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I'm turning into the person who forgets what people tell me. That person always bothered me. You know the one who would ask you the same question time after time. And when you'd respond, they'd have no idea that you'd already told them? Well, I haven't gotten so bad that I don't even catch on that I already know. But, I fear I'm heading in that direction.

Does telling someone of the opposite sex that they're "smart and pretty" necessarily mean anything? Is that just friendly? What about buying them things? Is that just friendly too? Well, I'm not reading into anything. Because whenever I read into things, I'm the one who, invariably, gets hurt.

Today I humbled myself and went to be tutored by someone who I knew would be younger than me. I hate admitting my deficiencies in economics to people who don't really know it's true. Actually, let me clarify that. I don't mind admitting these deficiencies if it is purely a superficial admittance. If it's just something like "oh, I never get that," but that won't ever actually be tested so people still might think I'm smart. So, anyway, this class that I'm in. I'm in it all alone. Well, not really all alone, but I only know one person in the class. And he has yet to realize that I am, indeed, stupid*. And he's one of those people--like most people that I only sort of know--who actually think I'm one of those really smart, really put-together types. Let me save you all the suspense: I'm not. So, this weekend, not only did he get to witness my stupidity, but I had to go through it all tonight, as well. When we were working on the problem set, I didn't understand how to do one of the problems and it was something ridiculous that I should have understood. When he explained it to me, I told him sorry, but I was really slow. And he responded with "well, we haven't done it in a while and you'll get faster." He's nice.

So, tonight I got over myself and went to be tutored. Knowing good and well that I'd be older than my tutor and get it half as much. Turns out she was, and turns out I did. But, I actually had the problems more or less correct--or at least was on the right track. Which was good. But, anyway, so there was another guy in the cubicle with us and they are both in 203 right now. They asked if I wrote the paper or took the test (we had options). I told them that I wrote the paper and that it was the only "A" midterm I've had here. The guy commented on my honesty and said that not many people at our school would admit to that. I wasn't sure what he thought I was admitting. My stupidity? Cause I admit it all the time. It's just that no one believes me. And, I'm not sure that I'd want them to, anyway.

*when it comes to economics--that's what my mom assured me on the phone this evening

European beauty products are not as good as American ones. Which is odd. Europeans have that look, you know? That really good, really stylish, I-just-used-really-fancy-beauty-products look. But, they are still really bad.

I just used up the last glob of Greek lotion that I bought in, well, Greece. The lotion was terrible. It is called Sanex. And now it is in my trashcan. I actually understand everything written on the package. But, not because it's in Greek. Because it's in Spanish. I found that really odd. Anyway, I just used up the lotion and was kinda sad about it. Even though it was so terrible. I'm almost nostalgic for my lotion. I'm almost done with my shampoo too. But the shampoo is bad, as well. I'll be happy to be through with it--and so will my hair--but it's kinda sad to be done with that part of my life. The part of my life when I bought shampoo and lotion in Greece.

I finished up some Spanish toothpaste over the summer. This was, by far, the worst toothpaste that had ever graced the surface of my pearly whites. The minty flavor lasted all of 3 minutes and after that came a terrible, gritty taste that I, invariably, was forced to mitigate with a stick of gum. But still, the last time I brushed my teeth with it I was sad. The entire week before I knew that my toothpaste was about to run out, I only used the tiniest little spot of paste to brush my teeth--which, I shouldn't have to say--was even worse for that non-minty flavor. But, still, I just wanted it to last.

