At least it's Friday. I'm currently in Rhodes-Robinson 142, trying to close it down. Another guy just walked in and asked if I was closing; I said, "I'm trying to," and he came in anyway and is now working across from me. Seriously, who are these people? I shouldn't complain, though, as I was late for work again and didn't get caught. My girlfriend's needs were more important to me than the computer lab's at four o'clock, though, so I feel no compunction. Until my boss reads this, that is, and my job is on the line. It's doubtful, though.
Speaking of Brian, he's definitely going with me and Chris to The Wrestling Season in less than an hour. This was a spur-of-the-moment decision; I was going to wait until Sunday, but I want to see it now, especially since Chris will be with me, and I can always go again with other friends (and Marshall's mother and brother!) on Sunday. You all know how much I love wrestling.
Something really weird just happened, which is indicative of a weird trend I've been picking up on lately. I was closing down a lab and a man came in and made no move to get on a computer. I told him sorry, the lab was closed, and he said, "Look at this article my friend just sent me over in that lab." And before I could even look at it, he started telling me about it, this S&M situation that had gone awry, where lines of consent had clearly been crossed, and how the courts were handling it. And he handed it to me and watched me read it, and I was so sketched-out at this point, and the descriptions in the article were awful, and he kept watching me, and I finally pretended to finish and was like, "Ooh, that's terrible; I need to go close seven other labs now." And the guy started talking about how sometimes, consent isn't a really clear thing at all. And I finally got out of there and just felt exhausted, you know? Like the night Grace gave me a ride to the Willage and wanted to discuss whether I knew any girls who had been raped while they were students at UNCA, and went on and on about how dangerous this world is, how much rape can fuck with the victim, and I was finally like, "I really dislike using the word 'victim;' it's really disempowering to someone who has already been violated, yeah?" and she still went on after that.
Last night, I had to use the lobby bathroom and was so anxious, checking the room out, taking one leg out of my jeans, just in case, listening so hard for any sound. I threw up, and when I walked out, I thought someone was there and had a panic attack. Of course, it was a television. Of course, I was in a fucking television lounge. I have watched that television before. What the fuck is my problem? And the nightmares continue. I cannot be this messy for this long. I have a counseling appointment on Monday, and thankfully, Anne Ponder hasn't tried to fire my therapist yet. Until then, I'm going to try to hide out for as much as possible, to stay alone and to get my work done. I'm already slipping, and lucky my professors either haven't noticed or aren't calling me out on it.
This morning, in Poetics, I was clearly a mess, writing pissed-off notes to myself instead of focusing on Chess's lecture, and Maggie wrote me a note saying, "I think you're amazing, Jen." I cried, of course. You people are too good to me.
I wish Sal was back here, that I had my attack kitten back and could curl up with him, could wake in the night to find him biting at my toes. I wish I had time to read MacNolia, or the latest issue of Vanity Fair, and I wish this migraine would go away so I could write. I wish my little brother were coming to visit, and I wish I'd really get sick, almost, so I'd have an excuse to just fucking stop everything that wasn't absolutely necessary. I don't want that, I know, but I'm starting to feel really unhinged. Which is why I'm blogging in RR 142 when I need to get down to 006. Right.
I'll be better next time I post. My apologies for Angstfest 2007 starting up before we've even hit March.
Speaking of Brian, he's definitely going with me and Chris to The Wrestling Season in less than an hour. This was a spur-of-the-moment decision; I was going to wait until Sunday, but I want to see it now, especially since Chris will be with me, and I can always go again with other friends (and Marshall's mother and brother!) on Sunday. You all know how much I love wrestling.
Something really weird just happened, which is indicative of a weird trend I've been picking up on lately. I was closing down a lab and a man came in and made no move to get on a computer. I told him sorry, the lab was closed, and he said, "Look at this article my friend just sent me over in that lab." And before I could even look at it, he started telling me about it, this S&M situation that had gone awry, where lines of consent had clearly been crossed, and how the courts were handling it. And he handed it to me and watched me read it, and I was so sketched-out at this point, and the descriptions in the article were awful, and he kept watching me, and I finally pretended to finish and was like, "Ooh, that's terrible; I need to go close seven other labs now." And the guy started talking about how sometimes, consent isn't a really clear thing at all. And I finally got out of there and just felt exhausted, you know? Like the night Grace gave me a ride to the Willage and wanted to discuss whether I knew any girls who had been raped while they were students at UNCA, and went on and on about how dangerous this world is, how much rape can fuck with the victim, and I was finally like, "I really dislike using the word 'victim;' it's really disempowering to someone who has already been violated, yeah?" and she still went on after that.
Last night, I had to use the lobby bathroom and was so anxious, checking the room out, taking one leg out of my jeans, just in case, listening so hard for any sound. I threw up, and when I walked out, I thought someone was there and had a panic attack. Of course, it was a television. Of course, I was in a fucking television lounge. I have watched that television before. What the fuck is my problem? And the nightmares continue. I cannot be this messy for this long. I have a counseling appointment on Monday, and thankfully, Anne Ponder hasn't tried to fire my therapist yet. Until then, I'm going to try to hide out for as much as possible, to stay alone and to get my work done. I'm already slipping, and lucky my professors either haven't noticed or aren't calling me out on it.
This morning, in Poetics, I was clearly a mess, writing pissed-off notes to myself instead of focusing on Chess's lecture, and Maggie wrote me a note saying, "I think you're amazing, Jen." I cried, of course. You people are too good to me.
I wish Sal was back here, that I had my attack kitten back and could curl up with him, could wake in the night to find him biting at my toes. I wish I had time to read MacNolia, or the latest issue of Vanity Fair, and I wish this migraine would go away so I could write. I wish my little brother were coming to visit, and I wish I'd really get sick, almost, so I'd have an excuse to just fucking stop everything that wasn't absolutely necessary. I don't want that, I know, but I'm starting to feel really unhinged. Which is why I'm blogging in RR 142 when I need to get down to 006. Right.
I'll be better next time I post. My apologies for Angstfest 2007 starting up before we've even hit March.
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