Friday, September 20, 2002

Blah, blah, blah.

I think I'm getting an stomach ulcer. Hess, what does that feel like, exactly? I feel like I have a permanent knot in my insides. Sometimes it cramps, sometimes it just aches, sometimes I just feel like throwing up. Could it be stress? I'm going to see the doctor on Monday, if it continues through the weekend.

Despite the pain, though, I had a beautiful Thursday night. I went to Tigerbeat with Hector, Mr. Ed, Stephanie, Anna, Judy, Justin, Wendy, Sam, and several of the yell leaders. First, we had a little pre-party at Scott, the yell leader's apartment, then we set off for Hollywood. I'm not much of a club-goer... but I was just having a ball. I've only been to Tigerbeat once before, when it was at a different location. But now it's on Sunset, at a much larger venue. I've never seen so many beautiful people in one place. And I've decided that I want to be a man, just so I could be a drag queen - they were exquisite. A woman could never successfully pull off outfits/hair/makeup like that. Our group just went crazy on the dance floor. I've never seen so much mayhem in one place. I don't particularly love pop dance music with any sort of passion whatsoever, but I was singing along to the songs with the rest of the club. It was fun, and a good way to forget about all of the pressures of the past month for a while. Hector had a WONDERFUL idea when he suggested this trip. You're the best, baby.

Right now, I'm inclined to throw myself into my studies. My classes are just wonderful - I like every single one of them. The reading's difficult, and we've been havign a rash of papers due lately, but I'm taking it in stride. I've discovered the wonder of the Doheny bookstacks. I love being surrounded by the smell of musty old tomes. You can easily get lost in the narrow mazes of volumes, but in a way, it seems so familar. It reminds me of my childhood. I used to spend hours wandering around my "mom's" library. I would sit on the carpet and pick out one or two books that had interesting covers. Then I'd find the darkest, most isolated corner and just read for hours. My mom would always have problems finding me when she wanted to leave.

Academia seems like one of my last few refuges, since marching band has ceased to be a source of pure pleasure, like it was earlier. Joke or not, I just can't forget that initial shock of embarrassment and horror. It's been a long time since I've been so mortified. And it's been a long time since I've seen something so blatantly mean-spirited and cruel. But I suppose it's a wake-up call. Sepi chided me today. I think she has a good point. She was saying that I care too much about other people, their opinions, and their disappointments. Sepi also said that I should prioritize my emotional involvement. In a way, she's right. The most prominent aspect of my character is my ability to empathize with others and connect with people. I want to find the good in everyone, and I tend to wear my own heart on my sleeve. But it also drains me. And gets me into trouble. While I may be open, honest, and well-intentioned, it's difficult to cope with the fact that other people just aren't like that.

I called my dad today, and he's not doing too well either. His best friend from childhood just had two heart attacks and died. He's in shock - evidently this happened last month, and he's just now finding out about Allen's funeral. I feel horrible about the entire ordeal - Allen was a lovely man, extremely welcoming and kind. We went to visit them two years ago in Staffordshire, when Dad and I had our own little English vacation. We had a great time visiting his and his wife Marianne's lovely Victorian house. They were in the midst of remodeling it, room by room. They only had three more rooms left - I wonder if it ever got finished?

God, my blogger's so depressing. I suppose it's in stark contrast to me "in person." I'm rarely without a smile on my face or a ready laugh. I'm actually an optimistic being, with my head screwed on straight. I suppose it's just easier to vent the tragic junk.