Detached

I'm thinking this is a self-induced mental break-down, and I never accede to a break-down so that just makes it a lovely sort of uncomfortable denial. Woo! Today is shit. Showing up to econ fifteen minutes late, sleep probably still caked all over my face in my eyelashes around my mouth etc., was apparently okay because we had to fill out an evaluation survey. Then I proceeded to get the absolute wrong answer on the last question of my ten question quiz; who knows how many others.

The first year I read all the Harry Potter books was also the Christmas my parents gave me a discman. And so it was that Carly Simon accompanied my fictional absorption of the series. Legend in Your Own Time having just been added to my playlist, I just want to sit down and read them again, purely for the mental association.

I slept too long after econ. I lost my cell phone in my bed, more specifically under my pillow. It's 8:23 and I want my stupid article finished by nine. It will never happen. School is no more interesting than high school, at least this semester. My friends are fucking fantabulous, but today I am nothing but detached. I want someone to smoke me out tonight.

That would be lovely, were it not for the article and english paper I have to write, along with an inordinately long chapter ten of art history to read. English is a stupid subject. And I'm sure my grades are not as sparkling as the ones that appeared on my report cards in Jersey, but it doesn't really matter to me--yet. The anxiety is creeping though, much like that stupid nameless woman in The Yellow Wallpaper. Yuck. I am too paranoid anal for social situations. I am too independent to have a boyfriend. I am too ambiguous to be eighteen.