Monday, March 31, 2014

I realized the other day that I am the sum of my experiences

I realized that other people probably have completely normal middle school experiences. Middle school always sticks out for me as an experience that has shaped me, probably because it sticks out for me as such a glaring example of why I feel so horribly guilty when I am the least bit mean to other people unfairly, and why I try and be kind to everyone and be cute and sunny.

I just want to analyze the whole experience every time. So I'll start with elementary school- grade five, just before I had to leave a school I loved and go to middle school. I was extremely popular and I honestly have no idea why- I had lots of friends and everyone wanted me to sit at their desk at lunch and I think at one point we made a schedule?? I might have let the power go to my head a couple of times, but then again, I was 10. Even then there was some indication to me that I wasn't quite one of the perfect pretty popular girls, but they were never mean to me. No one was ever directly mean to me, and if they were, it was minor, not an ongoing thing, and was resolved quickly. I have wonderful memories of elementary school.

Sixth grade wasn't so bad, I suppose, except that I was probably used to being popular and well liked by everyone. I made friends, and they were good people- they were insanely kind to me even when I was probably kind of mean and bitchy. I'm not sure what it was about middle school, but it made me really nasty. I noticed that when I finally got to ninth grade and met people who I am still friends with now, and I don't know if they had the same experience or not but suddenly having friends meant I just had to be nice and so I adjusted. I said some really mean things in ninth grade- trust me. I'd like to think I've come a looong way since I was 12.

Anyway, seventh grade I think was the worst year. I became absolutely head-over-heels infatuated with a boy for absolutely no good reason. He got shitty grades, was popular so he never had to worry about anything, good looking, and absolutely horrible to me. In the beginning, we just had to sit next to each other, and I didn't think much of it. He and the girl behind him (an ordinary, makeup wearing, fully developed and yet somehow not horribly mean girl) and I would talk sometimes about stuff, and everything was okay. I wasn't a total loser- I definitely wasn't up there with the cool kids, mostly because of my extreme lack of athletic abilities, but people hadn't been very mean. He said something the week before thanksgiving weekend. My family went out to our shared cabin that weekend, and I distinctly remember making the decision to like him on the way there, curled up under a blanket and practically backwards in my seat in the dark. I can't remember why anymore, and if I had to pick one decision in my life that I would do over, it would absolutely be that one. I would go back, shake myself furiously, and shout "DON'T FUCKING DO IT." I don't know how that would have affected the rest of my life- pretty sure my nickname wouldn't exist- but I'm sure it probably would have been better.

Of course it wasn't horribly intense at first- it was just a stupid little crush, which was fine and manageable, but over time it grew into something very big and scary (when I think back on it now). I tried so hard. Although when reading my old journals, I'm impressed at how positive I was. I made a big deal out of middle school issues like sports days and fundraisers, cared about things, had pride for the school, etc. I did everything they asked me to. I tried in gym class- really, I did. I made other friends. I let the boys jump over me in gym class when we all had to sit in our "squads" (neat lines of five or six that we sat in while the gym teacher introduced the class). Of course my gym strip was... decidedly not cool, since I wasn't about to go buy cool gym clothes I would never, ever use. I still danced at that point so I was already athletic in some way, so it didn't matter.

I don't even know how it got so out of control. Of course, being the person I was at 12, somehow I accidentally let the whole fucking seventh grade know about who I liked, and from that point on, I was not shown any mercy. Looking back now I can say I think the motive for his being so horrible to me was trying to drive me away. I made him look really uncool; I'm sure his friends teased him about the fact that I had such a huge, glaring crush on him and it was dragging down his reputation. Knowing that I made his life in any way more difficult is incredibly satisfying. Believe me, he fucking deserved it. And a lot more than that, too.

The list of names he called me is not actually that long- in fact, he began calling me "swegan" which of course my friends caught onto and then started calling me in front of him, so he realized that his nickname had caught on (which, unfortunately, made him pleased with himself). I went through other nicknames, the most notable of which were "melchy" (a play on my last name, really annoying but it never caught on) and "smeagol", which was just mean. He is also definitely on the record as calling me ugly, a fucking bitch, and faggot, and I'm not even sure why I remember these things if they hurt so much, but I feel some compulsive need to not forget all the vitriol he flung at me for the crime of liking him.