There is not much that I dislike more (not including things like world poverty, famine and war) than PDA. Today as I sat in the library doing my homework, minding my own little business, my unparalleled productivity kept being interrupted by the kissing of these two annoying people sitting down the way. They weren't even really kissing, is the thing. The girl was sitting across from the guy (I'm not positive it was a guy, he/she wasn't facing me and had very inconclusive physical characteristics) and facing me). She would periodically (and by periodically, I mean at least 6 times in 4 hours) get up to walk around the table and hold her face really close to the other person's face as if she was kissing him--with the head tilt and everything. But, it was one of those really terrible, nails-on-a-chalkboard kisses (if it was indeed a kiss) that is really quiet but still makes a sound. You know? Like when someone is trying to be polite by whispering, but the sound of trying to be quiet it is just so jarring that it would be better if the person didn't even try to be quiet at all. Anyway, I found it all terribly revolting. I am a rather romantic person. Little affectionate hand holds or a kiss and hug at the airport always make my inner tenderness warm and fuzzy, but I find nothing more annoying than two people who think that the rest of the world cares about their physical connectedness with one another. I don't. And I don't think that many people do. Or maybe that's not even the worst part of it. The worst part of it is just that people get so involved with themselves that they forget that there is an entire world around them.

When someone was disrupting the class, my 6th grade science teacher (Mr. Momburger--yes that's his real name) used to stare at the person while making this weird, dynamic hand-gesture of a planet rotating around the sun and yell this is not you. the world does not revolve around you. I always thought that was funny. It still makes me smile. In fact, it just did.

If I wasn't in the library, and I couldn't care less about my reputation, I would have done a Mr. Momburger on these people today. Lucky for those who know me, I didn't. And lucky for all of us, they just left. It just started raining and I hope that they were too busy kissing in the quads to run inside before getting wet.

So, Sundays and Mondays have sort of become the make dinner together night. Although last night we didn't. I made banana bread instead, watched the White Sox game and went over to a friend's house to watch Desperate Housewives. But tonight we were all here and it was nice. We made teriyaki vegetable stirfry over udon noodles. I didn't want my bowl to ever be empty. I even ate with chopsticks to make it all last longer--the last little bits of flavorful garlic and egg were a bit tricky to maneuver. I really enjoy making dinner. But, more than that, I really enjoy being cooked for. I didn't totally appreciate this notion of having someone else cook for me--I mean other than my mom, though I am beginning to appreciate that since she stopped cooking for me about 4 years ago--until this summer, I don't think. The best is when it's really out of care. I had two amazing dinners made for me this summer--not amazing because of the ingredients, though they were good too. But amazing because I didn't have to do anything. And not because I didn't want to, but because the other person really did.

(by the way, blogger spell check things that "stirfry" is supposed to be "stripper." it's not.)

I've been really wanting a donut lately. I don't know why. It's not really an intense craving or anything. The cravings come for random reasons--like I'll see a picture or something. They're fairly short-lived, too. Mostly, I've been really wanting a lot of crap food for no reason--food that I usually don't even like all that much and that is equally disappointing when I finally get my hands on it. So the latest cravings have been grands biscuits, pillsbury cinnamon rolls, m&m's, mr. goodbars, pizza, donuts.

It almost embodies the classic ideals of liberation. Like finally being free from the shakels that are "caring" (not that I would go even half as far as to say that's how I actually feel). This summer I just ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. It worked out well for a few reasons. But most of those reasons no longer exist back on domestic soil and with the existence of other confounding issues. Yet, I have not fully discarded this sense of attainable desire. I have yet to make it unattainable, but I'm not sure if this is really that good of a thing. It's like I'm a foreigner to tasteful marvels and just desire the ability to experience them once, if only to say that I did. Like seeing the Empire State Building in New York, or something like that. Like I am here, so I may as well.

So, as for donuts. When I was dropping off the van at the police station on Saturday the police officer was really nice and he had a dozen krispy kremes sitting on the dispatcher table. He offered me one, and I obliged willingly. I think he was surprised that I said yet, but he smiled and went to get a napkin. I was mostly excited because I'd never had my very own krispy kreme. I once had a bite of someone's at a study break 2nd year, but it was far from indulgent and the taste lasted less than 15 seconds. Well, suffice it to say, this time around wasn't much better. He handed me the donut--I was extremely hungry, having way passed my usual 4 hour fasting ability. I was surprised at how light the thing was. It felt like nothing more than air. I took one bite, and then two, then three, four and maybe five. And it was gone. I couldn't believe it. How anti-climactic is that? I don't know what the big deal is. I hardly even had time to relish in the amazing experience that krispy kreme is all cracked up to be, because by the time 45 seconds had passed, the donut was gone. And, I hardly even knew where it went.

