Posted in college

Study Tips from a College Junior

Despite contradictory evidence from previous blog posts, I’m a very good student. I went to an academically challenging high school, I was (briefly) an Honors College Student. I have a pretty good GPA. It’s not a 4.0, but I’m not ever worried about being put on Academic Probation. Over time, I’ve developed a few things I think help me in terms of being a good student/staying on track. Further, I’ve recently discovered things that help me continue being a good student while also being able to not destroy myself in terms of mental health. [It’s a hard thing to do, especially in college.]

I have often googled “Study Tips” and tend to find the same, broad ideas repeated. I tried to avoid that, and instead make these a little more direct. Hopefully something here is something you’ve never tried before–and if you do try it, I hope it helps!

  1. Distribute your work
    I cannot stress this one enough. Avoiding all nighters is completely achievable! I think distributing work evenly over a series of days is the best way to do it. An example: On Monday, if you are assigned to read Chapters 1 & 2 by Wednesday, then read Chapter 1 Monday night, and Chapter 2 Tuesday night. If you have a large homework set, split it in half! Don’t wait to do it all the night before. Small bouts of various topics is way less draining than doing one thing for hours on end.
  2. One Thing at a Time
    I’ve recently changed up my way of distributing things, and I’ve found it incredibly helpful in terms of productivity. I used to distribute my work a month at a time and panic to keep up with the distribution. I’d end up re-working my schedule four times in two weeks, which I found incredibly counterproductive. It was also a lot harder to see my accomplishments. My new system is great! I have deadlines listed on the spread for that week, and then I distribute my work each morning. Homeworks have been shifted around a lot this semester because of weather problems, amongst other things, so every morning I check my list from the day before, check off what I completed, move or remove what I didn’t, and write out my to-do for the day. It’s allowed me to be a lot more realistic about what I can do in a day. I started this system because of a YouTuber from Boho Berry.
  3. Be Realistic About Distractions
    Don’t study at home if you can avoid it. Home is like the Pennacle of Distractions. I recommend a library; it’s meant to be quiet. Bring everything you could need for a long, extended work session if you need it! Laptop/phone chargers, blankets, earbuds, comfy clothes–and also, food!
  4. Eating
    Food is so important when it comes to studying. First off, you wanna make healthy decisions before you even start getting ready to study. Unhealthy foods can make you sluggish, grumpy, and fatigued–not a great start to a productive day. But you should bring snacks that will keep you full, are yummy, and won’t drain you! Some possible ones: nuts, fruit, jerky [protein keeps you full!]. Personally I like crackers, or pretzel chips. I also, on a really long night, will bring a yummy soup to heat up in the library that way I don’t have an excuse to take a two hour break to go out to eat!
  5. Music
    I find instrumental music the best. Personally, I like a lot Vitamin String Quartet. I also love two playlists from Spotify: Instrumental Study and Brain Food. A good one with music with words is Study Zone. If you don’t care for music but don’t like the silence of the library or there’s noise around you, I really recommend thunderstorm sounds. I thought it would be weird, but it’s incredibly calming and helps with relaxation/concentration so much.
  6. Listen to Your Body
    When you’re hungry, eat. When you’re thirsty, drink (I cannot stress a Water Bottle enough! So important for a productive work day). When your back hurts, or you feel antsy, or you need a break–take a walk. Your body can handle what you’re putting  it through, and so can your brain, but you have to listen to it. Sometimes that means a ten minute break, and sometimes it means completely changing where you’re working. Either way, listen to your body. It knows what it’s doing.

All of this comes as a result of me, wearing my Big Girl Prioritizing Pants, spending Mardi Gras break doing work (somewhat?) instead of Mardi Gras-ing.

Laissez les bons temps rouler!


Posted in college

A Good Year

Twas the night ‘fore Fall Semester
And all through the Dorms
Not a textbook was stirring
Not a syllabus, or Form

Except for in my apartment, where I’ve printed two syllabi and already marked due dates in my agenda. I’ve picked which notebooks and binders belong to which days and classes, and packed my backpack even though my first class isn’t until 11:30 tomorrow. You could say I’m a little excited.

The cool thing about wanting to be a teacher is that I want to be a teacher because I like school. I like the rhythm of the day, the way the school year is structured. I like going to class and engaging. Although I’m not the best at making friends in a classroom.

