitude because I've been living on my own for the past three months, and I've realized I'm not willing to put up with her shit anymore! She lectures me about how I need to start sending my books out so that I can make some money to pay for my tuition, but she assigns me chores up the wazoo because I'm home all day and "have nothing better to do". She comes in the fucking door yelling, and then gets upset with me when I dare to have a differirng opinion from hers. She lectures me about dinner being a family thing that should be done together when I get upset that I'm doing all the fucking work.

I understand that she has taken out loans for my expenses at school. I understand that while I'm living here, she is supporting me. I have no problem with helping out in recompense. But dammit, I do have a problem with being treated like fucking Cinderella. I expect a little respect from her. I expect a little understanding that I don't work the way she demands that I work. I expect a little consideration. I expect a little caring, gods dammit!

And I'm afraid to tell her any of this, at least while I'm still here, because I'm afraid it'll only make her change for the worse. I'd rather things stay the way they are, than get worse. It's the whole "fear of change" thing, and I hate it, but unless I'm completely blind, it's valid.

Gods above, I want to go back to UCI. I want to go back to the people who, if not love me, are at least willing to let me be myself. I want to go back to the place where I had my own life, rather than the life she forces me into. I can be myself at school, and no one has the authority to force me to be anything but, and I miss that. I want that back, so damn badly. I want to go home.
allichaton: (Default)
I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home.

I just went into the kitchen to get something to eat. mom came into the kitchen as I was pulling out the stuffing. "We're going to be eating diner in a little bit." "When?" "Soon." "Oka, but I'm hungry now, I want something to tide me over." "Allison, don't eat that, we're going to be eating dinner soon."


I was going to grab Oreos, but I figured I should probably eat something a little more nutritious. So much for that.

Damnall, I'm used to eating at 5:00-5:30 at school, when I'm hungry, and I told her that It's 7:00 now and she's telling me NOT to eat? When I've been hungry for two hours and there is NO sign of anyone even BEGINNING to make dinner?

Why the fuck am I not allowed to eat when I'm hungry????


She just discovered that one of the dogs peed on the floor, because someone closed the dog door. She yelled at the dogs as she threw them outside, then the first the she shouted when she came back in the door was, "DID YOU CLOSE THE DOG DOOR, ALLISON?????"


I yelled back at her, telling her I didn't touch the damn dog door, and not to yell at me. She said she's not yelling at ME. She's a bloody hypocrite. I can't count the number of time's she's gotten pissed at me because I was upset while I was talking to her about something, and she said not to yell at her, then refused to believe me when I said I wasn't yelling at her and I wasn't upset at her, I was just upset.

*deep breath*

Just one more day, and most of that will be on my own. She has work tomorrow, and D has school, and they both leave very early in the morning.

Damnitall, I do NOT want to come back here for Christmas break. *vhs* :(


Nov. 29th, 2003 10:15 am
allichaton: (Default)

I told Mom about the internet problems I'm having. Mistake number one, but oh well. Told her I couldn't get on to AIM, and a bunch of websites, like the AIM website, and AOL's website. She got all skeptical and went off to her computer, and came back a few minutes later to tell me that she got onto AOL perfectly fine.

I told her, "AOL the program, or AOL the website?" "AOL the program." "No, Mom, I'm not having a problem with that. I'm talking about AOL the website." "But I'm on AOL the website." "You're on AOL.com?" *confused pause* "No." "That's the one I'm having problems with. That's the one that's not working for me." *another confused pause* "Well, it probably doesn't help to be going through all these doors." (we've got wireless internet in our house, and I'm in my sister's bedroom with the door closed.)

Okay. Is it just me, or is my mom being incredibly obtuse? The number of doors the signal has to go thorugh should not affect only SOME sites, and not others, right? Am I horribly off my mark here?

Grrrr. She never accepts that there's a problem when I tell her I'm having one. Always has to go and try it for herself, and contradict me. Never mind that I've got vastly more experience with computers, and especially the internet, than she does.

allichaton: (Default)
Mrowwwwwrrr. Damn it all to hell and back.