Last night I took a shift that had me working with my roommate--bad idea. I think somewhere there's a sort of rule on that sort of thing. It sort of goes with the whole, "no dating in the workplace" idea: no working with friends who might cause you to get into trouble. So, we didn't get into trouble. But, we were having almost too good of a time. I don't think I'm at liberty to share--I'd have to clear it by her--but let's just say, at one point, I unplugged the computer and we couldn't figure out how to turn it back on. None of the passwords that we could think of worked. I ended up having to call my supervisor's cell phone and even he didn't know! It was all hilarious and a good spot in the evening.

I've been feeling really bad lately. Not like down, or depressed. I mean I've been feeling like I am bad. I don't do my problem sets super early like I used to, I'm behind in reading, I forgot about meetings and TA sessions and I was a misbehavin' in the workplace. And, I haven't decided if it's better to be upfront about something I think I'm probably not supposed to do and risk no being allowed to be on this board I want to be on, or if I should feign ignorance when the issue comes up. I never was very good at "oops." But, I just might have to try.

I guess that's all good. It means I'm "normal" (whatever that means). My mom was trying to give me tips about my senior year and her biggest worry was that I would study too hard. What kind of mom thinks her kid studies too hard? She said, "Lisa Lovely, I want to make sure that you have fun this year. Let loose." She's a good mom.

Today was the marathon. My friend ran the marathon for the 2nd time. I wanted to run the marathon. I even trained for it this summer. But when I went to register mid-July, it was already full. The whole, entire, 40,000 people marathon was full! Who'd have thought that 40,000 people could have their act together enough to plan ahead that far in advance? Amazing.

Well, next year, maybe. I just need a buddy. A running buddy, that is. Maybe I'll place an add in the peoples section. Tribune.

I love to clean. Except for scrubbing walls. I don't like scrubbing walls at all. My mom always tries to get me to scrub my walls and I resist with as much might as I can.

I love to clean and cook and do the food shopping. If this was 1951, I'd be quite the commodity. I guess times sure have changed. Now I just need to, too.

The unfortunate thing about cleaning, though, is the bug usually gets me when it's time for bed. Like now. My bedtime goal was 11. My roommate said "I'm going to scrub the tub" around 10:30 and that's all it took. I attempted to mop my bedroom floor, but the act was rather futile. It's pretty dirty, and the dirt's not going anywhere.

But, my sheets are clean and the apartment is swept, and the bathroom sparkles and the trash is ready to be taken out, the dishwasher is full and set to go, and I even washed the dishcloths. I think I'll call it a day, or, well, a night.

[I'd like to just start off by saying, I really need to go to bed! I've really needed to go bed for about 2 hours now, in fact. But things just keep coming up. I really want to start a new book, but I picked it out with someone else and we are planning to start it together, and I didn't tell her that I wanted to start it tonight. I might just start it anyway.]

So, I was just thinking about a story that my mom tells me about myself. It's probably terribly selfish, but I love the stories that my parents tell about me being little. They're so much fun to hear.

Anyway, so my mom had taken me to the doctor for a routine check-up. I think I was only about 3 or 4 (but, I tend to be really wrong about these things, I guess I could have been 5?). And the doctor was asking me all sorts of questions while she was making me say "ahhh" and checking my pulse, or something. And, one of her questions was, "LisaLovely*, who do you love?" And, my response was "me!"

I love that story!

*Name may have been changed to preserve anonymity.

Have you ever been so excited about seeing someone, only to see them, and then realize that they didn't really care?

It's amazing how quickly a mood can change. I hate that. I hate that I can become such a victim of the people around me. I was in such a good mood. I blow dried my hair tonight and even cut it a little--I was feeling fun and ambitious, so I gave myself some angled bangs. I turned up the music and danced in my bathrobe and I felt so good. Now I just want to cry. And, I sort of know why, but at the same time, I hate that I know why. Because knowing why means that I don't have to cry. I'm not really sad though. Because I know what's happening. It's weird. Wanting to cry and being sad, but at the same time, not really being sad. And being strong enough to know--even during weakness.