I think everything came to a head in the seventh grade dodgeball incident. That was by far the worst thing, in my memory. 12 year old me did a pretty good job of describing it in my journal, so I'll just put that here. I won't change his name because honestly I think he deserves any small amount of public shame he gets here, even if it's stupid and petty to wish this on someone who did this seven fucking years ago. (all other names will be altered in some small way).

~ From my journal, May 10, 2008
ughhhh. i’ll tell the story. even though i don’t like telling it.
second period on friday we had fitness friday, right? and so after all the other groups left it was mr. [F]’s group (the one i’m in) and mr. [U]’s group (the one the ugly jerk and his TWIN brother and other friend are in) were left, so we played probably the worst game ever invented because it singles people out and makes them embarrassed.
loser dodgeball.
it’s just like regular dodgeball, if you get hit you’re out, and then everytime your team hits a mat on the opposite side one person gets out. but if you get hit with the green dodgeball, you have to wear the PLC ([school name] loser crown!) i mean, come on!
just hearing we were playing dodgeball gave away the fact that the jerk and his “goons” (i like to refer to them as that) were going to gang up on me. and they did. they hit me once, that wasn’t COMPLETELY horrible, but they did laugh at me and boy, do they throw way too hard! of course after i got out i watched steve try to hit me and hit [C] on the back and then later [C] hit steve on the back of the head. i enjoyed seeing THAT.
then he hit me a second time- HARD on the hand. my fingers were sore until lunch, when we went home! and i had to hold my hand because it was sore and red, and then at the end of the day, when everyone’s going out to the bus, he MOCKS me! he puts this sarcastic crybaby look on his face, holds his hand, and imitates me! oooooooooooo,  that was annoying. not to mention EMBARRASSING! right in front of everyone! and then he was like “oh, smegal, did we hurt your feelings?” and then I screamed right out loud “YOU’RE SUCH A JERK!”

Vince, bless her soul, said she wanted to "punch him" when I copied and pasted that into skype, and it was so awesome. I still want to punch him. I think I'll probably want to punch him for the rest of my life. I know they say that you should be the bigger person and forgive your enemy and whatnot, but I can't forgive him. Honestly, I go through my life not thinking about seventh grade 98% of the time, and I'm completely fine and have managed to get over most of the residual hurt. (On a cruelly ironic note, the song that just came on on the songza playlist I'm listening to is "Obsessed with me" by Mariah Carey and given what I'm thinking about right now, this song is decidedly not something I want to hear). But then sometimes I hear something about bullying, or I read something about being 12, or I watch youtube videos of girls doing makeup just for kicks and come across one of a 12 year old girl and become so curious and somewhat jealous that she is so normal when I couldn't be at that age.

At the time, I was bizarrely positive about everything, like I said. I was trying so hard to pretend my life was fine, and certain parts of it were. I was certainly doing well in school, and my teachers liked me, and I had some friends (some who were not exactly the most loyal people in the world, but I was never severely betrayed by them). I think the biggest thing was that at the time, when I was ever engaged with by the popular kids, I always assumed they were treating me as an equal, because that's how I viewed myself. That when they had serious conversations with me that always had a hint of teasing that I chose not to care about, they weren't talking down to me. Looking back, that's the only way I can see the experience. I can see the whole thing from a 3rd person point of view, can see me sitting in my desk, extremely short, mistaken for a 3rd grader quite easily, with hair down to my waist and fledgling bangs I didn't know how to work with, as they would talk to me and appear to be taking me seriously. I remember quite clearly a conversation with his twin brother, who was promising me that he'd talk to Steve for me. When I remember the incident in the light of now, there's other people watching in, either entertained or confused as to why I'm bothering to pay attention to one of the popular kids. I'm not sure if that's my memory being tricky or not, but I think at least some small part of it must be the truth.

I also remember several instances of light teasing in the beginning of seventh grade that could have easily been interpreted by a naive swegan as people being friendly, just friendly teasing, rather than choosing to tease me because they knew I liked the attention and would react to them; now my view of it is that they must have teased me because I was a loser who was easy to rile up. It doesn't excuse their behaviour in any way, not at all, but that's what I think their logic was.

I feel really, really, really pathetic still being hurt about all of this, especially since it wasn't really that bad in the grand scheme of bullying that kids deal with. It still makes me shake- I have a physical response to reading old journal entries from middle school sometimes.