I'm at home. And for once, this isn't a rant about anyone in my family. It's a rant about my fucking ISP. AIM died on me during the night. I haven't been able to get back on it since. (Which means no evo chat. Mewwwww!) Erik suspects it's a problem with one of my ISP's routers being down, since it's only some websites that I can't get out to--AIM and AOL and a few others. I can still get to the Evo pages, and Google, etc.

Dammit, it had to be the router than handled AIM connections, didn't it? MROWWWWWRRRRRR.

So bloody annoyed. So many things pissing me off lately. Just want to be back at UCI. Meow. Meowmeowmeowmeow.
allichaton: (Default)
(The first draft of a post I'm going to make to my family blog)

"Family's Guide to Who I Am"

This is a bit of a coming out for me. For a long, long time, only my closest friends online have known the true me. Lately, I've become comfortable enough with who I am that I can be honest to all of my friends online. But only recently have I begun trying to hint to my family about who I truly am. And those timid attempts have largely been met with teases and brush-offs. That upsets me--because I love all of you guys, and it hurts that you don't/can't/won't accept all of who I am. So here it is, a primer on who I am, what I like, what I'm coming from. I don't ask that you understand it, or that you agree with it. But I do ask that you accept it. It's who I am, and all the censure in the world wouldn't be enough to change it.


I am goth. Not turning, not considering it. Am. Now before you start expecting me to show up on your doorstep wearing a spiked color and black leather, let me explain that there is more than one type of goth "style". I like antiquity goth. This basically means that I like rich, jewel-toned colors, and old styles of dress. Medieval, renaissance, victorian, etc. I'm exploring the punk goth a little bit, but antiquity is where my heart is.

I know that I've never dressed goth before. This has nothing to do with being goth. Goth is a mentality, not a look. And when you consider that I've never bought my own clothes, it's not hard to understand why I've never dressed goth. Hard to do when your parents/gift-givers aren't. With the formation of my christmas list this year, I tried to get some additions to my wardrobe that more accurately reflect the clothes that I love. And I was met with teasing, "Are you turning goth on me?", and then, when I insinuated that I've been goth for a while, "You weren't goth. You wore jeans and sweatshirts. That's not goth."

See above comment. What I am and what I wear are not analogous. I am goth. It's not going to change. Accept it.


I am a writer. This is what I want to do for the rest of my life. This is how I want to earn my living. This is who I AM, first and foremost. I understand that for the vast majority of authors, this is not a lucrative career. I may not be able to own a large, expensive house. I won't make as much money as a doctor or a lawyer, or some other prestigious profession. But I will be happy. No, scratch that. I will be ecstatic. I will be doing what I love. I will love my job. That's more than most people can say of their jobs. I don't need money to be happy.

There are a few things that go along with being a writer. I spend massive amounts of time on the computer. This is a necessity, and it's not something that can be negotiated. In order to write, I have to use a computer. I can write longhand, but it still has to be typed up and added to the rest of the manuscript. In this day of technology, it's a requirement. Perhaps it isn't the greastest for my health--but I would rather be ill and writing, than a perfect specimen of health, and not. I love writing. I can deal with the health complications that come from that. Every job has its hazards. Writing is no exception. I know of them, and I accept them, and that is my choice to make. It's my life, my body, my choice. Please don't try to make that choice for me.


Going hand in hand with the writing--I write erotica. Yes, this means the stories tend to focus on sex, but please don't confuse this with porn. It's not sex for the sake of sex. It's the difference between a porn picture of a man, and the David statue. Naked people does not equate to tawdry. Sex does not equate to porn. I write erotica, and I enjoy, and now that I'm eighteen and an adult and legal, I don't have to pretend not to.

Take it or leave it. It may not be your thing. I'm not going to shove my erotica down your throat if it's not what you enjoy reading. You don't have to like it. But you have to accept it. It's who I am and what I like. And considering that many kids my age have children, and even more have had sex, it's a rather harmless way to deal with teenage hormones.


