This is really hard.

Here's the first step to recovery: overcoming writer's block.  In spite of what one would guess based on the general morbidity of the shit I post here, I can't write when I'm depressed.  It's impossible.  I could psychoanalyze myself on paper and try to explain why this is true when the majority of overhormone'd teenagers flip the fuck out when they're sad and go crazy all over the internet in a desperate bid for the attention of their peers in hopes they can find some companionship - somewhere.  The morbidity comes from the fact that I am just a morbid person.  I'm not necessarily truly unhappy when I write any of that.  I am sometimes, but apparently it's not a cathartic activity because the less happy I am the harder it gets.  This is evidenced by the fact that I "started" this blog at a time when I was scared, but happier than I'd been in a long time.  Possibly ever. 

My problem is that I certainly didn't realize it at the time, indicating that I am incapable of experiencing happiness as it happens.  It's not like I'm twisting around my own memories to convince myself that I was happy at a given time, I just was.  I don't feel like I savored it.  This is a bad thing because I'm reaching that point where I can't even remember what it feels like.  I know the conditions.  Just not the sensation of pure, prolonged elation.

Anyway, I figured that an easy topic to try to write about would be just how my semester went: badly.  I took a class called the Psychology of Interpersonal Relationships which I think I mentioned at one point pertained to several things I've discussed.  At the end we had to write an internal reflection paper which basically resulted in me explaining that I'm too fucked up to be remotely introspective without wanting to hang myself, and proceeding to explain where everyone else is at fault in terms of how they interact with people.  The answer?  Maybe later.  Maybe not.  It depends on whether or not I decide that all relationships are built entirely on lies, deceit, prejudice, apathy, etc.  Right now I'm leaning toward that being true, but that could also just be my broken head at work.  We'll see. 

I also took Physics 140, which is basically just Newtonian Mechanics, and is possibly the worst-taught class I've ever imagined.  I hope that I passed that because I will not bother to retake it if I didn't.  As an aside, it's far less likely that I passed any of my classes this semester than the previous one due to everything that's been going on, so just keep in mind that failure is a possibility for any of my classes besides the psychology one.  It's not that it's hard (although it is, to some extent).  It's that the grade in that class depends strongly on online homework that consumes an unholy amount of time to complete and, worst of all, doesn't teach you anything.  This is one of the least effective learning tools I've ever even heard of.  I don't want to spend that much time not learning.  It's fucking absurd.  However, I do know that I got a straight A in the lab for this class.  My self-esteem is skyrocketing. 

Calc III was my favorite class, if that says anything about how much this semester sucked.  I did about average up until the recent final, which I am absolutely positive I have failed.

My engineering class was called Solar Power and Photovoltaics and resulted in me being exposed to even more work in various engineering disciplines that I couldn't give two shits about.  I think I passed it alright, though, fortunately.  We'll see.  This class was by far the scariest because I came out of it no closer to deciding a discipline than I was when this semester started.  On the contrary - I'm even farther.  Next year I'm taking a Civil/Environmental Engineering course and that's it as far as engineering goes. 

Much to my chagrin, next semester I'll also be continuing the same route for Calculus and Physics.  In order to finish up my prerequisites (which, depending on my major, will be finished after this), I'll be taking an art history course that sounds like the coolest shit ever called Art, Science, and Technology.  I'm sort of optimistic about that.  I don't know. 

I didn't really make any new friends other than my neighbor, and even between the two of us there's a huge disconnect in terms of personality.  I don't really know why she likes me.  I feel like I come off as a huge asshole around her.  Maybe it's because I am one and she's the only one who makes me see it. 

Cool.  That was really quite terribly written, wasn't it?  I can't write at all anymore.  It's not good.  I feel bad about that.  Baby steps, I guess.  Or maybe I should stop.  It doesn't matter either way, does it?

Love

is conditional.  And those conditions are nearly always petty.

Why in the fuck am I still writing in this?  Nobody reads it, I've completely jumped off the deep end in terms of sanity, and I can't come up with a coherent thought that lasts longer than a few sentences even when writing.  My thoughts don't even come out in words anymore.  It's just feelings.  As "emo" as that sounds it's to the point where I can't even articulate my mood because I'm that fucking out of touch with my own brain.

I'm done.

Nostalgia Vortex

I'm stuck in one of those situations where you would kill to experience anything that you ever hated because it's that much of an improvement over the present.

Also, I've been thinking about death ALL DAY.  Not really healthy behavior at all.