I’m hoping for a good year, and it’s already starting on a pretty great foot. I just got a job offer that I’m ecstatic to take, I’m taking a manageable amount of hours and I’m excited for all my classes, and I’m looking forward to seeing the people in my fraternity this year. I didn’t realize that I was excited to see them (I’m still harboring some bitterness about not getting the position I wanted) until I saw two of them by accident today, but I am.

This year will be good. I’m…95% sure of it.


Posted in college, feelings, rambling, religion


My friend Cameron wrote about the girl she was in high school not too long ago, but I (as usual) was late to the game reading it, and only got to it just now. I really liked Cameron’s post. She talked about her edges being softened as she opened her heart to God. It made me feel good reading it.

There aren’t a lot of things that make me feel good, right now. There are moments, yeah, and days, even, where my edges don’t feel rough and my brain doesn’t feel like it’s going a thousand miles a minute. But I feel like I keep trying to climb my way out of a hole that I’m actually, accidentally, digging for myself, somehow.

So there’s that triangle of balance that’s not actually a triangle, right? Where the expectation is that you only have to balance Social Life, Grades, Sleep–but the reality is that you have to balance Family, Friends, Relationships, Grades, Money, Sleep, Health, General Ability to Feel like a Person. I wish life were as simple as a triangle.

It’s probably something more like an icosahedron.

I keep trying to find a thing that feels like it can create balance. Right now it feels like if one thing is wrong (and something always is) then I’m turned inside out, or sideways, or backwards, or upside down. Nothing feels small. One thing feels…colossal.

I remember this feeling from high school. This burned out, End of World feeling. I remember being stressed about my grades, my future, a boy, friends, family, my body, money. I remember thinking that One Day I was going to be not quite an adult yet, renting a house with like seven of my friends just off campus, going to class, kicking ass, and taking names.

I guess that’s why I need to quit daydreaming because One Day is Now, and it’s definitely Not That.

I’m not saying that Now is bad. I love my Boyfriend (so much, it’s kind of gross). I love my friends (they aren’t plentiful–but what they lack in quantity they make up for in quality). I love my family (I’m going to be an aunt!). I love my classes (which sounds like a lie–but I really, genuinely do). But I still feel like I’m missing something.

It makes me wonder if Jesus is the answer, the way Cam talked about.

And I shit on my Boyfriend about his religion, a lot. So I’m sure when he reads this he’ll expect something harsh or rude or insincere.

Because frankly, religion makes me uncomfortable. The idea that an Omnipotent Being is Judging me is terrifying. Mostly because I’m already pretty busy judging myself. Likewise, I think the rules are dumb. I don’t think any God will love His children any less for not believing in him. What a narcissistic dick, amirite? But, further, I don’t think any God will love His children any less for loving someone of their sex, or for not identifying their Sex with their Gender, or for eating Meat on Fridays during Lent. I don’t think God gives two shits about whether or not you come up to me and talk to me about Him, I really don’t. Because you know what I think God cares about?

I think God cares about how you made me feel when you walked away. Or how you’ve made anyone feel ever.

I don’t think God cares about things we do that don’t actually hurt people. I think God’s got bigger fish to fry, if you will. Like perpetuating Love. Like perpetuating Happiness. Like perpetuating Change. I digress.

My God doesn’t really fit the mold of any religion I know. Every God I’ve heard of has these arbitrary rules. Every God has this Black and White way of looking at things: Did you follow all the rules? Heaven. Did you break any? Hell.

But if God made us, then doesn’t He know we’re not Black and White Creatures? Does one action really define a person?

I hope not. I am not a bad person, by any means. But that doesn’t mean I’ve always done good things, either.

But I don’t think stealing a rubber pencil from the library in elementary school means I can’t kick it with the Big Guy Upstairs. That’s just me, though.


Posted in college

Failing and Flailing

I fell asleep thinking about writing this post and, as a result, had a really shitty dream. So I have to write it out now–when I smell like an Almond Joy (because of a coconut oil treatment to my hair) and I still haven’t picked out an outfit for my date with Boyfriend and am overall just stressed–or else it’s going to haunt me all day.

In tenth grade I failed my Chemistry final, but I got a C in the class. That was the closest to school-related failure I’ve ever reached.

This semester I received a 54 F in a class. I will have to retake it.

Here’s the thing. I can blame the Professor–because, well, he was awful. I can blame the material–because, well, it was difficult for me. But the fact of the matter is that I have to blame myself.

I went to class once a week, instead of the three times a week I should’ve been going. I didn’t read the chapters I should’ve read. I didn’t do the project worth 15% of my grade. I didn’t study for the final the way I should’ve. I dropped the ball this semester, and I couldn’t bring myself to care until I saw that big, fat F show up on my Final Grades Report.