I am a geek. This sort of goes hand-in-hand with being a writer. I'm a computer geek. I love computers. I love spending time on the computer. I have met most of my best friends online. I've met the man I plan to spend the rest of my life with online. I'm an internet junkie, and an amateur programmer. Much of my life is on or involved with the computer, and this is not sad. This does not mean I'm deprived. This does not mean I have no life. This is reality; it's how it is.


I am an adult. I turned eighteen in November. The law recognizes it. It would be nice if my family did, too. I'm old enough and mature enough to take charge of myself. I'm not "normal", which means some of the decisions I make for myself may not be decisions you agree with. But once again, it's my life, my choice, and I'm the only one who has the right to make them. I don't need rules to structure the formation of who I become. I'm done becoming--I am who I am. And I'm happy with that. Let me be who I am. Let me be in charge of myself. I am an adult, now let me be one.


Nov. 27th, 2003 06:57 pm
allichaton: (Default)
*sigh* Okay, Mom doesn't get to read my writing.

I've been home for less than 24 hours. When I was on the computer last night, Mom was making snarky comments about the artwork that I had on my desktop--it's fantasy artwork by Luis Royo, and it tends to be explicit. Nana had a few reactions of shock.

Throughout the day today, I've been distracted, hanging with the family, so my screensaver has been on pretty frequently. It's set to shuffle through all the Royo art that I have on my computer. My aunt Michelle and uncle Pete are visiting for Thanksgiving, and they've all been making comments about the art, joking about me having "softcore porn" on my computer, etc. The jokes have gone on all bloody day about me having porn on my computer. I decided to stop being annoyed about it, and just smiled when they kept making the comments, and let the comments go. Didn't let 'em bother me. Well, tried not to let them bother me. It's hard not to be upset when your family is mocking your taste in art.

I came out of the bathroom a little while ago, and Mom had closed my laptop. (She's damn lucky it was plugged into outlet power, otherwise it would have turned off, and I'd have gone homicidal.) When she saw me, she said, "We find this offensive. We don't want to look at it."

Well excuse the HELL out of me! It's not like I was forcing everyone to stare at my screensaver. My computer was out, because I've been using it, but it's not like I was projecting the images across the living room wall. No one forced them to bloody look at the pictures, and dammit, people have been making comments about the content of the art all day. It's not like they didn't KNOW what kind of images they would see if they looked at my screen.

And if she's offended by the Royo artwork...most of it is pretty tame. She's going to have a stroke over my erotica writing. So...she doesn't get to read it. I write what I love, because I love it, and because I want to share it with others who feel similarly. If she doesn't, that's fine. She doesn't get to read it. End of story.

*scowls and stalks off, fuming*
allichaton: (Default)
I posted my last rant, about the treatment of intersex infants, to my family blog, as well as this one. This morning, I got a response from my grandpa that infuriated me.


Dear Allison,

Thank you for your borgs - especially the one about professor Boellstorff and his views on hermaphrodites. My dear, it certainly sounds to both Thelma and I that this man is just pulling your leg a little. Everything you say he said cannot possibly be true! As a simple explanation of that, you know that only a female can ever have the internal oprgans necessary to be a female. Sexual sensations? Yes, maybe some, but probably not the real thing. Conversley, only a male can ever possess the organs and capabbility to be an host-to-God male. The penis (or clitoris) size has very little to do with these procedures. This man would have us believe (if I read you right) that the sex of a newborn baby can be changed at will - RUBBISH!

Certainly, some sex change operations do happen, but they cant change the insides. Also, I'm sure some infants have had their gender operationally enhanced to reflect their TRUE gender, buit what would be the point in changing an obvious male with small penis to an inferetile female? It may even be possible that in some parts of the world these things are done at the whim of a physician, but here in America? I dont think they could get away with it for 5 minutes - too much media and immediate public opinion exist today. Even the attendant nurses would sue the hospital. Some shenanigans may have been pulled a few decades or more ago, but today? I dont think so.

