fuckin a
Charlie
Ya'll, I am getting my ass kicked this semester.

It's week 2, and already I'm in full-on panic mode.

Aside from my personal problems, here is this semester so far:

My course-load is overwhelming me. I'm in a theory class and am already lost, but it's not even that I am lost and know I need help, I was totally oblivious of the fact that I'm dead in the water until this morning. I thought I was doing well. I'm taking elementary Chinese, and I pretty much suck at all language learning. But UMass doesn't offer Greek, and I didn't get into the Amherst College section, so whatever. I haven't even started reading for my honors greek tragedy class, so fuck that. The only class I have a reasonable grasp on is my World War II history class, and it's only for a minor, but at least I can actually work okay in there. My Junior Year Writing is abysmal. I'm doing okay in Civil Liberties too, I guess, but we haven't done anything significant. So whatever.

I requested two days a week of work and was assigned three, which doesn't seem like much, but they have been in a row and have been long shifts. Homework doesn't get done when I work, and work physically exhausts me and mentally frusturates me. So I'm burnt out on that. I skipped a shift last night, which I rarely ever do because three missed shifts equals termination. But seriously, nobody would cover me and I have been in full-on panic for three days. I'm not about to go walk around in the cold for 7 and a half hours.

And the debate tournament apporaches, and I get the nagging sensation that I'M NOT READY FOR IT. I have three hours of practice for it this weekend, damn.

Oh, don't forget that little thing called Law School looming. Applications, LSATs, and internships are on their way here.

Fuck everything this week.

The only thing I can think to do is to try and keep managing this stuff, I guess. I am THIS CLOSE to quitting my job or dropping classes. I plan on spending this weekend playing some serious catch-up. I don't know what's happening with me or why, but I want to fix it.
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the airing of the grievances part 1
Charlie
Here's some bullshit that's been bothering me for the past couple days:

A few days ago, I had something stolen from me. My mom had bought me these ridiculously awesome glittens (you know, those fingerless gloves with a flap to cover the top, disguising them as mittens? Glittens are the lovechild of gloves and mittens) because I have gotten frostbite at my job before. They were thick and well made, and I liked them because they were convenient for work and school.

They were stolen by a janitor, for god knows what reason. The good news is that I do have them back now, but for awhile I was pretty heartbroken.

I posed a question to a friend of mine as to why they would have been stolen, while allowing myself to be pissed off at the entire situation. His Answer? "Maybe they just see you as another rich white kid? You know, and like they can't afford mittens or whatever, and figure that if you're in college that mommy and daddy must be paying and that you can afford cold weather gear?" That's the running theory right now I guess, mostly because it makes me sympathize with the thief. But it does make me mentally uneasy.

Discrimination works in mysterious ways. Because I appear to be light skinned and go to college, ipso-facto I MUST have money. I've never fit a mold personally. I'm much "too angry" to be a proper girl (for my full feelings on why girls aren't allowed to be angry, see a later rant) and I am paying for my education with private loans in my name. People discriminate for god knows what reasons, I'm sure we could name billions, but I don't like the way I am supposed to be viewed or am actually percieved. I'm not rich, and as we're about to find out, may not actually be "white".

I posed this problem to my co-worker/acquaintance Bev (for future reference, Bev is Haitian). I told her all about the glittens and how angry to idea of being percieved as a rich white bitch made me feel.

"Hold up....you're white?!" Bev asked me, looking a little shocked.

I lifted up my work hat brim so she could see my face. For those who don't know me personally and can't see the photo on my page, here's my breakdown appearance wise: Dark hair with auburn undertones, dark brown eyes to the point where people have asked if they're black, stubby nose, and a skin color that ranges from an olive-y kind of tone in winter to tan/olive brown in summertime. "Yeah...I always thought I was white." That was all I could really come up with to say.

"Are you sure?" Bev obviously didn't believe me.

"I'm like...Greek?" I'm half greek, and the other half is some bastardized mix of Irish, French, and Ruthanian (small Ukranian nomadic tribe, possibly gypsies, who herd sheep or something in Western Europe).

"Nah, girl...you ain't white." Bev said, satisfied.

I have no idea what she meant by this, but here's what I think:

So lately I've been all hot and bothered thinking about racial constructs, what it means to be defined by "white", etc etc. I don't like the idea of defining myself, so I'll leave my personal color as "unknown". Growing up in suburban New Hampshire, I never actually considered how people percieved me, because my neighborhood was primarily if not completely composed of WASPs. I went to school and played with "white" kids. According to most government surveys, I qualify as "Caucasian, non-hispanic". But what does that even mean to me?

To summarize: I don't want to/don't feel that I have to identify with an ethnic group. I don't feel "white" in the sense in which many people use it. A few people I've spoken to think that Bev was paying me a compliment, in that she was identifying with me being part of the "non-white" sphere.