Sometimes I just think that all I really want is for them to apologize. I know it happened 6 and 7 years ago, I know we were all stupid then, but I really just want them to say "I'm sorry about middle school" or "I'm sorry we were so shitty to you" or "I'm sorry we were so mean" or even just "I'm sorry." I feel like that might give me some kind of closure. My only other current option is just continuing to live my life out as I am and enjoying it (as I am) and just wait for this to all fade away. I'm really, really, really, REALLY fucking done with caring about middle school and I can't let it go. I'm afraid it's because I like being a victim or something, or that I want special attention. For christ's sake, middle school was so fucking long ago and we were all stupid and my life has gone nowhere but up from there and I even still have some form of positive relationship with a favourite teacher FROM middle school and why is this even a big deal anymore, it doesn't matter, none of it matters! I hardly cared then, given my apparent positivity. The dodgeball incident was definitely the worst of anything, and that was like exactly 7 years ago come May (the journal entry is dated). That's practically a decade. I have had a decade to be over this.

Seriously, I want to analyze this, but at the same time, I feel like such a gigantic whiner. Other kids have it way, way worse than I did.

Honestly, though, I am putting this post up for 1 part sympathy and 100 parts airing my thoughts. I feel a little more done with everything every time I post about it. That's a good sign, I'd say.

In completely unrelated news, I found a tea that I like! It's jasmine green tea. And I have come into possession of  a whole tin of it via the kindness of strangers, which is a story for another time. For right now, I have to go to bed. I have class tomorrow, y'know.

yer pal,

I have also decided that that name is no longer associated with him. So many of my friends have been the only ones to call me that now for so long that it's a term of endearment now. It's a friendly nickname, a play on my name and the word "swag" or something. It's mine now. I have taken it and reappropriated it. Deal with it.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

The day I decided to be good at math

I can't actually remember the actual day I decided to stop saying "I'm bad at math" or "I'm not good at math" or answering "No" when people asked me if I was good at math. I think it was somewhere around the time when I was trying to decide whether or not to do the highest level of math offered in the province with an "i" tacked onto the end for "IB." This was in grade 11, just before writing my diploma exam for math (there was a class offered after the diploma exam class that was essentially basic calc). I was creating a pro-and-con list (something I did a lot in high school- and even when trying to decide which high school to go to) in one of the blank pages of my math workbook, and my friends were sitting around me and trying to help me decide. Two of my friends, both guys, insisted on taking the book and both wrote in the "pro" column that I should do it because I could, or something along those lines, and that was really sweet- these guys were both really good at math and got much better grades than I did with a lot less effort.

Our four desks were in a clump in front of the teacher's desk at the back of the room, and eventually I went to ask her what she thought, or maybe it was just her overhearing. She got almost angry that I was even considering dropping out of IB math- and she said "No, you should do it." And when I asked why, she said "Because you're smart enough to do it."

I think that was really the deciding factor that pushed me over the line. That math teacher was one of the best math teachers I've ever had in my life, and I am so grateful I had her to help me understand math and make me like it. And I'm very, very glad that she insisted upon me doing that math class in IB, because if I hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to complete my IB diploma and that is something I am very, very glad I did.

But the interesting thing was that I did much better in that "advanced" math class than I had done in my grade 11 level math IB class (which I had completed in grade 10- we did math very quickly due to scheduling issues in my high school if we were in the IB program). And I actually really liked the subject material- I found it easy to follow, and of course that same amazing teacher was right there at the back of the room whenever I needed help on a question, or I could always ask Lucy, who sat next to me (fun fact: Lucy and I became friends after ending up sitting next to each other in math class), or the guys behind me.

Last semester, I took a math course, which was essentially just high school calc repeated. I finished the class with an A- and got a 92 on the midterm. This semester, I am taking the next class up (Like, if the class I took last semester was calc 1, this is calc 2) and I'm actually feeling okay about it. I mean, I still struggle with the assignments because webassign gives really horrible questions and the answers are always wrong and just UGH I REALLY HATE WEBASSIGN OKAY, but there's help available and in the last few assignments I've found that I'm actually figuring out a lot of the problems on my own, and finding no inconsistencies when I look back (or finding little ones and fixing them). That's really nice. It's actually really, really, really great when I can solve a math problem and have it be right and know that I did that on my own. And I think telling myself that I'm good at math might be part of that.