If I were you I would have some very succinct questions for that gentleman.

[snipped stuff irrelevant to the topic]

Love 'ya Papa


MROWWWWWRRRRR. This stuff DOES happen. Today. In 2003, and no amount of denial is going to change it. Open your mind, accept it, and then DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.

Anyway. Ahem. Here's the response I'm sending him:


Hey, there. :) Glad to hear from you.

[snipped stuff irrelevant to the topic]

As for the blog rant about hermaphrodites...yeah, the information surprised me, too. It's difficult to accept that such things DO happen today. I've attached the article that we read for class, "Hermaphrodites with Attitude", to this email. It talks a lot about the gender assignation practices--and you'll notice it's copyright 1998. It's in PDF format, so you'll need Adobe Reader to read it (if you don't have it, you can download it online for free). Things haven't changed much, if at all, in the past five years.

"Conversley, only a male can ever possess the organs and capabbility to be an host-to-God male."

You're right--it's impossible to change a woman into a true male, or a male into a true woman. The gender assignation surgeries don't give the infants the genitals of the opposite sex--they give them the APPEARANCE. Because, as I said, it's more important that they look normal. 90% of intersex children are determined to be female, because it's "easier to make a hole than build a pole". But for those that are deemed male, and are given a surgically manufactured penis, it doesn't function as a true penis. It *looks* like one, but it doesn't get an erection, and the urethra is located beneath the "penis", so they don't urinate out of it, either. It's there for appearances, so that the child looks "normal", to try to get rid of the "matter out of place".

Also, you appeared to miss the point of these being intersex infants--children whose genetic, hormonal, or physical makeup differ from the commonly accepted norms for "male" or "female". They're given these surgeries in order to make them appear normal, to get rid of the "matter out of place" that crosses our cultural boundaries of what should and shouldn't be. They aren't how they should be, so doctors have to fix it.

What about true hermaphrodites--people born with genital material of both genders? There are people born with a vagina and undescended testes, for example, or reproductive organs that are neither male nor female, but part ovary, part teste, fused together. This is much of my point--that instead of accepting these children as they are, we feel the need to "fix" them, and in result, often emotionally as well as physically harm them for life.


That's as much as I've got right now. I'm pissed, so it's hard for me to see what I might be leaving out that needs to be mentioned. Any comments, suggestions, additions would be very welcomed.
allichaton: (Default)
My anthropology lecture today really pissed me off. Not because of Prof Boellstorff's views--he's a great lecturer and more sensitive to these sorts of things than just about anyone I know--but just because of some of the facts brought up.

We were talking about the article we had to read, "Hermaphrodites with Attitude", which talks about some of the horrible things children born with ambiguous genitals go through, and the crap that doctors pull. Performing operations to assign the baby a gender without getting the permission of the parents. Telling the parents that the baby died, but a twin lived, in cases where they said "it's a boy!"(or whatever), then realized it was anomalous and changed the gender. The article talked about a case where a mother, after having given birth, was kept drugged and sedated for three days every time she asked about her child, while the doctors deliberated over what sex the child should be.

This all relates back to an article we read a few weeks ago, dealing with "matter out of place", and the human reaction to it. The article was about the rules on what animals can and cannot be eaten in Leviticus, but the concept permeates all areas of our culture. We don't see clothes as inherently bad, unless they're laying on the floor. A dish can be left on a counter or in the sink for a day or more without much bother, but put it somewhere it isn't supposed to be--on the bed, say--and you can bet it's going to be snatched up and dealt with right away. It's something that oversteps our culture's defined boundaries, and in doing that, it's dangerous. It threatens our culture's notions of what is and isn't. Cultures throughout history have had varying ways of dealing with "matter out of place", from killing it, to worshipping. In America, we chop their genitals off.

Doctors even have "rulers", that they use to measure the genital length of newborns. If it is less than .8cm, it is termed a clitoris. If it greater than 2.5cm, it is termed a penis. But genitals between .8 and 2.5cm are "unacceptable". Because gods forbid a girl have a large clitoris, or a man have a small penis.

