Another Birthday

Just to be clear, I am here for the sole purpose of whining.

I realize this is an absolutely abhorrent thing to do. That said, my gums are killing me, and my stomach hurts, and I'm lonely. And I'm 19, which is apparently exciting or something.

I'm getting tired of watching TV. It's too passive. I've tried to do homework, but my brain is too foggy for physics (can't even do the first problem for either class), and differential equations only has an incomplete problem set out, and I really don't feel like listening to my linear algebra teacher talk anymore, even if it is at 7x the speed on my computer.

I refuse to believe that VLC is actually multiplying the speed by 7, though. Because there is no way he actually talks that slow...right? I mean, I sit in class, and it feels too slow, but I really didn't think it was that too slow, if I'm making any sense at all.

Anyways, I've already plowed through an entire season of Doctor Who (like, actually plowed through. Watched all but the first three episodes in one day. I am actually starting to scare myself).

I just want to read, or do something, but my entire head feels tight and achy and why did I say that I had to get my wisdom teeth out, again? Seriously, I was in far less pain before, this is entirely unnecessary. Can we put them back in? Please?

I'm approaching my first finals here at AIS. I suppose this should be a time to reflect on my first semester, though I suspect I'll have an easier time doing so after said finals are over.

Some initial thoughts, though:

• I didn't have a good handle coming in on where I stood in relation to the rest of AIS's population (this is the problem with comparing myself to frosh from RSI and my dorm). If I put in a quantity of work less than or equal to the amount of work I put in during high school, I emerge with passing grades. That said, if I actually were to work--if I actually put in the effort--I am fully capable of doing quite well. I'll approach next semester with this attitude from the start, instead of realizing it near the end, when it's already too late (alternately, will work harder when grades actually count).
• I spend a lot of time with Jason. Steadily more time as the semester has progressed, and particularly more time now that we hauled a second bed into his room and sleeping there is actually comfy. I'm not sure if this (the time spending, I mean, not the bed. The bed is great) is a good thing. On the one hand, being with him makes me happy, and I think he's a good influence--he encourages me to let loose a little more than I otherwise would, and he presses me to work harder. On the other hand, is spending so much time with him making me miss out on the whole college experience? I don't know, but then, how could I know about what I don't have?

I'm happy, though, like I said. So, so happy.

The boy in question, though, is rather annoyed with me at the moment. We played in a live-action role playing game last night that was 1920s themed. I was a flapper, he was a jazz musician. He was madly in love with me, I was a lesbian involved in a sordid affair with the wife of Hollywood's biggest star. Needless to say, I didn't pay much attention to him until I realized I desperately needed money, but then it turned out he needed money too, so I got him to assist me in murdering the woman he owed money to (she had killed my father long, long ago). Then I went shrieking off to the rest of the party, framing him in the process. It was, overall, quite awful of me. It worked, though, and I accomplished two of my objectives--I got Jason's character to stop following me around, and I avenged my father's death (well, suspected murder--I wasn't able to get enough money together to fund a full-on investigation. He ended up shooting me as he was dragged out of the club (one of my former whores had shown up and framed poor Jason for killing a mob boss), and I died quite tragically. It was really awesome, in my opinion, but he was rather annoyed.

The 18.02 tests are getting harder--this one took me 25 minutes instead of 15. Someone else finished at the same time I did (or finished sooner and checked their work) and came down to hand it in. The proctor blinked at him confusedly and said "you're done!?!" Sound carries pretty well in the room, and for some reason people thought it was hilariously funny that someone could finish so fast (at least, that's the impression I've gotten). I'm beginning to lose faith in my peers. About five minutes later, someone else got up, handed his test over and said "That's it! It really is! I'm calling my father today and dropping the hell out of this school." He then chucked his writing utensils into the door and stormed out amid mild chuckling (we are apparently not the most sympathetic sort). It was, overall, quite dramatic. I handed mine in a couple of minutes later. The proctor blinked at me, too (I, erm, may have arrived slightly late) but, wisely, chose not to comment.

Quality stuff, that.

In other news, I failed my first test two days ago (it was, of course, not in 18.02). I'm pretty sure it gave me the kick in the ass I needed to snap out of my complacency, at least as far as 3.091 goes. I've been working on chem round the clock, and I've gotten through nearly a month of material in two days. I haven't started the practice tests yet (I get to take a makeup exam on Monday). And I have to write an 8 page paper for Tuesday (I've started the research phase, and I have a general idea of what I want to write, but that's it). And a physics pset for Tuesday, which I also haven't made progress in.