There's probably something to the idea that how you think about something affects how you experience it. If I kept telling myself I was bad at math, the next logical step would be for me to give up because I'm never going to get the answer because I'm bad at math. But if I tell myself "You are good at math" (though strangely I am very bad at helping other people with different questions from calc 1), then when I get a problem wrong it's just a matter of me not remembering something, or not being sure where to look, or having a brief mind blank and not realizing that there's a very simple way to solve the question. To be fair, there's a LOT to remember with rules of integration, so it's not surprising that I forget stuff. But I'm getting it. I can follow along in class, everything makes sense in class, and it's wonderful. I really love calculus. It just makes so much sense. It's like solving puzzles- and I'm not usually the type of person who likes solving puzzles.

Does that mean I want to take more calculus? Well, I'm not really sure, given that I don't think I can minor in calculus or anything- only math, and there are several other areas of math that just look so mind-bogglingly horrible that I don't even want to get into them (even though I have to take statistics as a prereq for some higher level ecology courses, and stats are not always fun, and that class involves probability, and probability is the one area of math that I just cannot grasp- perhaps I should take the same approach as I did to calculus and tell myself I'm not bad at it, but the reality is, I'm not good at probability calculations, and frankly, I don't really want to be. Statistics themselves I think will be okay- just not the goddamned probability). So perhaps I will learn more calc in the future. I don't know. All I know is that's not really what I want to major or minor in right now.

In other news, I have recently learned that when women go into STEM fields, they often go into biology or psychology. Given that Carina has expressed a desire to change her major to psych and I'm very vehement about majoring in bio, I can't help but find that a little ironic. I always feel guilty when I hear statistics like this, too, but then again, I'm not responsible for those statistics. I just happen to fit them. And it's probably better that I pursue a degree in bio, a subject I really love and am really passionate about, because I'll do better in it- I'll enjoy my work more and probably be more motivated to work hard.

Earlier today Ptarckas also asked why I was interested in taking Ecology courses if stats was a prereq and I was pretty sure I wasn't going to enjoy stats- if you don't like the prereq, why take the class it's required for? Of course that logic doesn't really work all the time- I'm not really enjoying my introduction to cell biology type course (it's just so boring and slow and it's like high school but in horribly boring detail and I just don't care and UGH), but I still want to major in bio. I fell asleep all the time in the introduction to ecology type course last semester (okay, well, not fell asleep, but you know those classes where you just get really bored and you get drowsy and... this semester, that's chem for me, despite the fact that I have an excellent prof), but my memory of it is still one of enjoyment. I really liked that course and the labs in it were awesome, too. And guess what, I finished that class with the same grade as calc 1.

And then things like Ochem, which nobody likes, are prereqs for biochem and human physiology, which seem to be more popular.

So sure, perhaps I was wrong about "the 'astro' part of astrophysics will make the physics part bearable" (nothing can make 12 online assignments and 13 online quizzes bearable), but I still think that I'll enjoy bio despite the fact that stats are embedded in it. It's just in the nature of the course. Ha. Nature. Biology. I'm so funny.

Anyway, I have a very bad paper I wrote that I have to edit (eek, and I have to figure out how to cite all my sources soon) and some reading to do.

yer pal,
swegan :)

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

You know what really got me though

When writing my bio final, I noticed a guy in the room also writing a final who had like, the greatest shoulders of all time. The rest of him was pretty lanky/average, but those shoulders, man. Unf. They were gorgeous. Of course, I told my mom this later, and her response was essentially to ask if I'd talked to him. I said, no, mom, I was preparing to write a final in like 2 minutes, and he was on the other side of the room, and literally everyone else was sitting down. And she was like oh well in the future if that happens you should just go say hi and get his number or something. And I was like great, okay mom, except I'M KIND OF IN A MONOGAMOUS RELATIONSHIP HERE. I'm not going to go asking for guy's numbers! Besides, he was a completely normal guy, one that girls might think of as averagely cute, and it seems those are not the kind of guys I attract. That isn't to say that I attract ugly guys- Ptarckas is like the cutest boy ever- but more that ... I dunno, I feel like I attract really nerdy boys. Like REALLY nerdy boys. Which is probably because I myself am a nerd, but I'm starting to feel like this is what the rest of my life is going to look like, which honestly is fine by me but my parents (and especially my mother) I can tell won't approve.

