Countdown to Meltdown

1. 10 pg Paper

2. Part 3 and 4 of short story along with nice cover letter (don't forget postage!!)

3. 3 self-scheduled exams I've yet to study for

4. French skit

5. French Cultural Activity

Oh yeah, I still have to prepare to move out. You know, hectic last-minute stuff. Right. Someone shoot me. I have roughly two weeks to do ALL THIS, and at the same time I still want to go to a few more parties and performances and hang out with my friends and...

Shut up, Esa T_______T

Everyone is a Walking Personal Ad

Okay first things first: I finished one paper roughly ten minutes ago. Good job. Now for my other one. >_____> And my short story too. But that's okay. My short story shouldn't be too hard right? Riiiigghhht @_______@

~~~~

To the actual topic at hand:

Recently I have found myself taking interest to several students on campus, both guy and girl. Sounds normal so far. NOT. I realized waaaay back in the semester how very lacking Middlebury is in the aesthetically appealing department. Student-wise, that is. Yep, there are maybe 5 authentic 'hot' people in this college. Sad. And because of this ugly fact, many students whose standards back at home would have been sky-high have now been reduced to messing around with those of the sub-par level (at best.) Unfortunately, I am not excluded from this trend. I wish I were kidding.

So there it is--the ugly truth! Suddenly, I'm throwing myself at guys I would have laughed at back in Georgia! People at whom I would have not even given a second glance are now receiving my complete attention! The situation has grown desperate. Although come May 16 I will once again return to the prison that is my home, at least I can be rest assured that whoever I may have sexytime with will be up to my usual standards. Sigh. And to think, I was so hopeful on my first day of college...

Well, can't say I'm surprised though. What's another expectation brutally shot down?

Epic Fail

I fail at life. I will never get it right. Yep. I have accepted this sad truth. Right then: I'm going to pull an all-nighter (or something close to it) to write a five-pager for a class that is due Friday before 5:00pm. Then I'm going to watch my grade in another class go down in flames. Okay. Even if I send an email pleading him to salvage whatever's left of it. And then I'm going to spend my weekend doing other various homework activities along with non-homework activities that do not include partying of any kind. I'm a good girl in that respect.

Come Monday, I will throw myself into finishing my story. Sounds like a plan. I think.

Oh wait, now I remember. What about my other paper? You know, the one that was due ages ago? Aah, so that's why I labeled this post Epic Fail.

My parents are going to kick my ass in June. Again. After I promised them I wouldn't fuck up this semester.

Maybe I should just transfer to Emory like they've been encouraging me to this whole school year.

Eisley Sings it Best

I am tired from last night. Why, you ask? Well, I went to a birthday party in Forrest. Then I went to a party in Atwater Suites. Then I stayed up until 4:30 in the morning and slept 'til 10:00am. That's less than 6 hours of sleep. I am also hungover. And I have laundry. And a paper that was due Thursday that I haven't even started yet. So go me.

Oh.

And if that were not enough on my plate, I am also very, very confused. But I shouldn't dwell too much on it. Thinking too much about it can be detrimental to my health. Last night did not happen (even though I kinda wanted it to). Last night was an anomaly. Last night was unexpected. Last night...was confusing. Now I wish last night never occurred at all.


I wasn't prepared.
~ Eisley

I Am Whiny (So Sue Me)

I need to get this off of my chest.

~~

BACK THE FUCK OFF AND JUST LET ME BE MY OWN PERSON. STOP TRYING TO PLAN OUT THE REST OF MY LIFE. STOP FORCING YOUR "SUGGESTIONS" ON ME. STOP CLUCKING WITH BARELY CONCEALED DISAPPROVAL EVERY TIME I TELL YOU GUYS WHAT MY ACADEMIC INTERESTS ARE OR WHAT CLASSES I'M TAKING FOR THE SEMESTER. STOP BREATHING DOWN MY BACK, CALLING ME EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY TO INTERROGATE ME ON WHAT I DID, WHAT I ATE, BLAH BLAH DIDDY BLAH BLAH. I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT TO DO AFTER I GRADUATE, BUT THAT DOESN'T GIVE YOU TWO THE RIGHT TO SHOVE ME TOWARDS LAW SCHOOL. JUST BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT RIGHT NOW DOES NOT MEAN I WANT TO GO TO LAW SCHOOL, FAR FROM IT. WHAT WORKS FOR YOU TWO MAY NOT NECESSARILY WORK FOR ME. I MAY BE YOUR CHILD, BUT I AM NOT YOUR CARBON COPY. I HAVE DIFFERENT SOCIO-POLITICAL VIEWS FROM YOU, SO WHAT? I LIKE HISTORY AND ENGLISH, SO WHAT? I DON'T LIKE TO TEACH OR BE A LAWYER, SO WHAT? YOU TWO ARE NOT THE ONES GOING TO MIDDLEBURY COLLEGE. I AM. YOU TWO DON'T HAVE THE ABILITY TO LIVE MY LIFE FOR ME SO JUST TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND FOR ONCE--JUST ONCE--HAVE SOME FUCKING FAITH IN ME. CAN YOU GIVE ME AT LEAST A LITTLE BIT OF CREDIT? I KNOW WHAT I'M DOING. I GOT THIS FAR, HAVEN'T I? PLEASE GIVE ME A CHANCE TO SHOW YOU TWO WHAT I CAN DO WITHOUT YOUR "HELP," AND YOUR INCREASINGLY FREQUENT PHONE CALLS AKA SPANISH INQUISITION SESSIONS.