But it's okay. Life is good. Math is fun, physics is interesting, and next semester I'm taking nothing but math, physics, and an extremely non-intensive HASS class.

I look forward to it. The fact that the physics classes are likely to be quite difficult is irrelevant.

Things I have done today:

I successfully woke up in time for my chem recitation. Well, kind of. I set an alarm for 9:15, took my medication, considered showering, then ended up going back to sleep for half an hour. But I was actually on time, so all is well.

I worked out what grades I need to get on my finals...I should stop doing work. I should stop doing work now. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm actually capable of ceasing to work entirely, but I really ought to get my UROP app out.

I finished my calculus pset. I wrote a small quantity of equations on my review sheet for my chem test tomorrow, but I'm intending to get done as much of it as I can in 20 minutes, then go listen to Stephen Chu. Because, well, Stephen Chu. Also,  free frozen yogurt in 27 minutes, and free dinner in 56. I love not having to find my own food. I also had free lunch today, so, for realsies, life is good.

I'm sitting in a hallway in my dorm and waiting for the bleach to set in my hair. I'm dyeing a chunk of it in the bottom some mix of blue and purple; hopefully it'll end up turning cool colors.

Now Victor is photographing my very much whitened hair, although the guys are going to leave to go play DDR. Anyways, Maya is a wonderful human being who is very kind to me and others like me.

Yup. In other news, the lack of a physics pset has resulted in me not doing particularly much work. There's a cat sniffing my legs. For some reason I trust Maya's cat much more than I trust those on Jason's floor.

My phone rang literally right as I was typing Jason (it was, of course, Jason). Anyways, he might end up coming over and dyeing a bit of his own hair, though I suspect we'll just end up eating. Enrique is chasing Maya's cat, which has triggered an allergic reaction in my arm, which is unfortunate.

Where did Maya go, I should rinse my bleach out. Panicpanicpanicpanic.

I will now resist the urge to insert emoticons into my blog.

Inappropriate Musings of the Kitchen

Lionel: But semen is a non-newtonian fluid!
Roger: Know what else is a non-newtonian fluid? Ketchup. Would you like some ketchup with your semen?

Roger's list of his five least favorite substances:

1) fake maple syrup
2) vaseline
3) congealed menstrual blood
4) nutella
5) cottage cheese

Lionel: I agree with exactly one of those.

I'm writing a paper.
No you're not, Tea, you're writing a blog post.
Am not.
Are too.
Am not.
Are too.
Am not.
Are too.
This sounds like the sort of argument I have with my boyfriend.
Your boyfriend sounds like an idiot.
He's not.
Are you sure?
Yes, he's just occasionally somewhat dense.
I don't think you're writing a paper right now.
That's because I'm not.
Aren't you?
Well, I should be. I just don't seem to care enough about why we got into the Iraq war.
But it's important!
But I'd rather do math! Also, Archie just called me. Apparently he's really dissatisfied with the social scene at his college of choice and is going to try to transfer here. I wished him luck, but, well--transfers here don't really work.
I guess this is what comes of trying to play the admissions game.
Don't be mean.
Why not?

The weirdest thing about sleeping until noon is that it makes the day feel really, really short.

Basically, all I've done today is play Environmental Oversight. I probably shouldn't have done this--for one thing, I have a mountain of work that I should be doing, and I'm still sick (planning on trying to go to a capella tomorrow, but when I was singing nerdy songs on the roofdeck last night, I only got through three songs before I literally couldn't sing anymore, but that was after a good deal of shrieking (can I help it if I react loudly to tickling?), so maybe things will go better), so running around for long quantities of time was even more difficult than it usually is.

But, it was extremely fun. I need to get better at switching weapons, and at not freezing up...and the endurance thing is kind of an issue, to the point where I felt like more of a liability than a help, though we were down enough people in comparison to the other teams that I was probably more use alive than not present. The world unfortunately did end up blowing up, and nobody escaped, but the red team put up a damn good fight.

