Mmmmmm I had a very very nice weekend and the most adorable Sunday. I'm still a little tired, but very happy. Sleep is only worth so much.
Nadia is talking about going camping for her birthday, which I love! I just wish her birthday was sooner than the end of May. Perhaps after I see my grandparents I will go one of the following weeks. Or the 17th. How hard is it to plan an impromptu camping trip?

Tents and fires and stars and friends. I want to go camping. Sooo badly!

Dear Libby,

My birthday is in less than 15 days, what do I want?
I can't think of anything material except my car back.
I guess since I can't find my Gamma Sig necklace I want a new chain and pendant.
Tickets to see Say Anything in November.
The cutest clothes ever made.
Anything made by Janie or Nikki.
Mixtapes.
Dresses.

I still don't know what to ask my family for. What am I living without that I really need?
Hmmm.

I don't like that this layout hides my blog description. It's important to Libby, so I can't let it completely disappear: The Romans had several different implications in the words they used and today the latin language has several translations. The Latin word libellus can mean little book, notebook, diary, and letter. So these are my diary entries, my letters of love, my notes on love and life. This is my heart beating. It's my soul pontificating. They're all those moments when you think something and you wonder if you're alone.

Labels: latin, libellus

I need more sweaters. I haven't realized how much sweater envy I've been accumulating. It's only natural that I want more, I only have six? I think six. And dresses, and shoes. Maybe I should just work on getting new clothes for my birthday, which is in 18 days, well 17? Which means Sarah's is in 21/20 days!!

Today I had a Roman Culture test. I kept writing and writing for the short answer and extra credit so I hope that helps me. I got my Dance test back, a B, and my in class essay for Western World Lit got at A-! So I need to stay positive, and not let stress overcome me. My 3rd test is next Wednesday and my paper is due Friday. I hope it's due Friday at midnight like the outline+thesis was, cause that would be wonderful!

I am accumulating quite the number of scars. I still have a pretty colorful bruise on my knee from hitting a pole on the Milledge bus plus a few more minor bruises. My ice cream scar is not healed, though it is more than 2 months old. It dips into my skin and I'm starting to think the pink will fade but the dips might not grow fully back. Monday I walked into a ladder at work. Wednesday I burned my hand cleaning a waffle maker. The burn has been getting smaller over the week, but I kinda love it's initial shape. It reminds me of a leaf or a wing or a feather, and now I want this shape tattooed on me somewhere obscure and random or I want the scar to last a little while. I might be crazy.

I still have a bunch of reading to catch up on this weekend, but this week I'm throwing myself into my American lit. I've been reading it too long, because I've begun an ode to Park Hall. I almost got ran over by a dear neighbor on my walk from the bus stop, so I wrote him a real swell ode to. Once I fix it up a little I'll share it.

Here ends my update on my factual life. Wait about maybe an hour to get my thoughts on love, life, and utter confusion.

I am very confused. Are you upset with me for being depressed and snapping at you? And so you spent all this time being mad at me, which just makes me more depressed? Well now you know how to make me feel like shit. Good job.

I can't tell if she's going through something worse than this, but I can't reach out to her because she makes it difficult to just approach her. Work today had that shitty feeling of being excluded without anyone else noticing. I had the overwhelming urge to go to the bathroom and just cry. Except crying at work depresses me even more. I only did that once, two summers ago when Uncle Jim died, and I sobbed quietly enough for no one else to notice.

So isn't this a great way to study for my dance test? I thought so too.
I just hope one day I can lay this emotion out in my writing, and harness the raw hurt to help somebody else.

The more I listen to The Format the more I hear themes of death. Tie The Rope is a metaphor about hanging and in Wait, Wait, Wait they sing about not wanting to know when death is coming and life not being long enough. It's just too much to never wake up. Sometimes I can hear my own sorrow in their voices. I started sketching lyrics, and my favorite is one I made up from two of their songs. Smile like you never tried to take your life. When I sit and try to imagine what that smile looks like, I get lost in a world I don't know.

I got really worked up when I got home today. Nicki listened ever understandingly as I couldn't help my voice from getting emotional. This week has been stressful and never ending and I feel like for every two things I do, I still have ten more left. In every class I get anxious about whether the teacher will be able to tell that I'm so far behind and whether or not they'll make me write about what I read. If I do, they should expect a short story about my feelings. I talked to my friend/boss about reducing my hours and was amazed at how uncrazy I sounded. Most of the things I say lately are jumbled words and phrases, the first line of a story and then a crazy long pause.

So I'm sorry if I'm not crazy nice to new people. I am frazzled and awkward and they don't know me yet to understand. I thought maybe by all the times I've complained about being absent or behind in everything or stressed you would have figured out that I am not well. I am sorry I snapped at you. I'm not sorry that I finally let something out. Maybe I seem harsh because I feel worthless, left out, and exhausted, but if you bring it up one more time with a comment about being insensitive, I will more than snap. I will stop talking. I will make it to class on time. I will hide from everything and everyone for as long as I can dig my useless claws in the ground.
I understand so many angles of the situation, I try to keep others in mind who matter more than me, but maybe I wish I sounded more interesting. Maybe I feel lame about my stories always being lame. Maybe I don't like being overwhelmed by fears and anxiety. I'm only rational on the couch.

When I'm alone in a crowded part of campus I wonder if I'll see her. I wonder if all the things I hold as mine are now a part of her as well. I'm scared she'll see me and walk away. I'm scared of word vomit. I chose this silence in the beginning, when I had no stories or interests but just a grocery list of emotions. I never really resolved a moment when I was over myself and I was ready to talk. Does that mean that all of the silence is my part? I was surprised when I found out second hand that she had moved to the city where I live. I was surprised all of my mutual invitations never mentioned her. But it makes sense. Here lately I want to mention her in a story, but then I feel uncomfortable and disconnected. I have no hold on her.
I've only seen her twice here, once before this was her home, when I had a horrible case of food poisoning. The second as my bus sat at a light. Still, she's constantly in my dreams. Some have a warming effect, but most are horrible nightmares of rejection and sorrow and loss. As much as I try to rationalize them, they drive my depression forward. Allison has suggested the only way to get over this is to talk it out. And then my fear silences my heart.