Restlessness is a four letter word.

It’s cruel and unusual.

A month or so ago, I got a letter from MIT Admissions. Ever since taking the PSAT (which I actually got a lower score than on my SAT, go figure), which was a while ago, I have been getting enough college interest letters to wallpaper my room. But getting a letter from MIT, which according to Princeton Review, is the third hardest campus to be accepted to, was still very shocking. The question is, do they really have to advertise how awesome they are? Of course not. So why did they send me that letter? Well, after reading it (it was quite witty, actually) I noticed that it was written by the Director of Minorities Admissions. Ok, that makes me sense then. I’m a smart Mexican female. They like me already. I guess.

It was an interesting experience, but not one that I considered seriously. Even though Science has definitely been more interesting as of late than say, in middle school, it is still not one of my passions. So why in the world would I go to a school devoted to it? Why would I even assume that I could get in?

So, I haven’t exactly thought about it. And then today, a bulky envelope comes in from…you guessed it, MIT. Why me? I mean, god. Reading about how diverse the campus is, how intensely masochistic you have to be to endure the challenging freshman year (in which you take physics, calculus, biology and chemistry), and yet how cool the atmosphere is…is really unfair. Freakin’ A, MIT. I can’t get into your school. It’s pretty much impossible, and I’m not even a math/science person. Why are you making yourself so enticing? You’re like a pretty, vicious teenage tease who wears her skirt a teensy too high and her blouse a teensy too low, who is obviously not actually going to give the goods, but is such a flirt that every hormone-driven guy thinks that maybe, just maybe, they might have a chance to score. But obviously, you just like to play with their emotions. It gives you a power trip, a cruel sadistic sense of pleasure.

Stop being such a skank, MIT. You’re breaking my intellectual heart.

 Well, ok. That might be a tinge over-dramatic.

 Here I sit, with my lovely SAT prep program open on my computer, and I realize that, oh crap, that thing is in two weeks.

Methinks that this beautiful four day weekend is going to be spent getting my life in order, so I can rock next week (which multiple teachers have told me is going be quite a full and stressful one), and then also have time to study for SAT and whatnot.

This week I spent floating, it seems. Granted, I had two tests and an in-class essay, but the week still felt…airy, fluffy. Like eating whipped cream or powder puffs. Now, I’m happy that I’m not stressed, but I’m thinking that a healthy dose of stress and motivation would be exactly what I need right now.

I hope I don’t regret saying that, heh.

Sorry that this isn’t a “real blog”. But it is hella interesting, at least to me, heh.

This is why I’m a vegetarian.

And.

What has the world come to?! An emo Andrew Jackson?!

 The world we live in. It’s bizarre. 

Hmmm, now that I think about it, I’m not even sure.

 There is so much going on. This is obvious when it comes to school. Freaking finals. Though, I think I’ve definitely grown complacent, and that worries me. I mean…yeah, I don’t even know.

It seems like I don’t even have half-thoughts anymore, more like flashes and flickering blurs as they run past my conscious. I can’t hold a conversation anymore. And it makes me feel…lesser, but I’m sure I’ll get over it. Sometimes it’s hard to actually talk to people about anything, because I want every conversation to be worthy of words, but I think I freak people out because I’m too serious. And no, I’m not even thinking about a specific instance with specific people: this is all very general. I guess this is why I love my friends: they help me loosen up and laugh.

And then there’s social issues, which have been amazing and worrisome, depending on who we are talking about. My weekend was a huge combination of both school and social stress, and therefore, it wasn’t wonderful.

Sometimes I understand people more than they understand themselves. Sometimes I think I understand people and I’m completely wrong. Sometimes people are enigmas.

I never thought I could impact someone so much. I never thought I could hurt someone so much. Yes, I’m a jerk and I like to make fun of my friends. It’s what I do: I have a dark sense of humor. I have an acid tongue. And I would think that the most I could hurt someone would be through carelessly wielding this weapon. But I was so wrong.

When it comes down to it, I hurt someone by genuinely caring about them.

I’m bewildered, actually. I’m not a heartbreaker. I don’t play those stupid mind games. And I’m frustrated, because I want him to be happy. I’m not worth it.