Please. You guys are suffocating me, and we're not even in the same states. Every phone call from you two feels like Chinese water torture, and that's not how I want to react whenever I see your names on caller ID. I love you guys, but I'm sick of this. Just...give me some space.

Please.

Why I Can't Stand Twitter

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Middlebury: Exposed

Dear Prospective Student Who May Read My Blog From Time to Time,

If you have been accepted to the prestigious Middlebury College, small private liberal arts school extraordinaire, then I extend my heartiest congratulations to you. Hurrah. Now that Acception/Rejection month is nearly over, you must be rather conflicted about your choices. Which school should you spend four years of your young life in? Decisions, decisions. Believe me, it was difficult for me too last year. I had to choose between Emory and Middlebury, two very different post-secondary institutions, each with their own pros and cons. In the end, Middlebury won out, and here I am, firmly entrenched in a swivel chair in front of a computer in the college's Main Library, typing this letter to You.

You see, I do not wish for You, Prospective Student, to undergo the same agonizing process that I had to endure. I want to make your decision-making easy and without any second doubts. Therefore, I will now tell you an excerpt of my life here at Middlebury--just a chapter out of my daily life as a Middkid, nothing more--to give you some sense of what you may or may not encounter in rural Vermont. And...here I go:

Today I wake up around 8:30 because my alarm sucks, so I wind up being 5 minutes late to French class. As my dear professor rambles about "La Cigale et La Fourmi," I sit there in my little corner of the classroom, scribbling in my planner for this week's chores, the French part of my mind still in a comatose state. We are let out ten minutes late, as usual, and I have to sprint to the dining hall in order to scrape up whatever's left of this morning's breakfast. I have waterless oatmeal that is congealed in a lovely, unidentifiable shape, which I eat with frozen peaches that I must stab at with a fork.

On my way back to my room, I take a detour from my usual route due to the 9000 construction vehicles and yellow tape parked in the middle of the road in front of Proctor Hall--whose renovation has been ongoing since September. I open the door of my room to be greeted by the sickly sweet n' salty odor of my roommate's side of the dorm, a strange combination of make-up pigments/powders, week-old ramen noodle fermenting in her trashcan, and the damp pile of clothes sitting at the foot of her bed. (And I can't decide whether or not the clothes are wet because they have just been popped out of the laundry machine or for some other unknown reason.) I vegetate at my desk for roughly two hours before changing my books and heading for the door, taking care not to trip over one of my roommate's 9000 shoes/towels/books/other shit that litter the floor of the room in perhaps one of her misguided efforts to decorate my side. In any case, I had an unfortunate incident last night with a particularly vicious purple ballet flat so I tread carefully.

My other class drags by blissfully, and before I know it, I am at one of the library's computers, attempting to print something. When I walk over to the printing station on the main floor, I discover that it has a paper jam. No matter. I send my document to be printed at the third floor. I walk over there. That printer has run out of ink. Again, no matter. I send said document to the first floor. I walk over there. It has been out of order for a week so I have no idea what is wrong with that printer. Alright one more printer at the basement level. I walk down into the dungeons to the printing station there, and apparently, that printer is on its period and has not had its Advil yet so it really cannot be bothered to print any damn papers for this petite Chinese girl who is sweaty and out of breath from having run up and down four flights of stairs. Really, the nerve of me. And despite the funny habitual coincidence that every time I want to print something off at the library, all the printers are broken, I shrug and think "Oh they'll probably work tomorrow. I should try again then."

Dinnertime. Ross dining hall has turkey breast, mashed potatoes, and bread stuffing. My favorites. And do you know why they are my favorites? Because Ross serves this faux Thanksiging cuisine at least three times a week, besides the usual fare of cheeseburgers and london broil. I have had no other type of food since coming here, and I see no reason in introducing me to culturally diverse dishes now. After I eat dinner, I walk back to my dorm, where I then make inane small talk with my floormates, sweet, well-meaning girls who enjoy "the outdoors, reading, and hanging out with friends." Then I retreat into my room, where I consume an entire bag of Lays' Barbecue Chips in one sitting while refreshing Facebook over 9000 times.