Now I'm about to dig into planning my presentation for this Wednesday. Well, I'd been planning to do that, but now I'm thinking I want to head over to EC, especially since I have to get up at noon to get to rehearsal at 1. I really should practice piano, but I just don't feel like it. I'll pack a thing of post-it notes for tomorrow, then stick them wherever I can't keep up during rehearsal, then grind those spots out...

No, I need more practice. The presentation will have to wait.

I've been trying to avoid selling all of my soul to ESP, because, really, I would like to have some of it left, and I'd really like to have at least a little bit of free time in my life. Especially given that I'm supposed to be playing for a musical the weekend of Splash.

And yet, I let Olive talk me into co-directing morning registration with her. Why am I insane? The world may never know.

In other news, I've got a god-awful cold, and Jason has the same godawful cold, and it is generally rather unfortunate. I also finally caved and bought myself ice cream (bring on the weight gain), but I'm claiming that's just because I have a sore throat and it makes me feel better (actually, it was more a matter of "my computer fucking died again, and my boyfriend has too much homework to distract me. Ice cream!"). I've still been considerably healthier than I was during RSI, though, so I suppose that's something.

My physics class did an extremely awesome demo on conductivity yesterday. I seriously don't understand how the physics demos are so much more impressive than the chemistry ones (I mean, what chemistry ones?) when both classes are (at the moment, anyways) covering the same material from slightly different angles. Wire not conducting enough? Cool it down with liquid nitrogen (LN2 is always applicable). Glass not conducting electricity? Melt it with a blowtorch.

James's joke about this was "How many physicists does it take to light a lightbulb?" "One, but he needs a blowtorch to do it."

All of the awesome is mine.

Further questions include whether I'm capable of singing well enough to go to a capella tonight, which remains to be seen.

I'm with Leila in her room. We just visited her beloved Starbucks and had a generally wonderful time.

I'm not really sure what else to write about. Rube and I talked on facebook last night--it was totally innocuous, but actually rather nice. I guess this is kind of obvious, since I was friends with him for a number of years, but I really enjoy talking to him.

I will not fail my physics test, I will not fail my physics test, I will not fail my physics test. Somehow the repetition isn't making me feel any more confident in my abilities.

Imagine a sphere of charge Q. It's big. It's really big. Find things about it. Find all the things. Yes, I mean all of them. What do you mean you don't know what a gradient is?

Math is confusing. Taking physics with bonus math before actually taking the material covered in bonus math was probably not the brightest idea I've had. But if I manage to pass this test, I'll have actually learned things. Well, regardless of whether I pass I've learned an awful lot, it's just a question of whether "an awful lot" is sufficient.

On the plus side, I think I passed the chem test today.

Okay, I'm going to go search for productivity now. Also, worry about the fact that my throat hurts.

I'm down in the basement of the library. I forgot to bring a charger with me, so my laptop is going to die some time in the near future. I should be doing practice tests for physics, but I'm really confused and need my notes. I could be doing practice tests for chem, but I'm really lazy.

I could have worked this afternoon, but I skipped my calc class and went over to Jason's dorm for an hour. Being totally unproductive is a lot more fun than working. As it turns out, many things are a lot more fun than working.

But mostly studying. I don't mind psetting all that much, but I really don't like studying. I also really dislike writing essays, which I had to do last week, and preparing for presentations, which I should be doing now.

Actually, I'm going to go find a computer with Inkscape on it and do some vector image editing.

Happy birthday, James.

If I can just make it through Thursday, everything will be fine. If I can just manage to stay focused, and actually study for my tests and actually do my pset properly and learn the goddamn material and be prepared, everything will turn out okay.

I think 3.091 will be easy, if I make a sufficiently detailed formula sheet. I think that 17.40 will not be easy but that I don't have time to prepare for it. I think that 8.022 will be hard as fuck.

I think that I am too lazy to keep AIS's alias from getting out, but that's really a-okay.

James left at some point. I'm not sure where he went. Victor is still here. The froshlings are making a piñata for this weekend, because our floor is having a party and, for whatever reason, parties necessitate piñatas, and, for whatever reason, the froshlings are in charge.

I wonder how long I'll actually end up staying at said party, and how late my a capella group will end up making me.

In other news, physics is really difficult. Also, I've been dropping f-bombs left and right in my speech, and it makes it really difficult to type like a relatively appropriate person.