Obviously, I’ve dwelled too much on this. I’ve come to a conclusion: I’m genuinely sorry that I hurt someone that I still care about. I was never one to throw a friendship away because of difficulty. But. I’m not sorry that I’m happy with what I have. In fact, I’m enthralled. I’m not going to feel guilty, because I did what I thought was right. He’ll get better.

Enough about that. Freaking psychology. I hate you. I always do this to myself: I can’t actually be productive until it’s too late.

So, lots of random news stories and blogs that I read have been talking about how amazing sleep is for memory and all that. Well, I would like to take your word for it, but how the hell am I supposed to remember something that I haven’t studied? Why do you think I’m spending my nights working: because I have to get it done. The phrase “time management” is not in my vocabulary. And seriously, sleep is overrated. I mean, duh. That, and eating. Yeah.

I’m just going to stop while I’m behind.

I know that those online personality quizzes can be rather trite, but this one is actually pretty cool. I’ve known about it for a while, but was recently reminded of it.

http://www.personalitytype.com/quiz.asp

Here’s another one that has the same format (using the Myers-Briggs/Jung Personality Types).

http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes2.asp

Apparently, I’m an ENFP (Extrovert, Intuitive, Feeler, Perceiver). I find this highly interesting, since I took the same test two years ago and at the time was an ESTP, which is much different.

 More websites that relate to this: 

http://keirsey.com/handler.aspx?s=keirsey&f=fourtemps&tab=3&c=champion

http://typelogic.com/

So, apparently Hillary blog-stalks me, which. I’m flattered. Anyway, she’s sad that I haven’t blogged anything for a while, so I offer up this measly blog for her enjoyment. And in it, I will include two comics that pretty much sum up my last …erm, relationship-thing. I imagine that since pretty much everyone reads xkcd now, that the reader [Hillary or not] has probably already read these. Nonetheless,

and…

 Yeah. Except for the whole having that conversation in bed thing. Because lord knows that I am no whore. Ahem.

 Today, instead of doing my Transfer of Power like a good little student, I instead found myself reading a “brain candy” young adult novel called What Happened to Cass McBride? from cover to cover. Yes, the title could have been much better. And despite some sentences that made me want to bang my fragile skull into a rigid concrete sidewalk, (Ok fine, I’m not that dramatic) the story was actually quite interesting. (Cass, a manipulative young woman, is buried alive for revenge.) This was the first book that I have read for mindless pleasure in quite a while; mostly due to school, but also because I take one look at the books in the Young Adult section in the Wright Library and feel the need to either 1. retch or 2. laugh hysterically. About 90% of the reading there is ludicrous, and not even enjoyable in an ironic and “campy” sense (though I have found quite a few books like that there as well).

 Anyway, other than that, I don’t know what to blog about. I always find myself in this predicament. I really hate blogging about myself, even though that’s basically what the point of blogging is. This is not because I don’t know what to say, it’s more like, if I get started I will go on forever. Which is not something I want to do. And the thing is, I’m rather content at this point in my life. So I can’t rant about how depressing or awesome it is. I’m merely content. Also, I hate small talk, which is what I usually do in blogs. And alas, I am not quite as witty as some of my peers. I have found that if forced, I can entertain people pretty well, but that’s usually in discussion (and in the form of a  bitingly sarcastic and/or snarky comment). My sense of humor does not do well on paper (or on screen), because sometimes naive people think that I am serious in my facetiousness.

Hmm. I should probably go do something productive now.

Yeah. Basically, instead of writing up the oh so fascinating results of my psychology interviews, I ended up writing a random blurb for myself. Not much, sadly, but something. And I find this to be somewhat positive, since I haven’t been able to write anything creative for a while, which made me sad until now. Anyway, here’s what I came up with in five minutes:

 Silence

 There was always a buzz, a certain murmur in the back of my mind that never went away. My thoughts whispered to themselves, chuckling like the insane in an asylum. Was I my own asylum? My skull must have been the padded white walls, constantly pushing in towards its claustrophobic prisoners. My thoughts must have thrown themselves madly against their cushioned prison in an effort to get out. But their attempts were futile, and they all ended up the same: huddled in brightly lit corner, trying to make sense out of anything. And now?

Really? Have the crickets in my brain stopped chirping? Have the spiders stopped weaving? Have the cockroaches stopped scattering? Am I hollow? Am I real? Am I worth anything? Or am I simply huddled in my own mental corner, waiting for someone to pick me up?