I did my laundry tonight. I don't really mind doing laundry. Well, I don't mind doing it if I don't have anything else to do, but I hate it when it all piles up because I haven't had time. I hate piled up laundry. One of my favorite things in the whole wide world is freshly cleaned sheets. But more than that. I love having just come out of the shower, being clean, smelling fresh, my legs shaved. It's night. I'm tired and I have a good book. And, I love crawling into my sheets. My freshly cleaned sheets.

My mom uses laundry soap without scent. She's allergic to the perfumes, I think. So, laundry isn't as extravagant at home. It's still wonderfully amazing to sleep in fresh and clean sheets, but the absence of smell makes it all somehow incomplete. When I buy my own laundry soap, I get the kind that smells amazing. It's almost like a splurge. It makes me feel decadent, like eating chocolate cupcakes. And I just want to share the experience with someone. But no one is here, but me. Well, someone is here, but at the same time it's more like I am the one that's not here. Like, almost, I don't exist.

Tonight I made my bed. And it looks amazing. I just walked back into the room and the entire space was filled with the fresh aroma of warm laundry and clean. And I am clean. I just want to go to sleep.

So the biggest problem that I have with this blogger thing is that I feel like it paints only one very small dimension of who I actually am. Maybe I wouldn't care about this if I didn't know who reads my posts.

If I write about being sad, does that mean I am only sad?
If I write when I am happy, does that mean I am only happy?
If I write about being confident or funny, does that mean I have no problems?
If I write about thinking someone is cute, does that mean that I only think about one thing?
If I write about loneliness, do I need constant company?
If I write about disconnect from those around me, am I unsatisfied?

Sure, I guess at those moments, I might be some of those things. But, I am also a stew of all of those things at the same time. When I'm happy, my sad is still there. And when I'm lonely, my contentedness does exist. Maybe that's what makes all of us so multi-dimensional. We are a compilation of our many emotions all at the same time.

Just to be up front about this post: it is not about socialism as in socialism. It is about socialism as in a word that I invented. Socialism as in: about the act of being "social". I could have called it
socialistic, but that would have been the adjective.

So, that's what this post is going to be about: Socialism. The art of being social.

I don't really consider myself as being an "anti-social" person. Anti-social to me is someone who doesn't know how to socialize, or who doesn't like to socialize. Now, I wouldn't consider myself a social expert, but I definitely know how to socialize and I do enjoy it, much of the time. At the same time, I really am getting to appreciate being on my own. And, usually, on any given day or night, I'd rather be alone. Sure, there are plenty of times that I get lonely, or that I just want company, and I've got great friends for that (!!) but more often than not, I'm very content to read, or think, or listen to music, or ride my bike. All of these things are fun to do with other people, but it's really satisfying to know that they are equally good to do on my own. Maybe it's a mental thing: I feel good knowing that I don't really need anyone around.

That being said, I've been lonely lately. It's weird to be surrounded by so much but to just not feel connected, in a way. Sometimes I feel like I'm just going through the motions. When I catch myself thinking that way, I really try and be more aware of myself and aware of what I am doing and why. It's amazing how easy it is just to get so wrapped up in one way of thinking to forget that how it appears to be is not necessarily how it is.

I come home to darkness a lot (literally, this isn't a metaphor for darkness in my head or anything like that), and that's been odd. I don't usually like it at all. So, I've just been turning up the music really loud, or turning on the TV for company. Sometimes it feels like people are so caught up in their own worlds that they don't really care about what I have to say. I know that sounds really terrible and selfish, but I feel like I do a lot of caring for other people, and that sometimes I forget to care about myself. I don't ever want to care so much about me, though, that I don't care about anyone else.

So, about being social. I had made all these plans to do things tonight and today I was seeing people nonstop. I love all of the connections that I've made in my life and I feel like I'm surrounded by amazing people. And it was great to see so many of them. One of them invited me over to her house and I think I hurt her feelings because I was a little quick to say no. But, honestly, I was really excited to come home. I figured that I would probably be alone, but I was okay with that. Because it feels good to know that there is somewhere else to go. And, maybe I'm okay with all of this, because, ultimately, when it doesn't feel good here, there is always somewhere else to go too. And, that's why it's good to have friends. But also good to be alone.