I'm stressed as hell, yet I keep forgetting to be stressed. I'm at AIS, where a mistake never to be lived down is that James mistakenly said that the sun rotates around the Earth. I'm at AIS, where there are fucked up people (I'm looking at your sexist comments, Linguini). I love it here, though. Life is glorious.

If James ruled the world, all numbers would be prime. If I ruled the world, I wouldn't have a test on Wednesday and then two more exams and a pset due on Thursday. Because that is cruel and unusual and entirely problematic.

In other news, I got up too early today (I had my alarm set for 9, and Alan called at 8:59 and woke me up). This is entirely separate from waking up at 7 because I forgot to draw the blinds and my brain was like "look! there is light! It's time to wake up!"

Draw. This reminds me of Jason last night, gchatting me at some point to tell me that a suggestion for his hall photo was the lot of them pressed together along a staircase with a centipede "drawn across their hands." Forgive me for thinking they meant a literal centipede atop the hands, because that would be how I'd use "draw" in that context, but good god was that disgusting. Then he went and asked if I'd seen some godawful movie about human centipedes, and then I went from creepy-crawly-shudder to literally wanting to throw up. His method of apology was to say that centipedes made him think of me.

Not really helping the case, there.

Rememory

I was looking through old drafts of blog posts, and I found this one. Apparently I never posted it, or, if I did, I went to edit it later and never put it back up. An essay from my junior year of high school.

I am in their house, his house, but the doors are twice my height. My sisters wear large pink dresses, layers of tulle bursting around their legs. They wobble about, unable to support their heavy crowns. Although I must stand on tiptoes to see over the couch, the dresses are too small. I leave the other girls and go upstairs, looking for him. I find him using the computer in the kitchen. I sit next to him, on the same chair but barely touching, and he shows me how to fight with animated soldiers.

He races up the hill in my backyard and I chase him, trying to release the competitive spirit that he has been coaxing from me all night. He trips over a tree root and slows, I slam into him, we tumble down. He catches himself on his elbows before landing above me, but his leg still comes down on mine and I groan. I look down, trying to disentangle, and I see his pale, pale arms, glowing in the barely-there moonlight.

The moon is above us, and we are silhouetted in its light. I dance down the middle of the street, ignoring the glass shards in my hand, forgetting that I’m leaving tomorrow. I dangle the spicy mint he wants so badly in front of his face before snatching it away as he lunges and I twirl down the street, singing “mine, mine, mine.” He gives up, returning to the sidewalk, but I continue to twirl and joy under the dull moon. Then he is beside me, grabbing me, pulling me over and a car runs by so fast I can barely see it, so close I can almost touch it. He saves me. Our mothers say that now we have to get married, like the rescued damsels in distress do in all the stories, and our blushes are hidden by the dangerous darkness. I still do not give him the mint.

We are back, before it all, in Iona, where the beach is close and the tide closer. My sister hit him earlier, and he didn’t hit her back, because he never hurt anyone, not back then. He has taught me to fight the way I could, has taught me not to flinch from pain by hurling ping-pong ball after ping-pong ball right at me, but would never hit a girl, would never hurt a soul, would always save my life. I trust his goodness. Our families are on the couches, spread out and close together, and we play a card game that is more laughing than thinking. I am wet for the first time. I notice, but I don’t know what it means. When I go to the bathroom later, there is a bloody spot on the inside of his basketball shorts, the ones I wear because my luggage is lost. My mother gives me Motrin and a bulky pad and cleans the shorts and tells me that I am a woman now, and I wear her sweatpants to bed and think but I am still twelve, and I am confused by all this growing up when all I really want is to play another round of cards.

I lie in bed that night in a room with my sisters but in my own bed because now I am special, now I am old. I realize, as the last bit of wakefulness leaves me, that my body has just told me that it is ready for sex, for love, for children. I try to picture it, but I don’t know how. The next day, I examine the books in the house until I find one with vivid sex scenes, perfectly specific, and I read until I can see it in my head and have to put the book down because the image disgusts me.

I am fifteen now and he is naked, above me around me within me, sweating, panting, shaking arms dark and glowing in the dim lamplight. I toss and turn, the visual plaguing me even though it has not happened and is based entirely on imaginings, but it makes my insides warm in a way that no other dreams do, and I decide not to chase it away.