I’m mildly happy with it, considering that I did it in such a short amount of time. I might revise/expand it if I ever get time, but I highly doubt that will happen. One question though. Why is it that my “better” creative writing has to do with being insane?

The worst part is that it’s almost true. But really, the mental health of any writer should be questioned. If being mentally askew means that I become a better writer, than I embrace my insanity wholeheartedly.

I have a love/hate relationship with reading things on teenagers. I mean, on one side, it’s almost hilarious to see what adults think they should do to change a troublesome teen for the better. And I admit, most of the time, they aren’t extremely far off. But sometimes they’re just so wrong, it’s funny.

And then there is the hate side of my relationship. Because I usually encounter lists of “warning signs” and then, of course, I have to examine whether I have these signs or not. In the act of completing a psychology PowerPoint, I found this list. The ones in italics are ones that I hold:

What warning signs should I look for?

Ahem. Well, to looks at this optimistically…at least I haven’t had any run-ins with the law.

I know that the ash polluted the air and whatnot, and I know that breathing it was unsafe. And yet, I found those few hours of orange darkness to be incredibly entertaining. I was actually disappointed when it blew away.

So, I just got an e-mail from Six Flags saying that they are going to be open all weekend for Fright Fest, (despite the fire that was threatening the park). This means I might get to go with the band kids again on Sunday! Woo! But the only problem is… I also was planning (that if Magic Mountain wasn’t open) to finish my physics catapult at Michael’s house. Damn. Oh, what to do, what to do? Honestly, I want to go to Six Flags, and I’m planning on it. But I’m worried about Michael’s reaction. We were also planning to work after school Tuesday, and I think that might be enough time. Cross your fingers, friends.

A shadowy figure stood in my bedroom doorway. In my daze I saw it was male, with a medium build, which lead me to speculate who it was exactly. Of course, as soon as he started speaking, I realized it was my dad. This would make sense, considering that he’s the only person who fits the aforementioned physical description who lives in my house. The effects of my previous slumber hadn’t entirely worn off, and I wondered just how long I had been conscious.

Jokingly, he questioned, “So, are you going to get an F in three classes since you decided to take a break?”

What? Classes? Break? I looked around the unlit room, and realized that the darkness had not been due to my weak eyes, but due to the lack of a sun. I became aware of my physical state - wrapped up in blankets, on top of a sinfully soft mattress. Why was I here? Where had I been before?

It struck me.

“Oh my gosh, what time is it?” I asked semi-frantically.

“About six.”

I was more awake, and able to do grade school math in my head. Quite the accomplishment.

“Have I really been asleep for four hours?”

“More like three and a half.”

It was then that I realized that I had been napping, and that my “nap” had been longer than my “sleep” the “night” before. [More like this morning.] As soon as I had gotten home, I had seized the chance that only Tuesdays and Sundays give me - to actually sleep. Wishing my parents a good night, I had flung myself into my bed, turned on some dozy Mazzy Starr and crashed.

And now I sit, in front of my computer screen, wishing that my moment of bliss was still upon me. So, will I get an F in three classes because I decided to “take a break”? No, but it’s almost depressing that the decision has come down to sleep or succeed.

It’s even more depressing that I have chosen succeed. And yet I am still getting more B’s than A’s. In the words of the oh so wise Hillary, “What the heck, man?” Also, Kellogg’s assertion that grade-wise, “B is the new F” maybe lead me to use the transitive property on my dad’s question. Observe:

If “taking a break” = sleeping,

and F = B,

then the question “Are you going to get an F in three classes since you decided to take a break?”

theoretically =’s: “Are you going to get a B in three classes since you decided to sleep?”

 And the answer might end up being a positive. Although, I do not blame my mere “above average” grades on slumber since clearly, I don’t get “enough” of it. The actual culprits are tests, math, and science. Curse you, physics. I don’t freaking care how much applied force it takes to move a book up the wall. Books don’t belong on walls anyway; they belong in my lap as I sit in a recliner, basking in the wonder that is the written word. But apparently, my quest to actually finish the five or so books I have half-read [including, but not limited to: Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, Silence in Octoberby Jens Christian Grondahl, Click by Kristopher Young] is not quite as important enough as the effects of friction. Hold on a sec while I go pull out my hair by its follicles.

This week will be the worst yet. But oh, the precious hope of that wondrous break! My heart flutters.