Now I’m dealing with those consequences.

There are a lot of factors outside of school that affected my ability to do well this semester–and not just in the class I failed. Before this semester, my collegiate GPA was a 3.75; after this semester I will have a 3.2. Overall, I just did worse academically.

Frat life got in the way, big time. This is my first semester as an active Brother, meaning I let myself get wrapped up in events and sucked into late night dinners when I needed to be studying, doing homework, going to class. I didn’t bother to find a balance; I just prioritized one over the other.

I had a lot going on with my family, and a lot going on with N.A.U.L. I lost a lot of sleep. I didn’t let myself develop good study habits. I prioritized other people’s happiness over my own well-being–which, normally, is how I roll. But I guess I’m learning that I have to find a balance there, too.

Also, my anxiety has never been worse. There were days I couldn’t leave my room without feeling on the verge of crying because someone looked at me. I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten until it started to calm down and I realized I had been missing out on a lot of stuff-academically and socially. I’ve been thinking about going to therapy to deal with my anxiety. I just don’t know how to have that conversation with my mother.

Internal and external conflicts manifested itself into a lot of nights filled with “I have to take care of me” instead of “I need to finish this assignment.” I’m discovering it’s about balance. I had forgotten about that balance–had forgotten what it’s like to need it, because it’s been so long since I had socialization and friendship and my mental health to prioritize.

I’m figuring it out. Next semester will be better, and I’ve got a month to figure it out before it has to be.


Posted in anxiety, boyfriend, college

Phase 10: 4 Sets of Finals and 1 Week-Long Panic

I knew I was going to write today–and, around 6 o’clock this evening, I thought I knew what I was going to write about.

I wanted to talk about dating someone who’s your polar opposite. About finding balance, if you can, or if you’re doomed. About when is too early to start talking about things if you know they’re going to be problematic later?

And then the rest of my night happened. And now I want to talk about dating while having anxiety. Actually–I kind of just want to talk about existing with anxiety.

The thing about anxiety is that once one thing sends you into a tizzy–once those cyclic, obsessive, negative thoughts start–it’s really hard to get out of it. Which is to say everything triggers those thoughts.

Last time I was in a relationship while having anxiety, I wasn’t fully immersed in it yet. I didn’t know what was going on, just that sometimes I needed to cry and hyperventilate and pick at my skin because I felt like I was going to crawl out of it anyway. I’ve spent the past year being single and discovering all of my anxiety on my own.

“My own” being operative words here. See, this semester I have people. I have more people than I know what to do with. People who snapchat me, who ask me to lunch, who invite me over, or to hangout, who call me, who walk me back to my dorm, who ask me (before they ask anyone else) to study with them. I didn’t have people before. I had me, my anxiety, Cameron, and my Roommate. And the only person who actually dealt with my anxiety was my anxiety.

I thought that having people would make me feel amazing, wanted, assured. And it does, to an extent.

But I’m discovering recently that there is such a thing as having Too Many People. Especially when you’re just getting into a relationship.

I’ll be honest, I don’t understand why ‘normal’ people date people like me. Why they find joy in being with someone who second guesses everything about the relationship, who misreads (and over analyzes) every conversation or glance, who goes down one road assuming they’re being followed–when, really, it turns out you’re not even in the same neighborhood. It’s exhausting, I’d imagine. I’m exhausting.

So I’m overwhelmed a lot, recently, because I’m trying to figure out what’s worth bringing up, what’s not crazy to analyze or question. It doesn’t help that my Boyfriend and I got together two weeks before Finals.

I will (probably) receive my first ever F in a class this semester. I’ve been secretly harboring a lot of feelings over it: shame, embarrassment, guilt, anger, disappointment, and anxiety.

On top of all that, because it was Finals Week, all my People wanted to study with me, or take lunch breaks to eat with me. And I love my People. I do. But even Not-Exhausting People get Exhausting when you stress the way I stress while having anxiety the way I have anxiety.

My Boyfriend doesn’t get my anxiety in that he doesn’t personally understand it. He listens, and does what I ask him to in order to help me calm down. He’s perspicacious, and attentive–he knows I’m tired before I know I’m tired, knows I’m hungry before I voice it, knows when I’m asleep or just pretending, knows why I’m giggling at nothing. He’s known since I arrived at his apartment that my anxiety levels were high.