Perhaps that's part of life, is accepting that never will I date some considered-cute-by-most-girls guy who has a perfect complexion and is pre-med or pre-law or pre-something impressive. I don't know. I don't know what my parents want. I don't know how come my mom gave me the same speech about things-might-fizzle-out-over-the-summer-dear speech that she gave me about Nerd when I was dating him, and she used that same disapproving tone of voice when Ptarckas is really sweet and nice and intelligent and you know what you can hold people up to standards of what you should have accomplished by the time you're 22 all you want but honest to god just let people live their lives. It's like every guy I date now has the potential to be someone I'll get married to, and they're convinced it has to be someone with a good job who can support me and I'm like CHRIST YOU GUYS I'M 18 OKAY I AM NOT LOOKING FOR A HUSBAND. Maybe it worked for my mom to go on dates and then not really date anyone unless she saw a real potential for a future with them, fine, but I wish they could be supportive of this relationship. I'm not asking them to act like it's going to last forever- heaven knows I'm not.... in all likelihood, it won't, and I will probably have many more relationships (or just a few more, who knows) but as of right now this relationship is of an indefinite length so I'm just going to enjoy it for now and see where things go. I'm just asking for them to be happy that I'm happy and that I'm being treated well. That's all.

The way Ptarckas put it when I brought this up with him was "They don't want you to end up with a loser." Which I didn't like, because that implies that Ptarckas is a loser, and I'm some kind of... it's like that whole reacher/settler episode on how i met your mother, about how in every relationship one person is reaching up to be with someone in a relationship and the other person is settling for them, which is a stupid idea. My parents keep painting me as the settler, which is flattering, sure, but like I said, the whole concept is crap. I know they just want the best for me, that they want some totally amazing guy (or girl, if I changed my mind- thankfully my parents are not closed-minded bigots) who is like perfect in every way and has 0 flaws and a super good career and is a successful go-getter and... like does anyone like that even exist?

I worry about Ptarckas in this, too. I know how nice it is that his mother (from my interpretation of our interactions) really likes me and approves of me and thinks I'm a good person for him to be dating, and I know how sucky it would be to not have that approval. My parents like Ptarckas and think he's a smart, respectful, kind boy, but it still feels to me like they don't like that he's undecided about what he wants to do with his life. My opinion is that that doesn't really affect me right now. Just... I don't know.

I just want my parents to be happy about this. I'm 18 and in university and getting good grades and making friends and have a boyfriend who makes me very happy and treats me incredibly decently.... ugh. Parents. If I have kids, I'll probably do the same thing, I know, but it's still annoying.

yer pal,

I hate it when people I love are sad

I mean I think everyone hates it, but so what, I'm writing a post on it.

I think the worst though is when they're just sad and they don't know why, and all you want is to make them not sad and you would do absolutely anything for them to be happy again because you just love them so much that it becomes important to you that they are happy and it's the most frustrating thing in the world when nothing you can do can make them feel okay.

This is why I feel so guilty about being a bad friend. I would be sad too if one of my friends slipped away. I just hate it when my friends are sad. I love my friends. I love my family. I hate it when people around me are sad and I can't do anything.

It's almost like it would be better if it was something I had done, that then I could apologize or make it up to them or stop doing it so they would be not sad, so that they wouldn't have to cry on my shoulder and tell me they don't know why they are sad, they just are. I've been there too, I've had those days, when everything just sucks for absolutely no reason at all, and my friends have always been there for me.

Sometimes it feels like I feel everything too much, especially when this happens. Logically there isn't much that me crying about someone I love being sad will do, but it happens anyway, and then my mom reminds me that those problems aren't mine. Of course they aren't, I say, and that's the problem. They belong to someone I care about and I don't want them to have problems.

It feels kind of like by admitting that these things really get me down, I'm trying to make myself look good. I'm not. I mean, if it comes off that way, great, but I am not the one who needs that at the moment.

I just

I'm so frustrated. I feel so guilty about my life sometimes. Of course that sounds bad, too. Like sometimes I feel like I'm the lucky one all the damn time, and how is that fair, and honestly shouldn't everyone get a turn.

