27 February

There are only two pages of my blog posts. Although I do have three blogs. Or is it four? Why don't I know this? I am a pathetic, pathtic, blogger. Aren't bloggers supposed to have pages and pages and PAGES about nothing slash themselves? Yes.
Only when I want to type something will everyone go quiet. Fuck them.
I'm working at the library (hence the graveyard silence) and still wallowing in the muck that is my life over how I will never gain self actualization or even happiness if I don't find my calling, ASAP.
Scratch that, I know what my calling is. But singing doesn't put money in the bank unless you win American Idol, and nerves don't put you on American Idol (excepting "Top Ten Worst Auditions" which I'd rather not be on, thanks). So here I am, reluctant Computer Science major number 1! (To be enunciated like Megara). And while I can think of at LEAST ten other majors that I could be doing, I'm too gutless to major in something without a guaranteed paycheck as soon as I get out of college. That, of course, is the inherent disease of the world. That living is not viable without a job.
After work I'm going to take a (public, I hate them) bus to the mall to buy pink hair dye, and then I'm going to dye my hair (again). Then I'm going to race to Helfaer in order to rub my face in the fact that being a theater major is MUCH more appealing than Computer Science (I'm going to watch The Last Five Years. Come with me.). And then I'll come home, shove all my stuff off the bed onto the floor, and fall asleep surrounded by this mess.
Just the average day, you know. In the life of a reluctant Computer Sci...yeah, yeah, you know.

Can I Sing For You Brother?

So I just got back from the first night of Can I Sing For You Brother? - Stephen's capstone in performance. And for once, I'm not complaining or talking about myself. I'm talking about Stephen.

I have watched this play of his at least six times. And every time I see it, I fall more in love with it. I have never seen someone sing with such feeling in his voice. But tonight? Tonight I, who have watched him laugh and cry and sing for hours already, could not put anything into words when he was done. How is it that one person, one normal, regular person can stir such emotion in so many? You should have seen them all. Rapt until his very last word. And when I say last word, I mean it - until he had screamed "Come over here!" at Curtis, the pianist, and walked off the stage. And the applause - I won't say I thought I was going to go deaf, I'm not that cliched - but I got to wondering when it would stop; when I would be able to stop (I was clapping too, of course). Everyone was bawling, I heard. I know his aunt was, because I saw her myself. I would have been bawling, too, except I don't know what tears would do to the sound board and I don't want to find out.

Lucy In the Sky with Diamonds?

I feel like I should be keeping track of my blogs. I have too many, that's for sure. I'm going to settle down and just keep one, I think. Not that anyone ever actually reads them. The URL is enough to put you off. I myself have trouble typing it in right the first time (the first time? Try the 56th, the 84th time). In the end I realized I can just sign in to blogger and it takes me straight to my dashboard.

This, of course, is why I'm majoring in computer science. Because I'm so technically savvy, I rock my socks off.

Anyway. It's the 4th week of semester and already I feel like I'm dying. For some reason I'm always tired and never on top of my homework. Last week I signed up to be a sound engineer for the capstone class - 26 hours in one week. I do it to myself. If I was majoring in something that actually made me happy, it might be different. Who knows? I've never actually wanted to study. Lately I've been thinking journalism would be fun, but fun doesn't put food on the table yadda yadda ya. This type of fun would probably get me killed or something similar while I was covering a terrorist attack, anyway. I'd much rather be the techie who killed his wife, right? Right. Which is why I'm learning computer science from the most inadequate teacher in history. Where is the getMessage section of the program, you ask. Here is the exception class, he answers. His words swim completely over my head. I don't even think attendance counts towards my grade, but I have to go to class so I know when we have assignments and quizzes. Which is the worst reason to have to go to class, believe me. The entire one hour and fifteen minutes I stare blankly at the board and nod when he looks at me, and at the end I file out with everyone else and proceed to bang my head against the wall. Like I said, I do it to myself.

Philosophy, though, I have no control over. Lonergan and his levels of values and parallelism of thought and feelings can just go to hell, if you ask me. How is this helping my life, I ask you? Are you comping up blank? Lovely, I expected as much. How does one come up with a good answer to a completely pointless question, anyway.

I'm aware I complain entirely too much. In my experience that's generally the way we bloggers are. We are, you must remember, creating a website entirely about ourselves. And then we write lengthy monologues and get upset when no one comments on them. We are possibly among the most narcissistic people on the planet, after those who use twitter, of course. Are you shaking your head? Don't. The website is completely dedicated to your whinging, for god's sake. About how the shape of your eyebrows is messed up, or telling us that your mother coming to visit you next weekend. Honestly, if we cared so much, we would ask. If we don't ask to know every detail about your personal life, it means we don't care.

If you're asking yourself how I, the person writing thins whingey personal blog, can abuse you for using twitter, you're quite in the right. I never said I don't use twitter, did I? Although my sole tweet is Lucy in the sky with diamonds.

Whatever. Narcissism. Look it up.