“If you don’t want to go, tell me now,” he said as he pulled on a hoodie. We were going to play a card game at a friend’s. I knew everyone that would be there, but I was already dreading walking into the house. He’s the type that can go all night, though. He loves people. And we’ve both been so stressed with Finals. I wanted him to have fun.

So we went. And I did have fun! We played Phase 10, and I lost (terribly) but it was okay.

My Big texted (and Snapchatted) me while I was there. She kept asking if I was okay (because of my F) and how I was feeling (because I was socializing) and what was I going to do about the fraternity camping trip this weekend and she loved me and was I sure I was okay? And I felt bombarded. Too cared for. I thought I wanted to be coddled, but I really wanted to be left alone.

Then we arrived back at his apartment, and as I started doing a coconut oil treatment in my hair, my Boyfriend offered Taco Bell. We bickered as we discussed what I wanted.

“You’re really complicated,” he grumbled as he sat down. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

And, no, they hadn’t. But I have. Plenty of times.

I worry that my complicated will be too much. That he thinks the anxiety is endearing now, but will get sick of it soon. That he can leave the anxiety and me without thought–which, he can. It’s just frustrating because I can’t.

I don’t like being anxious like this. I wish I could stop apologizing every time I think I’ve done something wrong. I wish I stopped thinking everything I did was bothersome. I wish I didn’t feel like the world is ending because of an F. I wish I wasn’t thinking about skipping out on something I have been buzzing for because the thought of three days of socializing with no breaks is absolutely terrifying.

I wish I wasn’t like this.

I wish I knew what I wanted. From my Big I wanted Space. From my Mom I wanted Space. From my Friends I wanted Space. From my Boyfriend I wanted to be reassured. There is no consistency.

No method to the madness.

But Finals Week is over. I just took a hot shower. I don’t have to decide to go camping until noon tomorrow, and I had nachos for dinner.

I’m hiding in the back room while he watches a movie with friends. The bed is warm, and the outside is cold. It’s almost Christmas.

There is still good. I still have good left.


Posted in college


It’s Finals Week. My third Finals Week, to be exact.

This semester, academically, has been a struggle. I’m a Humanities major for a reason; I’m terrible at science. I decided to knock out my last two Gen Eds this semester, and I’m worried about the way my GPA will suffer because of it.

I never wanted to go to college. My entire life I wanted to write books, and I always thought that my books would be most good, authentic, influential, what have you, if I graduated high school and jumped into real life. Real life, after all, was what I wanted to write about.

But I have always been the Smart One, in my family. I come from working class, uneducated parents. I was denoted as Gifted when I was eight years old. I attended an Academic Academy my entire middle/high school career. In my family, I had the brains. And that’s really all I ever had–besides my voice, but that’s for another time.

So when Senior Year came around, and everyone was applying to schools and picking majors and Finding Their Way–well, that’s what I did.

I don’t regret it, not for a second. My mom would never admit this to me, but I always felt like if I didn’t go to college she would’ve taken it like a slap in face. She worked hard to provide for me so that I could dedicate all my time to my studies. And she may not be putting me through college now, but she’s part of the reason I made it this far. I owe it to her to be the first person in my family with a Bachelor’s–the second ever to graduate from college.

In the light of Finals Week, it’s hard to find that same justification.

I have disappointing grades and low motivation to improve them.

I probably need to see a doctor about my anxiety.

I probably need to recognize my unhealthy relationship with food.

There are a lot of things I probably need to do.

Instead I will go to my history final exam review. I will chug this mocha from Starbucks. I will read three Chapters of my Astronomy textbook, study the Quizlet for German, fill out the study guide for Women and Gender Studies. I will try to go to bed at a decent hour.

I will do it all again tomorrow, and breathe when the air doesn’t taste like stress anymore.


Posted in college, greek life

A (Sweet, Delicious, Human) Potato

It’s been almost two years since I got into my first serious relationship. It’s been almost a year since I got out of my first serious relationship. I haven’t dated, or even tried to, since then.

Friday night was the post-Induction party for my fraternity. That night, at my second-ever college party, I learned that drunk college adults are the equivalent of sober twelve-year-olds at their Spring Fling–glow sticks included.

By that I mean that once one person heard who I’m interested in in my frat, so did the drunk girl next to her, and so on. I thought it would end terribly. It actually worked out.

Turns out, he likes me too! And yes, he was drunk at first. But no, I wasn’t just a convenience.

I DD’d for eleven people that night, him included. I brought him home last, and we went up to his room. We laid in his bed, fully clothed, and talked.

“I’m wide awake,” I told him. “So I’m going to keep talking.”