It is snowing, and he is at my house, and we chase and run with a flock of children, throwing snowballs, and I see him break a window but he doesn’t know I saw. When the window is found later, no one ever knows that it was him. He wrestles his sister who is less than half his size after she calls him weak and emasculated and worthless. He is pushing her, tugging her, pinning her down with the arms that hold him over above within me. She claws at him, writhes, but cannot escape, and he tries to smother her with a pillow. I scream.

I can never marry him, never be with him, says my mother, because he is angry and only knows how to hit. That’s what comes of having a father like his.

I am sprawled across a couch in my basement, the gangling limbs that I’ve finally come to control and love and cherish stretching all the way from armrest to armrest. He is seated on the other couch, joystick in his hands, voice calm, steering an animated car around and around an animated track, destroying competitor after competitor as he tells me that he and his girlfriend broke up because he got angry and didn’t know what to do, that it just comes out, that, that now he’s not allowed to drive because his mother saw him hit his sister. “I don’t know why it happens,” he tells me, looking only at the television. “I can’t control it, can’t see it coming, I just get angry, sometimes.”

He breaks things.

We stand in the lights of the subway car, close together although it is late and the car is empty, falling into each other with each bump and curve and turn and stop. His eyes go transparent, the pale green-blue washed out by the bright bright lights, and I can see through him and into him and he is mine and I love him and I want him but I know he is not safe.

I bike down roads less than a mile from home but they are foreign now. I go faster and faster, imagining monsters on my tail, fighting to get away, fighting the urge to go to his house and throw rocks at his window and cry that I want him and need him and beg him to hold me. I cannot go there, cannot do that, cannot let him know because even if he loves me, even if he wants me, I cannot have him. I pedal, and I cry, and I pray, seriously for the first time in my life, that this hurt can go away, that this love can run its course and leave me because I am too feeble to fight him and to weak to let go. I must not love a boy who is dangerous.

I feel like a hand-height section of my torso around the vicinity of my bellybutton has been filled with knives. I know I'd been saying for the past few days that I'd rather have the cramps than the soreness that precedes it, but at this point I'd go back in an instant.

At the very least, now I'm working on my math pset instead of going to a physics recitation. Which kind of counts as being productive. But, mostly, I just hurt.

That was written a while ago. Now it's much, much later, and I'm back at the dorm, and I'm pretending that it's still the 28th because it isn't 6 am yet. Being silly on Bonfire is a heck of a lot of fun. James continues to be highly ticklish, and Ruby is continuing her efforts to learn what girls James thinks are cute (so far--there is at least one computer science girl at AIS who I also know who is attractive. Also, James doesn't want a trophy wife when he grows up).

In other news, Victor's hair is incredibly fluffy, I babble about things I shouldn't when I get tired, and Nicole squees about gay boys and cats. I squee about astronomy, though (not, as Nicole thought, astrology. Good god...), so it kind of works out.

Now, I really should sleep. Even if sleep is for the weak.

Someone said that in 13 Days, which we watched for my foreign policy class. "Sleep is for the weak." So the statement could not have originated with Becton.

Too Many Things

Ken finally decided to ask for my student evaluations from this summer. This means that I have to finish writing them (I have three left at this point), which is kind of a problem, because it interferes with what time I have to goof off and be thoroughly unproductive (which is actually a surprising quantity. Well, that or I've gotten very use to taking advantage of what little empty times I can eke out during the day).

I'm with my physics study group right now. People suddenly started saying "derp derp derp" and it sounded like rain.

Now I'm still being unproductive. I have to do a "library assignment" for chem (Can we use the internet to search for journals? Yes we can!), and finish a two page essay for my foreign policy class tomorrow (and by "finish" I also mean "start."). And then there's the math pset due on Thursday that I probably won't start until Wednesday night.

In other news, I'm waiting for the day that I go to call Jason and accidentally contact Ken. Because they're alphabetically next to each other on my phone, and I'm really not that observant of an individual.

Now, I should probably go and be productive. Because that would probably be a good idea.

I'm really really hungry right now. 19:30 is a very long way away. But eating now would be stupid, because I have gym class at 14:00, which isn't very long from now. I think I'm veering into the level of "things no one actually cares to read about," but I can't think of any actually good stories.

Lowlight of 8th Grade English

I found, also, the poem I wrote describing my depressive episode during the winter of that year.