There have been articles published in medical journals where doctors have actually claimed that it is better for a child to undergo these surgeries--which are often incredibly painful and take many, many operations, often not stopping until the child is old enough to resist--than to suffer teasing in the locker room, or to not be able to pee standing up, "in a steady, unfluctuating stream".

I am utterly disgusted.

We are mutilating people's genitals, for the sake of appearances. Never mind the fact that they may never find sex satisfying or, if they're men, will never be able to get an erection in their manufactured penis. Never mind the fact that intersexuality only very rarely causes health problems. They have a normal appearance, and that's what the medical field is concerned with. And for the love of the gods, we are doing this to children. Infants. Newborns. We are doing this behind the backs of the parents, often without permission.

I sat in class today, listening to Prof Boellstorff talk about all this, and I thought, "If Erik and I have children, I am making our doctor sign a fucking written contract that no one brings a scalpel anywhere NEAR my child without my express, written permission." They aren't going to with fuck my kid like that. Maybe I'll have an intersex child, and he or she won't be "normal", but by the gods, he/she will be whole and unaltered, at least until he/she's old enough to make the choice for him/herself. I am not going to do that to my child, and I'll tear the throat out of anyone who tries to.

Gods. Gods gods gods gods. I am so upset about this. I just want to track down all the doctors of have performed clitorectomies and clitoridectomies and chop of their dicks, and let them know what it feels like.



Nov. 22nd, 2003 10:48 am
allichaton: (Default)
I feel like I'm bloody falling apart, and I hate it. Several times when I was in Dallas, I had really bad headaches. I didn't think much of it, because often I was hungry, and if I ate, I felt better.

I'm still having headaches. BAD headaches. I had a headache literally all day on Thursday, from when I got up to when I went to bed. 800mg of ibuprofen didn't help. A double dose of excedrin migraine didn't help--and that stuff has ALWAYS helped me.

Friday, I didn't have a headache. But my hand and arm was fucked up beyond all belief, to the point where even holding a book open was painful. (This isn't an RSI thing. This is an injury from when I carried two large packages from the housing office back to my dorm, in one hand. Strained a tendon or something in my right hand, that's being slow to heal. It doesn't hurt all the time--mostly it's bad if I try to type when it's cold. Stupid mistake. *sigh*)

Today...no hand trouble. But the headache is back. What the FUCK??? Why can't I just be pain free, dammit?!?!
allichaton: (Default)
Done. And it's about damn time. I've only got 40 minutes left until I have to leave for classes.

Yesterday was hell, for many reasons, one of which was the massive amounts of homework I had to do. I had to:

-Read my 70 page Anthro article
-Write a 2-page reading response on the anthro article and turn it in when I went to my discussion at 2:00
-Write my HumCore essay Rough Draft, in spite of the fact that I didn't understand at ALL the chapter we're supposed to do it on
-Answer 42 study questions for reading we did two weeks ago
-Finish my essay for my Interpersonal Relationships class
-Write a journal entry for my Interpersonal Relationships class about my feelings on what we did last class.

allichaton: (Default)
Meow. Meow meow meow meow. I am now very, very upset with Shubhra.

For those of you who haven't heard me gritching in chat over the past few days--Shubhra and I have been having silent window wars. For some godsforsaken reason, she wants the window open 24/7. (This is not an exaggeration. She put a sign up next to her side that says "Please leave window open AT ALL TIMES.") I was fine with that when it was hot here, but the weather's decided that it's winter now, and it's getting freezing. And still she wants the window open constantly. Even if she's not in the bloody room, and I'm wearing every sweater I've got and huddled in my quilt and am still shivering. Yep, even then.