Time flies by, and it is a half-hour til midnight. I grab my toothbrush and toothpaste and run to the bathroom, where I find that all of the sinks have been taken by girls whose nightly activities include (but are obviously not limited to): brushing teeth, flossing, face masks, and scrubbing your face with various lotions/ointments/exfoliation liquids/nightingale poop. Fifteen minutes later, I at last have an empty sink where I then spend approximately three minutes washing up for bed. And as I lay in my squeaky creaky springy bed, I wonder if I have to wake up to the dulcet melody of power drills going off directly below my room like I did last week.

/Day in Middlebury

Well, Prospective Student, I hope that this letter of mine will help you in your decision-making process this month. I know I would have benefited greatly had someone sent me a message like this last April.

Good luck!

I Spy

Ever since a friend told me about one of her favorite pastimes, I've found myself doing the exact same thing. It's pretty awesome. Example:

I arrive slightly out of breath at the Munroe computer lab. My eyes do an automatic scan of the room for the nearest available computer. As they rove, I catch other unnecessary details, such as the scuffing on one girl's rainboots (damn she really needs to wash them), the greasy locks of hair spilling over another girl's headband (again damn, she really needs to wash that), and so on and so forth. Just when I think that's all there is to see and I walk towards a computer, I spot a young man sitting in front of his screen, hunched over, hood covering his eyes, carefully rummaging the contents of his left nostril with his index finger. When he's finished, he carelessly rubs the offending appendage against his jeans and resumes typing. Using the same hand.

Oh how I love college. Thanks to you, Mystery Nose-Picking Boy, that image will linger in my head for the rest of the day. Hah. You thought no one saw, did you? Well I did.

I'm a Cold Bitch?

Shit, it's happening again. I'm getting bored. Not because I have nothing to do, no. I'm getting bored of someone else again. Alright alright I'll blurt it out, never mind how cruel it looks on e-paper: I am bored of my boy toy already. Hasn't even been a full two weeks and already I want to ignore his texts and hope he doesn't try anything when I come back home for the summer. Argh, I knew this would happen.

Why? Why do I do this? Is it because I suspect HE may be the one getting attached? Is it because I know too much about him now, thus rendering him uninteresting and normal? Is it because he's all the way in Georgia, and I'm all the way in Vermont? Is it because I'm so burdened with work now I can't be bothered with shit at home? Is it because I never even wanted him in the first place and that I simply received his advances in order to boost my cripplingly low self-esteem??? (Don't answer these questions. Please. I already know the answers.)

In any case, this sucks. I must get to the bottom of it. So once again, I discover another part of myself in college.

April Fools -- Who, Me?

It's been exactly one year since I received my acceptance letter to Middlebury. My mom called me while I was volunteering at a shelter, and at first she wouldn't tell me which school the letter was from. She told me the letter was small and innocuous, and I had sighed, already assuming it was yet another rejection--another pretend sincere apology letter to add to my then-growing collection. So I was pleasantly surprised when she screeched over the phone that the letter was from Middlebury, and that I had been accepted, and suddenly my entire high school career actually made sense. Of course, that feeling didn't last for long.

And now look at me. I'm in Middlebury, just like I wanted, despite the increasing financial burden that this school has placed on my parents. This was what I wanted. This is what I want, right? And will this continue to be what I want? I can't say. Sometimes I'm so happy I came here, and sometimes I just want to quit school and become a bum or work at Waffle House (I really do like their hats.) Those moments are fleeting though, so I shouldn't worry too much.

Today's April Fool's Day. No one's played a prank on me yet, but I thought my mother was a year ago. And now that I'm looking back on it, I wonder: was I the fool for coming here? For thinking that college would give me a complete makeover and solve all my problems? For being so sure that I would "find myself" here? In Vermont?

The answer of course is yes. You wouldn't find a bigger fool on campus than me right now.