Down


You feel down,
Down so low it feels like there isn't any up.
It feels like the hurt
Of all 6 billion people in the world
Has been dropped
On your shoulders,
And it's weighing you down,
Even though you don't know what it is.
You cry and cry,
For no reason, no reason at all, it seems.
You stand on the wall and look down.
You are sad, but somehow can't feel a think.
A voice in your head says jump,
Fall from this wall that you stand on so high
Above a world that can't understand you;
Fall from the people who never even try to listen.
You run from the voice,
But running from yourself you can't get very far,
And it follows you,
Taunting that you are too stubborn to ignore it,
And you are scared,
'Cause even though it says jump you don't want to,
But you wonder,
If you listened,
How long would it be before someone realized you were gone
And that you were never coming back?
You look down at the water,
And your heart says walk until you are gone,
And the voice says let go of everything,
But a little tiny piece of you,
The piece that is the real, lasting you,
Says stay,
Stay in the world that hurts you so much,
Because it's all that you have.
So you sit on the wall,
And cry until it feels like you've cried forever,
Like you've cried out your brain and your heart and everything that is you,
And you turn around and leave.
Go back to your room,
Pretend nothing happened for a little while,
Because you are smart,
And your brain is good,
And nothing can be wrong with you.
So you hide it,
Until you can turn around and cry again,
Because you are scared of yourself,
And you think,
What if I took that razor over there and dragged it across my wrist?
Would I feel better, then?
What if I pushed this hammock so hard that I fell and cracked my head into a
Million tiny pieces?
What about then?
And all those thoughts,
of ending it now,
Freak you out so bad that you can barely think,
But you can somehow still feel the weight of 6 billion frowns on your shoulders.
And you bite your hand,
So hard that your teeth hurt,
And the mark lasts for days,
Because it makes it all go away.
The real pain, the kind you can feel, makes the hurt stop inside,
And you can breath again.
You're still down,
But somehow
It's better now.
It hurts later, but what else can you do?
'Cause the pain makes it better,
So you can stand back up,
And go on until your next down,
When you need to get back up again.
And who knows what will happen then?
Who can say how far you will go,
And how much you will be able to hold back,
Next time?
Next time,
What if it really is
The End?



This was the poem that got me temporarily kicked out of school for being a danger to myself and others.

I wrote, to accompany the poem (and so as to avoid the mess that occurred the last time it was seen), a letter to my English teacher.

The letter is as follows:

This poem is a part of my past. I am no longer afraid of the downs mention in it. I did some therapy and all that, and I am better now. I am no longer a threat to myself. However, the down part of my life is as much a part of me as the good times with my friends and the embarrassing moments in and out of school. It is something I must look back on, not fondly, but as a lesson. That's why I chose to write a poem about it. It seemed like an event that needed telling. Because of the experience, I am more afraid of things (blood, height, and deep water) but it also makes me more aware of myself. The poem is me, but it is not me. I am not "Girl with a Problem," I am myself, I am my life, and "my problem" is no longer even mine. I now handle downs the normal way, with chocolate and a friend (which, by the way, works much better!). Don't worry. I've already been signed off (twice!) as a normal teenager (assuming you don't count my genius, gorgeosity, and sheer superiority*). I hope that you will not judge me for what I used to be. I am the same person you have known all year. Thank you for understanding.


Sincerely,
Tea


*I hope you understand that was sarcasm. I was demonstrating the typical teenage belief of the world revolving around me. Plus, I couldn't resist being so self-congratulatory. Sorry.

Highlights of 8th Grade English

One of the fun parts of packing for college is that I've been going through every thing I own. This includes schoolwork, straight back through 8th grade, when I first started saving things. I guess I get sentimental about anything I pour that much time into, which, in my opinion, certainly makes sense.

I found a brief graphic memoir from that year. The scanner isn't exactly functional at the moment, so y'all are going to have to cope with me transcribing the visuals as well.