The night before last, she kept her window open when she went to bed. The room was freezing all night, and made it damned impossible for me to sleep. Last night when I went to bed, she wasn't in the room, so I wrote her a note and taped it on the window-opening mechanism. "Shubhra-- Please leave the window closed at night. It is very cold outside, and makes the room freezing, which makes it impossible for me to sleep." I wake up, the window's cracked a bit, but it's fine, because the room's warm and I didn't have any trouble sleeping at all.

Shubhra gets up, gets ready for class, and just before she leaves, she tells me, "Since there are two windows and two of us, I think it's fair that the right one is yours and the left one is mine, and if it's stuffy in here I should be able to have the window open." I told her, "Yeah, fine, if you're in here, but if you're not in here and I'm freezing my ass off, that's not okay, and I'm going to close the window." She said, "Yeah, but I mean at night, when we're sleeping. I think it's fair that I can have the window open if I want it."

Um...okay, maybe it's just me, but I see a huge, gaping flaw in her logic. There are two windows, sure, but it's ONE BLOODY ROOM!

And WHY is it okay for me to be freezing, but not for her to be hot? I'm trying to find a compromise that works okay for both of us, but all she cares about is keeping the damned window open. MROWR!
allichaton: (Default)
God fucking dammit. I am so goddamned fucking pissed I don't even know how to express it. It's just fucking everything It's all the people outside and in the hall who apparently think that "quiet hours" mean "Yell as loud as you BLOODY FUCKING CAN". It's the fact that I've laid in bed for the past forty-fucking-five minutes trying to get to bed, and having no damned luck of it. For a girl who falls asleep at the drop of a hat, that's a goddamned long time. And it's dirty laundry that I'm not going to air because I'm being stupid and selfish and irrational and my mind my be saying, "Fuck all that, you deserve to rant", but I'm not quite infuriated enough to have lost the last ounce of control. I was in a bad mood earlier and I didn't know why, I'm in a worse mood now and I DO know why, but I can't fucking rant about it because I don't want to be hurtful or make people feel guilty or act like my needs are more important than someone else's. But dammit, it's goddamned fucking frustrating and I don't have any fucking outlet for any of it. I can't go yell at the assholes who don't have to get up in the morning and don't care if anyone else does, I can't yell at whatever the fuck it is that's keeping me from being able to fall back asleep, I can't yell and my goddamn bad mood, and I don't want to yell about the dirty laundry. No, that's not correct. I do want to yell about it. I want to go stark raving mad about it, foaming at the mouth, ranting and raving and screaming like a fucking banshee. But I'm not going to, and that's hard, and that only makes the seething bad mood worse.

And to top the whole damned thing off, I'm having waking-nightmares about the damned movie, The Ring. Watched it several weeks ago, didn't bother me until tonight, but suddenly I was laying in bed paralyzed by fear while images of the dead bodies flashing through my mind. (If you've seen the movie, you'll understand why those images are so bone-chillingly terrifying. If you haven't...you'll have to either watch the movie or do an image search on Google. I can't--I'd have to look at the pictures to see if they're the right ones, and the memory of them is horrible enough. I don't need to be reminded about all the horrible details that I missed because I had my face buried in my quilt and only caught a flashing glimpse of it.

I'm tired, I'm pissed, I'm depressed, I'm guilty, and I'm scaring myself to bloody death. I just want to fucking cry, but I can't even do that, because I always feel worse after I cry, and if I do cry, dammit, I want someone on the phone to comfort me. But that goes back to the dirty laundry, and not acting like my needs are more important than someone else's.



Oct. 14th, 2003 07:13 pm
allichaton: (Default)
Mrowwwrrrrr. I am pissed. Snarling, hissing, foaming-at-the-mouth furious.

A little backstory. For those of you who have checked out my class schedule below, you may have noticed that on Tuesdays, I have class from 9:30 - 2:00, except for one 30-minutes break at 10:30. That is when I eat my first meal of the day, and because the commons is always switching between breakfast and lunch at that time, the only thing available to eat is cereal. That's my breakfast, and my lunch, and that's how it was today.

