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Sometimes I crave them.


I guess I should just not do my hair more often.

They tell me I have a beautiful voice, but……..

It went something like this; I’m sure of it.

I think I might be invisible.

This food will probably make you sick.

There are no sunglasses in this world that fit my face.

Ghost residue received upon walking through a ghost.

I confess, I’ve had a little trouble adjusting to this new place.  I transferred, and at first I was very gung-ho about it all.  Diligent and ambitious, you know.  However, quite a bit of social anxiety has moved in and I’m beginning to realize a few things.

Firstly, I am extremely overbearing.  I find one or two people I’m comfortable talking to and I annoy the crap out of them by relying on them for my entire social experience.  It’s almost like I’m stalking them, but I promise I’m not.  I really hope I come off as desperate instead of creepy, but I honestly don’t want to seem desperate either.

Secondly, my social “technique” attracts some people and repels others.  This is because it is very disjointed and unrefined.  Not unrefined as in rude and/or crude.  Unrefined as in good manners but poor insight to social cues.  This isn’t because I’m unaware of social norms and such; it’s more to do with feeling like an obvious failure when I attempt to follow these norms.  For example, if I say “hi, how are you?” I feel that the target of my greeting hears this: “Hello and I am dying to talk to you but pretending not to care.”  This is rarely the case, but I’m so self-conscious that I assume everything I say is either grossly misinterpreted or completely lacking in subtlety.   For this reason, I choose to be as straightforward as possible, at the calculated risk of awkwardness.  To demonstrate, I will post an actual conversation I had just today, but I will respectfully remove the other party’s name.

Me: Hello, First-name Last-name.
You seem like a nice individual and so I have said “hello.”

Him: Lol well hello

Me: I am going to go eat dinner now, but I am pleased with these few seconds of companionable conversation. 🙂


That was the end of the conversation.  This kind of approach amuses some people, and these are the people who sometimes become my friends.  The other people do not become my friends, and only they know what they think about my approach.  I can only assume they are weirded out.  Oh well.  Anyhow, this is why I don’t have friends.
But now I’m thinking about focusing more on school and less on friends.  The outcome will probably be the same, since the people I would befriend likely don’t mind me being diligent as opposed to over-bearing, and the people whom I would not befriend will continue not to have been befriended.
So, school, then.  Practice more fervently, let my friendships take care of themselves because I obviously can’t help them.

The most obvious problem with my career is that it doesn’t exist.  Okay, obviously being a student counts as work, but I hardly want to do it my whole life.  Don’t get me wrong- I never want to stop learning; I just want what anyone wants: successful, gainful employment in a field wherein I feel competent and accomplished.

The problem lies in that I’ve never been exactly sure what field that is.  All I’ve ever known for certain is that I wanted to be awesome.  It only occurred to me much later in life (I’m 20, so not THAT much later) that I had to be awesome at something.  Nobody really asked me what I wanted to be, except teachers who wanted me to draw pictures, and I don’t recall any particular interests being instilled for most of my childhood.  If my parents had talked to me about my career at that age, I think it might have gone something like this:

And it’s true.  Throughout my life I have only consistently cared about the things that go into my mouth.  Everything else has been just a phase.  Candy’s the only thing that’s lasted.  So, naturally, I guess my parents are pleased that I’ve decided on music instead of candy.  In fact, now that I think about it, paying for ten years of piano lessons was probably that “interest being instilled” I didn’t recall in the last paragraph.  Anyhow, feeling at home at the piano has definitely contributed to my “Competent and Accomplished” fantasy.  If that’s what they were doing, I have to say they did a good job because if I’d known their intentions I probably wouldn’t have been interested.  Thanks, mom and dad. 🙂

I got a little curious after leaving my blog untouched for so long and decided to google my username.  I was sad to discover that there are others with my username, and even a band by the same name.  I was, however, pleased to come across this:

The Bear of Bad News

Now, I know grammar is a sticky point for some people, so I’m not going to mock this person.  I myself accidentally spelled “rhetoric” as “rederic” just earlier this evening.  I am, however, unable to resist laughing at the mental image it produced.

Those of you who ever took any basic music lessons will get that reference, I’m sure.  The rest of you can google Go Tell Aunt Rhodie.