I have been wanting to eat something bad for me all day. But, I haven't given in. When I was studying in Uncle Joe's, though, I was watching this guy eat a gigantic muffin. And my first reaction: well, honestly, I was mad. I mean it was 10 o'clock at night. And, he's eating a muffin! I wasn't mad because I don't think that people should eat muffins; rather, I was mad because I want to eat muffins. And not just muffins, but cinnamon rolls and chocolate cake. And garlic bread and even, maybe, some lasagna. I am amazed at people's abilities to eat whatever they want, whenever they want it. This amazement stems more from superficial, non health-related reasons. Of course I am very aware of the detriments to one's physical health due to eating muffins all day, but I am also (very, very) aware of the detriments to one's psychological health of avoiding such decadences. And, on a superficial level, I sometimes wish that either 1. I could be one of those people who could eat whatever they wanted without changing or 2. That I didn’t really care. Unfortunately, I fail miserably at both. And, that, in fact, is why I was mesmerized—in anger—at the man’s eating of the muffin at 10 o’clock this evening.

Why is it that when I finally decide that I'm over someone, he decides to show up again? I think this might be a pretty good philosophy for life: get over it to get it. I sort of realized this in Spain over the summer. As soon as I decided that I didn't care. That I was going to not care, he came back in--full whammy. No slowing down.

So now, I'm trying to still be over him, but it's really, really hard. I try to rationalize with myself: he's no good anyway. You know that. You don't need him. But, it doesn't work. I know he's no good. I know I don't need him. But these are all things that my brain says. And my brain, in most cases, takes the back seat.

Sometimes it seems like as soon as things are making sense, as soon as I'm starting to figure something out--to figure me out--something comes along and disrupts the whole situation.

Today, someone told me something that did the same thing. I was just starting to be comfortable with how it all was going. Now the equilibrium is all off. I guess the moral of this one is: change. Change, change, change. It all changes, so I just have to be flexible. I have to be a strong me so that nothing screws it all up.

Neither is really a big deal. I mean, I'm not losing any sleep over either situation or anything. But they've definitely made things a bit more confusing.

I've heard that 3 "unruly" boys live downstairs from me. I've never met them, but I've heard interesting stories. Parties, putting alcohol in our (well, I guess it wasn't "ours" back then) fridge for the weekend and just being, well, college students--not that that's an excuse I ever give out easily. Anyway, when I was walking down the stairs to take out the trash this evening, I might have glanced over just a little to see what was happening in their kitchen. Nothing much was going on. But, I did see Special K (the strawberry kind) on the counter. I don't know why I found this so amusing, but I did. I guess because Special K is for, well, girls. At least that's what their advertising specialists tell us.

As much as people might like to deny it, there are definitely girl foods and boy foods. Sour cream: boy food. Cheesecake yogurt: girl food. Steak sandwiches: boy food. Pita pockets: girl food. Beer: boy drink. Cosmopolitan: girl drink. And, last, but not least. Wheaties: boy food. Special K with strawberries: girl food.

Maybe that's all a little much. I don't think that I actually picked very good girl vs boy food examples. But, I won't back down with the Special K thing. The ads are all about losing weight, sensible diets, dress sizes. Girl things. Or, at least that's what we're told.

My independence has always been something of great value to me. Although I appreciate the value of other people and enjoy the company of friendship, on an emotional and physical level, it has always been important for me to be able to take care of myself. I think that sometimes my lack of trust in other people and my stubbornness in thinking that no can take care of me better than I can has made me miss out on a lot of little things, ultimately, I don't think that there is any substitute for being able to do it on my own.

From carrying a box up two flights of stairs, to feeling sad, I don't want to have to rely on other people to help me out. Sometimes, I think I get too carried away. Not willing to ask for help, not willing to give other people the chance to take care of me. I guess, ultimately, everyone likes to be needed, and perhaps one of my biggest faults in relationships is not being in need. Of course, this doesn't mean that I've done a fair share of calling people in tears (my dad especially) or asking for favors when I feel the need, but, for the most part, I don't think I give people the chance to give to me, as much as I like to give to them.

