i don't get it...

Often when discussing personal problems, I get told, "Just be grateful for what you have and then life will be happier for you."

It's always seemed like great advice, and so I've taken it multiple times. Given the numerous stories and testimonies shared on the subject, it seems like it should work great.

Wrong.

Maybe it's that I'm naturally pessimistic (or as one professor called me, a true nihilist -- I still resent that), or maybe it's because my world seems incredibly dark right now. Or maybe I'm trying too hard?

For some reason, counting my blessings instead of sheep not only keeps me up at night, but it also triggers high levels of anxiety and ever more frequent feelings of emptiness. As counting sheep merely bores me, I've started preferring that to listing good things that happened during the day or ticking off the things I've been given -- boredom feels better than emptiness.

Saying that it's simply listing good things isn't the process, mind you. You've got to sincerely foster an appreciation for the things, people, and opportunities placed in your life. And I've tried that. I've tried looking around at my life and truly appreciating what I have -- sometimes I even find myself thinking, "Wow. Look at you -- you're one lucky girl." And I believe it.

Then, right after that, the pain starts again, the emptiness becomes a choking cord around my throat, and the dark closes in, heavy and cold.

Somehow, being grateful for good things brings horrible, devastating guilt. It's as though by attempting to feel happiness, the sadness deepens. Light and joy seem far above my head, and either the floor beneath my feet is dropping at a rapid pace, or my arms are shrinking: either way, I can't reach what I desire. Instead of feeling my chin lift hopefully, I feel a weight increase until I can barely stand, arms wrapped tight around me as I hold myself together on the floor.

Why? I don't understand it. I don't understand how searching for happiness -- maybe not even happiness, but just some relief -- and doing all of the good things I can do only makes things feel worse.

I don't get it.

finals weekend...

I'm dying.

Not literally dying, but metaphorically dying. As in my brain cannot seem to function and my eyes want to stay shut forever.

How is it possible for me to have so much to do, yet be so bored?

Honestly, I do not know how I'm going to retain all of this information. All of it is familiar because I discussed it (or listened to my professor drone for an hour every other day) in classes three times a week, but really. I don't know how I'll write good, solid mini essays on events/people/books when I am required to prepare for 41, but only need to know 10. So much information.

Not to mention that same professor, who I have two classes with, told my entire American Studies class that we are "terrible writers" and that "some of your essays are so bad that I just read through the first paragraph and wrote 'I quit' on the top, then gave you a C. If you'd spent time on your essays, and actually attempted to do a good job, I might have read all of it. But really -- it's not like you're freshmen. Really, just awful. Awful."

If I didn't need a good grade, I would write, "I read the first question and it was so bad that I realized I can't take this exam because I don't have enough time to actually attempt to do a good job. I quit."

Temptation. Plagues me to no end.

BLAH!!

Warning: ranting follows.

OH MY GAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWSH.

I AM SO NOT MOTIVATED TO DO ANYTHING.

There is an incredible amount of hyper energy coursing through me, and none of that energy is applicable for writing papers. Nor is it any good for cleaning. Running through my  house chasing my dog keeps happening, and Kala thinks I'm crazy.

I just want to scream at the top of my lungs.

BAAHHHHHHHHH.

Virtual scream. Won't scare my dog and won't alarm the neighbors (even though they have no trouble screaming at each other late at night -- makes me glad that Chelsea and I solve conflicts in a calm, rational manner -- then again, we've never really had a conflict).

The Big Bang Theory is ruining me, by the way. Or, more like my new knowledge and mastery of the remote control has ruined me. I'm no longer intimidated by all of the buttons. I wish I had a time machine because I could go back and stop myself from learning how to use the remote. But...if I didn't know how to use the remote, I wouldn't have watched the Big Bang episode about the time machine, and then I wouldn't have had the idea, so I wouldn't have been able to think of getting a time machine to go back in time and stop myself from learning how to use the remote, meaning I'd be in the same quandary I'm currently in, therefore no paradigm alteration would occur anyway.

Good grief. I spend too much time with Sheldon.

lately...

In the past week I have
...purchased and tested five different shades of lipstick
...hit 5,500 pins (and counting)
...not tripped once
...de-occupied Facebook
...cleaned started cleaning the bedroom
...written an 11 page paper in two days
...worn boots four days out of five
...almost cut my hair
...mopped the entire PartyLand floor -- twice
...eaten too much
...felt nothing and everything

I'm very much looking forward to finals. St. George trip, baby. I'm out of here.

spoke too soon...

May I just say that I hate missing school? You get behind, you miss quizzes, you have attendance points docked, you're stuck at home by yourself all day, and if the dog pees on the floor when you were asleep it's your fault because you weren't paying attention. Not that she did that, but if she had.

I especially hate missing school when it's because I can't walk from pain. How do you explain that to a professor? "Dear Professor so and so, I missed your class and the quiz due to a sudden illness that occurs frequently but the doctors don't know what is causing it so...yeah. Sorry."

That's the really frustrating thing about this, not being able to explain it.

And so I'm in my room in bed with Misty at my feet, Molly outside because she won't come inside no matter how hard I try, and a giant smartwater bottle next to me with a picture of a crab inside of it (not very smart, smartwater people: the kind of crab you put on the label does not live in freshwater). I have letters to write, homework to do, a party to finish planning, errands to run if I can, laundry in the washer, and all I've done is watch episodes of "Once Upon a Time". Ann showed me the first couple of episodes and now I'm wondering if this is how a fish feels after it's taken the bait...