Frame 1: "MOON" [image of a crescent moon, identical to the one in Starry Night, which was above my desk even then], "By Tessa"


Frame 2: "Gym class: it's some people's favorite time of day, but for others, it's a NIGHTMARE! "(Nightmare is written in squiggly, scary looking letters)

Frame 3: "I am a member of the second group"

Frame 4: [Figure labeled 'me' is in a push up position, with lots of wobbly lines around her arms. A male figure is next to me, also in the pushup position, with no squiggly lines. A teacher stands nearby, labeled "too fit teacher"]. The teacher is saying "Down! Up! One!" I'm thinking "But I can't get up!" and the other student is thinking "this is FUN"

Frame 5: "You'd think I'd at least have friends to complain with, but no! All I had was Barbie!" [I'm sitting with my knees drawn up to my chest while a ponytailed girl, presumably Barbie stands angrily next to me, arms folded. Two other girls are standing nearby with their arms around each other's shoulders]. "Oh my god! Did you see Tessa's shorts? Eww!" says the speech bubble for one of the friends. Barbie is saying "Gosh, Tessa! You only ran 5.8 miles! You were supposed to run 5.86. I'll have to tell Mrs. M!" "The teacher's pet was my new BFF," reads the caption at the bottom.

Frame 6: "I asked the guidance counselors to switch my class." [Three heads, in imitation of the gifted students's counselor, the general 8th grade counselor, and the one counselor I was actually comfortable talking to, were interspersed with the following text] "no no no no no no NO no no NO!"
"I was stuck." (the last is in a nested frame at the bottom right).

Frame 7: "So one day in March" [Mrs. M stands with a basketball under her arm]. Her speech bubble reads "Run around the really big field!"

Frame 8: [An aerial view of the field is shown. One fast person is out front, indicated by a circle with a bunch of lines trailing behind it. The rest of the class is in a large pack. Barbie and Me are both labeled near the end]. Barbie's thought bubble snakes out behind her and reads "Gosh, Tessa, I <3 Mrs. M. Do you think she'll give me an A+?" My thought bubble reads "AHH!"

Frame 9: [I've caught up to the rest of the group. My thought bubble reads "Yes! I lost her." There's a trio of boys immediately in front of me surrounded by the words "Do it!", "Dude!", "Yeah!", "Dude!". In front of them, the pair of mean girls from before are surrounded by "giggle!" and "hahaha."]

Frame 10: "Then, the guy in front of me moons me! (and everyone else behind him)." [the three boys have turned to two. One of them has the waistband of his gym shorts below a behind that has been censored by a black starburst]

Frame 11: "My poor eyes!" [An eye is illustrate]. "That was something I NEVER wanted them to see!"

Frame 12: My face turned bright red [a blushing girl with shoulder length hair (the same me I'd drawn the rest of the time) is shown]

Frame 13: I jog past the two boys. My thought bubble reads "Maybe if I run fast enough they won't notice me." The friend of the mooner, though, has the speech bubble "Man! Did you see her FACE?" Nested in the bottom right of the frame is "Oh well."

Frame 14: "I got back first. Mrs. M hadn't even seen. Not that I said anything--I was too embarrassed."

Frame 15: "The image had been seared into my brain. I was scarred forever." [a thought bubble of the butt, still censored]

Frame 16: "I told the kids on my bus after school." [My younger sister, my friend, and our neighbor with his emo haircut sit listening to me. I look despondent.] My speech bubble reads "And then...he mooned me."

Frame 17: "The thought it was FUNNY!" [Five giggling heads are scattered around the frame in various directions, including Mr. Emohair. They are surrounded by a very large number of "Ha"s]. "They were rolling on the floor."

Frame 18: "No one understands my traumatic experience." [I stare out the window of the bus, grumpily]

Frame 19: A small image of a crescent moon on a dark background.

Visits with the Universe

I greatly enjoyed my time with Priya last night. She's fun--more friend than child, I think.

I'm trying to work out the Trader Joe's shuttle schedule. Well, trying to find it on the internet. Supposedly, if I'm outside of my dorm at noon, it should magically appear, but that looks like the spring's schedule, and I don't know that it continues to be true.

As it turns out, I have too much work to take time out to go grocery shopping. I'm pretty sure that I have too much work to go to the free tango class that Jason wanted to go to tonight. I've been reading my chem textbook since Priya left this morning, and that was more than three hours ago.

In other news, I'm doing laundry again. I really need to buy more underwear so I can do laundry less often, because I still have plenty of clothing left.

I actually spent a good chunk of time yesterday talking to a group that was entirely female--Sydney, Priya,  Nicole, Ruby, and Chelly. It was kind of surprising, and the fact that it's surprising is, on the whole, rather strange. I guess my social life has shifted more from high school than I'd noticed up until now.