This came up the other night, actually. I think that learning how to take, is just as important at being able to give. And, I don't always take as well as I think I should.

So, the point of all of this, is that I have recently come to the realization that 1 I don't know as much as I think I do and 2 I'm tired of doing things on my own.

I have been wanting to put up a mirror for a while now. It has been sitting on my floor for that long, though, because I didn't think I could do it by myself. When I was all set to put it up a couple of weeks ago, a friend mentioned to me how I should do it. I didn't really like how she thought I should do it, but I didn't have the strength to tell her no. So, instead of just doing it my way, the damn mirror has been sitting on my floor waiting to be fixed so that it could be done to her specifications. So, I realize this is absolutely ridiculous and that she didn't mean that I had to do it how she thought it should be done, but at the same time, I felt slightly obligated to do it her way in case she was right and I was, GULP, wrong. Anyway, finally last night I decided to do it my way, but I also decided that I needed help. Although I would like to pretend that I could do it myself--that I didn't need anyone else's help--I did.

And, you know what? My friend helped me. This all sounds good, right? But, I felt terrible. Why couldn't I do it myself? To top it off, I was wearing a skirt and I couldn't even bend down to help. Now, I was smart enough to realize what I was becoming. But, no matter how fast that skirt came off and jeans went on, it was a terrible moment of realization. I was turning into that girl.

Okay, now this once-coherent, single-tracked post has now shattered into 1000 little fragments of my mind. And, I will leave it at that.

I have been lately confronted with the issue of what it really means to have a blog. Do matters discussed in a blog necessarily become matters discussed in person? Or, does the blogging life exist separately from the life in the real world? I guess, what it comes down to, is what goes into the writing of the blog. I don't think that I would classify myself as a private person, per se, but I would say that I am careful what I share. I guess most people who know me might be surprised by that--I am always talking, right? Well, yeah. I do talk a lot. And, I do share a lot. But there's a lot that goes on upstairs that never becomes a sound and makes it out of my lips. I have sort of been confronted with this issue of public vs private ever since I started this blog and its presence become widespread knowledge across my circle of friends (no doubt, the only people who actually read it: thus, I have no clue why I am writing as though my thoughts are published to some "unbeknownst to me" audience). Although this is supposed to be a sort of journal of my thoughts, I feel that I do have to be mindful of what I say and who is reading it. In the past week or two, I have been wanting to write a lot, for example, but haven't really gotten up the courage. Not because I am trying to be passive aggressive or to beat around the bush with my subtleties, but because, ultimately, how I make people feel is very important to me. Sometimes, I think, if I didn't care so damn much about everyone around me, I'd be a much happier person. But, the alternative just doesn't make all that much sense. Because I do care. And, I like caring.

Okay, so I'm completely lost as to where this was going. Basically, I can't decide if my blogging life is ready to be a part of my public life. I guess, in a way, I've already had to answer this question (why, yes, indeed, it must be part of the public life) by accepting that it is my closest circle of friends who read about me every day (or every week, month, whatever). But more than that. It is my closest circle of friends who actually care.

Maybe the bigger issue to me, in actuality, is how do I reconcile what I write with those who maybe aren't in my closest circle of friends? Do I pretend that the me that goes to class every day, runs along the lake and goes food shopping is not the me who gets inspiration at all hours of the day (and night)? Is the me who locks the door every time I leave or come the same me that sometimes can't sleep until I empty my head into the computer? Or, is it that once the thought leaves my head, getting transmitted onto a public web space for the whole darn world to potentially see it only exists independently from the person? In essence, I haven't really decided if it still is, in fact, me. So, do I pretend that people don't read this, or do I embrace my blog as a way to communicate things to those around me that I may not be able to say out loud (not because they are bad, or embarrassing, or sad, necessarily) or just wouldn't come up in conversation?

So, I don't know how to close this, really. I think I just might go to sleep. With no concluding sentence. Just a goodbye and until next time. Not the best, I know.