Perhaps this is all part of some secret subconscious agenda I have where I want to appear warm and sunny and empathetic. I have no idea. All I know is that I really, really hate it when people I love are sad, and it makes me act really irrationally. Especially if someone I love is sad because someone else hurt them. Though there's nothing I can reasonably do in the way of being scary, there have been times in the past when I have offered to people that I would cut all ties with whoever hurt them, forgo all civility towards them, etc. That seems to be about all I can do. Well, that and I screamed at my mom one time when my sister was upset because she had been on the phone doing an assignment or something, and mom had thought that she was just talking to friends, and of course she got in a whole bunch of trouble, and so I tried to go into the kitchen and plead her case with mom and mom just said "just stay out of it, it's not your problem" and when I stormed off, angry because she wasn't listening, she said something along the lines of "why are you doing this" or "you don't need to do this" I turned around and yelled "She's my sister. It's just what I do." and I think that's one of the truest things I've ever said in my life.

Maybe it's something to do with being a big sister, or the way I was always praised for being nice and polite to people as a kid, or how the way I seem to be able to make friends and not enemies is that I'm just nice on autopilot. That says nothing about how good of a person I am- I'm not really one to judge- but being polite automatically I think is just something that's ingrained into me because of manners, because I'm a girl, and because I'm Canadian or something, I don't know.

Anyway. Empathy won't help me get my homework done.

yer pal,

Sunday, March 9, 2014

Last night I had a dream

My family went to Australia, I think. It was odd because there weren't any bugs or anything, but I remember standing on a balcony in a big red sweater and feeling the sun and the wind on my face as I looked at the ocean.

I miss the sun. I know that there's good in every season, and that winter certainly has its virtues, but the problem with winter is it always lasts too long. It's possible to have too much of a good thing, and up North, that's especially true.

But I look out my window today and I see the snow melting. Given, we are having a bit of a warm spell this week, but it's still nice to see. More and more lately I walk outside and smell spring, which is odd because spring won't come until I've moved back home.

I just miss summer. I miss the sun. I miss wearing shorts and coming inside after a day spent outside and feeling how my whole body seems to have kept some sunlight for itself; I feel warm, and for once I radiate heat. I miss how my hair feels when it dries after going swimming outside, how it's all dry and crispy and smells like lakewater. I miss the smell of sunscreen and bugspray, I miss my sister and I nervously wiping our bikes clean of cobwebs after being stored in the shed all year. I miss s'mores, I miss the cooking we do outside. I miss the sound of flip-flops on pavement. I miss the summer clothes I can wear when the temperature outside isn't enough to kill me without a jacket. I miss wearing sundresses and feeling hella cute. I miss the food, too. I miss the fruit, the fancy costco quinoa salads, the cheese and crackers, the lemonade we make frozen from concentrate. I miss ice cream, god, do I ever miss ice cream on a hot day. I miss having to wear sunglasses. I miss driving with the windows down when I pick up my sister from school. I even miss the rainy days, the days when the sky is gray and it's perfect for staying outside... or going outside because it's still not that cold. I miss the sometimes-thunderstorms. I don't miss the big ones, the ones that go on for weeks and destroy homes and cities and lives. But I do miss the thunder that accompanied them, so strong it would shake the house. I miss watching thunderstorms. I miss going the mall without having to bring a big heavy winter coat along with me. I miss driving with my friends and singing along to loud music. I miss driving by myself and listening to loud music. I miss singing along, very badly, but joyously, by myself.

Most of all what I miss, though, is the sun. I love lying in the sun... albeit, my strong fear of wasps does sometimes get in the way. I miss being in the backyard and sitting there until I felt too hot and had to go inside to the overly air-conditioned recesses of the house. I miss biking to the lake and sitting in the grass where there was just enough sun to warm me without getting overly hot. I miss how warm my steering wheel and seat would get when I forgot to park in the shade. I miss warming up after getting in the lake, because the lake is always too cold, but at the same time, I remember how refreshing it is to be in the cold lake when the sun is particularly bad.

I just really miss summer today. Of course, currently that's problematic as well, since I have to maintain a long distance relationship this summer (presuming Ptarckas and I don't break up before summer starts, which honestly does not seem likely).

I think I also miss the lack of homework, which, let's be honest, is probably what every university student feels like. But, in the meantime, I should get back to writing my papers. Er, rather, writing one, and stressing until I come up with an idea for the other one.

yer pal,
swegan :)