If I figure this out anytime soon, I'll post again on race, although discriminatory practices are ancient (if you don't believe me, look up the roots of the word "barbarian" and the ancient greek term "barbaroi") and nobody seems to have solved any major problems, so I seriously doubt I'll get far. Just something I've been musing on, felt the need to share.

If you want to get yourselves all hot and bothered about racism or discrimination, feel free. Even if it gets you riled up or you hate me for how I feel, at least you're thinking about it. I did that much.
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my father taught me this, part 1.
Charlie
When I was a kid, my Dad would tell me this story:

There was once a little girl, and she was very pretty. Two little boys both wanted to be her boyfriend. One of them was rich, and the other one didn't have a lot of money.

Christmas was coming, and the little girl wanted a tea party set, complete with teacups, saucers, and a teapot. Both of the boys resolved to buy her a tea set in order to win her heart.

The rich boy went home and got some money for presents. He went out and bought a beautiful tea set, with all of the little cups and the teapot painted with pink flowers. He was sure that the girl would love his present the best, and that he would become her boyfriend for sure.

The poor boy couldn't just go home and get money, because his parents didn't have any. So he went and got a job. He didn't make much because he was so young, but he did make a little bit. Enough to buy the little girl one chipped teacup. No saucers, no teapot. He was nervous about giving it to the girl, as the rich boy's gift was sure to be that much better than his.

So Christmas time came, and both boys went to the girl's house. The rich boy decided to give her his gift first, and sure enough, she loved the beautiful tea set painted with pink flowers. The poor boy got nervous. Should he even give the gift to her? But it was too late to back out now. The little girl opened his small gift, and was ecstatic. She gave the rich boy back his gift and declared that she liked the gift from the other boy much better, even though it was chipped and it wasn't really a complete set.

The rich boy wanted to know why she liked the shitty broken teacup better than his expensive set, and she explained that even a small gift from the poor boy was more special than anything he could have bought her with his parents' money, because the poor boy obviously had to work extremely hard to even afford the little teacup. That he put the energy into the gift and worked hard to get her something special meant so much more than the expensive tea set ever would. Needless to say, the rich boy left in a huff and the poor boy got to be the little girl's girlfriend.

The Moral: The work someone puts into relationships with other people means more than any gift that they can lavish upon them. I know a lot of people that know this, but I know some that really don't or have forgotten. A broken teacup from someone who worked hard to attain the gift and will thus work hard in his relationships with you should always mean more than a full tea set from some bastard who doesn't put effort into his relationships with other people, is probably just trying to get in your pants, and may have dated me at some point.

My father taught me this.
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the merry-hearted girls make the best of old women.
Charlie
I recently did something that I haven't done in years. I shut down.

I powered through the Christmas season and the New Year, and came back to my University on January 2nd. I started to sleep full 8-9 hour nights and to watch movies without doing something in the meantime. I didn't do dishes for a few days. I sniff-tested clothing to avoid the laundry chore. I made boxed mac and cheese and ordered pizzas. I even called out of work one night because I was so comfortable at home that I decided to take a night off. I'm taking a class, and one day I paused for a half hour in my notetaking just to have the luxury of spacing out. I watched netflix online and even fell asleep with the laptop in bed with me once. I made cookies just to eat the dough, and forgot a batch in the oven. Fruit went bad in the crisper. I haven't been studying as hard as I should be.

I shut down. I am a shutter downer.

I've always gotten the "you're lazy" line from my parents, and it's true, for years I was a complete bum. But until my shut down last week, I never realized how un-lazy I had become since leaving home.

I took a four hour nap today (I know, fucking EPIC right??) and felt just gross and groggy afterwards. I came up off my shut down, I showered and did the dishes, the laundry, some groceries. I made a salad instead of mac for dinner. I put in my (overdue) preferences for work next semester, and started outlining my schedule complete with dates when bills are due (I'd....stopped paying a few....whoops).

So I'm back on now, I guess. Maybe I'll take it a little easier next time, try to avoid the need for such an epic period of laziness and frivolity. My problem is that when I turn on, I am balls-to-the-walls working hard, ownin' bitches, taking names.


I wrote that this year was going to be a hell of a new year, because I feel like I'm approaching some new juncture in my life. I'll be damned if I know what it is yet. But I feel an exciting chapter coming. I'm a year and a half (ish) away from finishing my time as an undergrad, looking into law schools and grad schools, working hard. I got the best grades I have gotten since middle school last semester, and I working fucking hard for it. I'm pleased, it's not perfect but I am pleased and that seems to be enough right now. My personal life is okay. It's not perfect either, but it's okay. Same with my family life, one day at a time is good enough. But I can see something exciting cresting on the horizon...I don't know what, but it's coming. That's enough for me, too.

The best I can do at this point is to look forward with resolve and joy and to own my life, in a way.
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it's going to be...
Charlie
...a hell of a New Year :-)
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