Shadowfax typically heads down to Pippin at 5:30. I like to go with my friends. Eating alone sucks. At 4:30 today, Dylan came to me and mentioned that he was going to be heading down to Pippin at 6:00, and insinuated that he'd like me to wait for him. I said sure, no problem. I feel sorry for the guy; just about everyone hates his guts. And I enjoy his company, when he's not being an ass.

Around 5:00, I started getting really hungry, because I ate so early. Everyone left for dinner at 5:30. In spite of the fact that I was hungry, I stuck around, so that I could head down with Dylan. By 6:00, I was starving. I headed over to Dylan's suite to grab him for dinner. His door is closed. I knock on it. No answer. His roommate comes out of a nearby room, so I ask him if Dylan's in his room. He says no, he headed out somewhere. I ask if he went to dinner. He's not sure. I say okay, thanks, and head down to Pippin.

The gang is still there. I grab my food and eat with them, and because I eat faster than most of them, I'm finished by the time they're ready to leave. We leave, I come back to my room. at 6:50, I hear Dylan talking to someone at the end of the suite. I catch him as he walks by my door, and ask him, "What happened to 6:00?" He gets deffensive, and then offensive. He was down in the study room, what's the matter? I tell him I waited for him. He says, essentially, "So what?"

I am fucking furious. I don't think Dylan realizes just how widely he is despised. None of the girls in my suite can stand him. Amy, from the third floor, enjoys being mean to him and teasing him. Karen and Erin loathe him so much that when he enters the suite, they hide in their room and lock the door. He has managed to piss off just about damn near everyone in this hall. I don't think he realizes that he has just given the only person in probably the hall, and definitely the suite, who gives a damn about him the overwhelming urge to say, "Fuck you" and spit in his face the next time she sees him.

I. Am. So. Goddamn. Fucking. Pissed.
allichaton: (Default)
The Pippin Commons is...weird. Apparently they've taken it upon themselves to try and get students to eat more vegetables. And their method of making vegetables more appetizing is, apparently, through completely negating the nutritional value. The other day we had fried okra. Today, we had fried cauliflower. o_O Man, if I want something friend, I'm going to eat *real* fried food, not fried vegetables. And if I want vegetables, chances are I don't want them dipped in batter and saturated with oil. Blechh.
allichaton: (Default)
Gods, I feel like crap. Didn't sleep well at all last night. Kept waking up, too hot, too cold, coughing up phlegm, etc. Back's all cramped up now; guess I slept on it wrong, too. Head's fuzzy, and spinning around like a bloody tilt-a-whirl. Gods, I hate being sick.

*curls up in the corner and whimpers*
allichaton: (Default)

Just finished my first HumCore homework. Goddammit, this is stuff I would have done as a freshman in high school! Questions like "Draw a diagram showing the family relationships between Antigone, Ismene, Eteocles, Polynices, Oedipus, Jocasta, Creon, Eurydice, and Haemon". And "Tell the fate of these characters at by the end of the play (alive or dead), and how they got that way." This is busy work, and one of the things I hate most in the world. I thought I was done with this when I took AP last year. AP barely had any busy work, and no matter how much I complained about the real work that I had to do, I never once had to complain about assignments that were pointless. One fucking assignment into the class, and it's busywork all over the place.

allichaton: (Default)
"Sigh" just about sums up how I feel right now...or maybe "very heavy sigh"...Sick, miserable, cramping, and having just discovered that I have apparently lost any ability I may have once had to communicate myself properly. Or maybe I've never been able to, and have just been stumbling along all my life managing through luck and good timing not to end up in too many huge blowups spawned by some misunderstanding or another...

Gods, I hate feeling this way. I'm glum and depressed and feeling very dark, and that's not me. I'm supposed to be optimistic, dammit. Where the hell has my optimism gone?

The frustrating thing is, I *know* where its gone. I *know* why I'm so fucking upset. And I can't do a damn thing about it, because every time I try to, I end up getting in an argument with the person I care about the most.

*snarls and resists the urge to start swearing a blue streak*



allichaton: (Default)

April 2009



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