He didn’t mind. He talked to me about his family, and asked about mine. We talked about fraternity stuff. We talked about liking each other.

“How did you not know?” I asked. “I thought I was obvious.”

“When we were leaving the volleyball game Wednesday night, people started teasing me about you–‘So what’s up with y’all?’ And my heart hurt.”

“What does that mean?” I laughed. He mostly was talking into his pillow, words slurring together. He wasn’t saying it directly, but I knew what he meant: I didn’t realize how I felt until it was pointed out to me.

“There was a literal pain in my chest, and I was like ‘Oh no. I’ve never felt like this before. What do I do?'”

It’s been a long time since I felt like I was experiencing such genuineness in a person I know is interested in me. Everything felt comfortable but not boring and fun but not exhausting.

“I’m a potato,” I told him. It’s not a new phrase for me to use; most of my fraternity have heard me say it several times about myself.

Throughout the night he’d responded to my saying that with different adjectives, “A sexy potato. A beautiful potato.”

His drunken and tired stupor left him with only a handful  of adjectives before he stopped having good responses.

“A delicious potato.”

And as I burst with laughter, he groaned. “I’m drunk, please ignore that.” But I didn’t.

Instead I told him about N.A.U.L. (I introduce N.A.U.L. as my Best Guy Friend to new people). “I called myself a potato the other day to my  best friend and he told me I was never allowed to bring it up again, but that if I am a potato, I’m a sweet potato.”

He groaned. “I messed up. I missed my opportunity.”

I laughed and liked him a little bit more.

Then I started to worry aloud. “What if things don’t work out between us and we’re both still in the fraternity and–”

He tightened his arm around me. “Don’t think about that.”

So I didn’t.

I was the little spoon, and we’d been quiet for awhile. I was worried he was asleep when I asked, “Will you regret this in the morning?”

“Nope,” he said immediately, tiredly. “Never.”

And I squeezed his hand, and asleep we were.

He was right. I woke him up around 8:30 with a joke from the fraternity GroupMe. We barely left the bed all day, talking and joking and laying on each other. He gave me a donut. We talked with his roommate.

At 4 I left after napping on him.

And I don’t know what we are. But I’m excited to find out.


Posted in rambling

To Be A Hurricane

I got my URL from my Abuelita. We visited her for Christmas a few years ago, and my Tia talked about the different nicknames Abuelita has for all of her grandkids. She has one she uses pretty often for me, but when I was younger she called me her Huracán–or, hurricane. I liked the idea of having a personality like a hurricane, despite what a negative impact it has on people.

Hurricanes are wind, rain, hail, heat. They have eyes and edges. They are harsh. They leave disaster in their wake.

I could see where I got that nickname as a kid.

I used to think it was beautiful in an abstract kind of way. I mostly don’t feel beautiful or like a hurricane anymore.

Recently I kind of feel like a wishing flower. I don’t know what they’re actually called. Dandelions, I’m pretty sure–but at that stage of their life where your wish comes true if you blow all their fuzzies off in one go.

What I mean is that I feel fragile. That if the wind blows too hard, all my bits will fly away.

I don’t drink. Some comments today were made to me about the fact that my not drinking has ostracized me within my frat. I thought it was just my anxiety that made me feel that way, but it turns out I am actually missing out on a part of bonding with other people.

That doesn’t change anything for me. It does make me feel like shit though.

My grades seem to improve in some places and become a disaster in others. I don’t quite feel like I have a home, or a handle on myself or my life.

I guess what I’m saying is that the wind is blowing really hard.

I guess what I’m saying is that I’m trying to be a hurricane again.


Posted in college, greek life

Being Greek

I hate telling people that being in a Greek organization changed my life because of how corny it sounds, but the fact of the matter is that it’s true.

The fall semester of my freshman year was awful for a plethora of reasons, but I think that the overall transition from high school to college was just extremely difficult for me. I spent every day sleeping, eating, and throwing myself into schoolwork. In retrospect, it doesn’t sound terrible. It sounds like an average College Kid kind of life. But I wasn’t just in a cyclic rut of school; I was depressed.

Nothing brought me joy. I was constantly filled with an overwhelming sense of doom–and not just about my academics. Getting out of bed was difficult. Going to things by myself was impossible. In fact, going to events with more than three people–even people I did know–was impossible. I knew about three people by the end of my first semester.

Winter break happened. I decided something had to give. Something had to be different.

