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Apr. 7th, 2011 10:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bitchy_merlinFIFTY MINUTES OF CLASS LEFT IN SECOND YEAR! LET APRIL BE OVER ALREADY, WE'LL JUST PRETEND IT NEVER HAPPENED, K?
Had dinner at the Grizzly Grill with peeps from Videodance this evening, though. That was nice - and filling, jfc. BBQ chicken pizza? I think yes. I'm a bit upset that I can't go the to dance battle at Stages tonight (which started, uh, 35 minutes ago, phooey), thanks to Diderot pwning my ass for the rest of EVER. But at least I'll get to go to the DVD pickup/goodbye party on Sunday, if things work out. *fingers crossed*
As I was walking back from dinner, I called Dad, as you do. It was nice, you know, we talked about random stuff - and then out of nowhere, he starts asking me if I'm "ok" and I'd tell him, wouldn't I, "if there's anything wrong"? Me: %UHHHHHHHHHHH wtf random much? Apparently if I call too often, this is a cue that Bad Things are happening? Clearly, if I'm calling at a pre-arranged time to talk about random goings-on in my life, this is... what? Indicative of some deep-rooted mental health issue? When, during every preceding phone call, my parents have been actively encouraging me to come home during exams? I call BS!
I'm just kind of weirded out. Either you want to talk to me, or you don't. And if I'm calling at a time we've previously discussed, why would you automatically assume something negative is happening? I'm calling because we agreed I would call. Because you asked me to call. Oy. Also? Don't drag other issues into this. I'm allowed to be homesick. This does not mean that I'm going to be the second child to try and suffocate myself with a plastic bag. I'm not Evan Lysacek; I'm allowed to not be 100% happy 100% of the time. And please, don't remind me of that. I thought things were going really well this year, compared to last. It may be an uphill struggle sometimes, but it's an uphill struggle that's actually going somewhere - or so I thought. When you start questioning my motivations, so do I. When you doubt me, I doubt myself, and that is fun for exactly no one.
TL;DR: Conclusions? My family was jumping to them before t-tests were cool.
ANYWHO, after that, I hung up quickly and called Oma, because nothing says procrastination like an hour-long gossip sesh with your grandma. Now I have to quickly describe le matérialisme selon Diderot; I will bust ass on this essay over the weekend, because the goal is to submit it Monday with no regrets. (Or with regrets that I will just drink away, I'm pretty flexible on this one...)
Had dinner at the Grizzly Grill with peeps from Videodance this evening, though. That was nice - and filling, jfc. BBQ chicken pizza? I think yes. I'm a bit upset that I can't go the to dance battle at Stages tonight (which started, uh, 35 minutes ago, phooey), thanks to Diderot pwning my ass for the rest of EVER. But at least I'll get to go to the DVD pickup/goodbye party on Sunday, if things work out. *fingers crossed*
As I was walking back from dinner, I called Dad, as you do. It was nice, you know, we talked about random stuff - and then out of nowhere, he starts asking me if I'm "ok" and I'd tell him, wouldn't I, "if there's anything wrong"? Me: %UHHHHHHHHHHH wtf random much? Apparently if I call too often, this is a cue that Bad Things are happening? Clearly, if I'm calling at a pre-arranged time to talk about random goings-on in my life, this is... what? Indicative of some deep-rooted mental health issue? When, during every preceding phone call, my parents have been actively encouraging me to come home during exams? I call BS!
I'm just kind of weirded out. Either you want to talk to me, or you don't. And if I'm calling at a time we've previously discussed, why would you automatically assume something negative is happening? I'm calling because we agreed I would call. Because you asked me to call. Oy. Also? Don't drag other issues into this. I'm allowed to be homesick. This does not mean that I'm going to be the second child to try and suffocate myself with a plastic bag. I'm not Evan Lysacek; I'm allowed to not be 100% happy 100% of the time. And please, don't remind me of that. I thought things were going really well this year, compared to last. It may be an uphill struggle sometimes, but it's an uphill struggle that's actually going somewhere - or so I thought. When you start questioning my motivations, so do I. When you doubt me, I doubt myself, and that is fun for exactly no one.
TL;DR: Conclusions? My family was jumping to them before t-tests were cool.
ANYWHO, after that, I hung up quickly and called Oma, because nothing says procrastination like an hour-long gossip sesh with your grandma. Now I have to quickly describe le matérialisme selon Diderot; I will bust ass on this essay over the weekend, because the goal is to submit it Monday with no regrets. (Or with regrets that I will just drink away, I'm pretty flexible on this one...)