I got an email about an honors fraternity which I was eligible for. None of my (two) friends were interested in it. Where I’m from, being Greek (and female) is usually equated with being white, and rich, and being after a “Ring by Spring.” I was, ignorantly, a believer of these horrendous stereotypes. Something in my gut told me that this was my chance for change; I went to the first info session by myself.

I was immediately in love. The people were my kind of people. They were fun and interesting and made me happy. It didn’t matter to me, anymore, that I was by myself at every rush event. I loved being around the people I was around.

I made it through the Rush process. I made it through the Initiation process. I became a member of the Fraternity. I didn’t realize how much it’d changed my life until this semester.

Every week, I have things to do. Every day, I have people to sit with–people I want to sit with. I have people to text and hangout with and have jokes with. I have people who know that sometimes I need to be alone. I have people who listen to me rant about Astronomy and teach me how to play Water Pong because they know I don’t drink. I am always excited to be around these people. I used to think that my way of getting out of a rut was to crawl into bed and not get out of it until I felt like I could function. Sometimes that’s still the answer. But most days? Well now, most days, the answer to my sadness is to get out of my room, to hangout with my Brothers.

At the last meeting, I was given the privilege of being voted Brother of the Month. Today I sat through a meeting in which I said the words, “I do things with this fraternity because I like being around y’all. Like, it makes me happy.” The people around me smiled. The people around me believed me. The people around me, I think, also like to have me around.

There are a lot of things I’m bad at expressing myself over. This is not one of them. I am immensely grateful for every person I have met because I “went Greek.” I am eternally indebted to this organization. These people have given me confidence, hope, a voice, an education, acceptance, and a home in a place which I thought would always be foreign.


Posted in rambling

Fuck Forever

Here’s the thing. I read fanfiction. Like, often. It’s my stress relief, my drug of choice, my go-to procrastination method. My favorite fanfiction trope? Soulmates. Meant-to-be’s. “My name gets inscribed on your wrist when you turn 18 and vice versa” or “The first words I say to you are written on your body somewhere” or “I looked at you and knew that you were it for me for forever.” That’s it. Forever is my aesthetic.

Fuck Forever.

It’s not applicable in real life, and I know that–I understand that the trope is a trope because it’s not a real life thing. I’ve never seen it work that way in real life. I had never met a married couple where both spouses had never been married before until I met my stepdad’s parents. And then, when I was eleven, his dad died. Forever is not a concept my life has ever shown me to be true.

So why am I so obsessed with it?

Today I went shopping with my sister, and out loud I told her, “Maybe I’m just not trying hard enough.”


“To find a boyfriend.”

“Oh jeez,” and she said it kind of jokingly, but I knew it wasn’t a joke.

“Maybe I’m not putting myself out there,” is what I said.

Maybe I just haven’t met Forever yet, is what I didn’t say aloud.

I don’t hook up. I commit. Hard. I am the epitome of Romantic All or Nothing. I get invested. I love with every fiber of my being. What does that mean?

Means I don’t love that way often. Means I’m aggressively unwillingly to let myself get attached to people who haven’t proven themselves to me. Means I’m alone a lot.

I drove back to school not long after we roamed Marshalls for a bit. I thought about my junior year of high school. It was my best year, not that the sophomore year of college hasn’t been a close second. There’s still time.

Why was it the best? Well, I went into the school year attached to this mistake of a Not Relationship. It was over by September. And what did I do for the rest of that year? Threw myself into my academics. Played two sports. Joined clubs. Got a 30 on the ACT. Stayed single, stayed uninterested in romance, and read fanfiction.

I want to go back to that me. It’s been so hard for me to, but I want to. I miss my drive for school. I miss my drive for…everything. The only thing that makes me happy these days is being around my stupid (not actually) Unrequited Love and driving.

When I went home for the weekend, Not Actually Unrequited Love picked me up around 11 and we drove the three hours to the beach. It didn’t make me feel as good as I thought it would. You know what did?

Transcribing my notes for Astronomy–which I have a D in.

So I’m trying to find her, to find the girl that’s okay with Forever being  a fanfiction trope and reality being SchoolStress. I thrive under SchoolStress. I feel like I have a purpose under SchoolStress. For a long time it’s felt like the only defining thing about me is my intelligence–not that I was the most intelligent in any scenario, ever, but my love for learning and my ability to process knowledge was my  accelerant. Now I’m just burning. And I’ve always been the type to work alone, so now I have to figure out how to put myself out.

So Fuck Forever. Give me a book, instead.

(This post was written in a fit of frustration with myself and should not be judged for its eloquence.)