KEY: "(A)" indicates that the aforementioned work is assigned; "(RR)" indicates that the aforementioned work is a reread.

My first spoken words today: "Bill, it's your wife. Ring me back."

Sometimes, like immediately after hanging up the phone three or so minutes ago, the truly tragic magnitude of my dorkiness overtakes me. Too bad it has yet to be motivation enough for me to get a life or something. x]

But really, I should curb the multiple friend-spouses thing. (I think I "married" Bill in like, seventh grade for chrissakes.)

I've been on break for less than 24 hours, but I'm already feeling about 1354984546 quadrillion times better. I don't think I've ever needed a break as much as I've needed this one. For the first time in weeks I don't care that my grades suck, my parents are crazy, my personal life is in a shambles, or that I'm kind of completely fucking lost 99.76% of the time.

I've decided that my eleven days of break will be devoted to an epic quest for meaning. Pretty much everyone I've happened to mention this to has looked at me a little strangely and said something to the effect of a dubious, "Well isn't that nice?" but I'm used to that kind of reaction when I say things as I think them. To aid me on my quest, I've compiled a mental laundry list of books and movies to ponder. Hopefully something comes of it, but if not at least I'll inevitably find something new to scribble on my walls. The chalkboards have been disconcertingly bare for far too long.

Last night I actually went out for once, which was pretty sweet. Liz's mom dropped her off here and we walked up to the Enclave to meet her friend Lauren and Lauren's girlfriend, Ashley. Lauren made a butter pecan cake with cream cheese frosting that was absolutely fucking delicious and Liz and I split the (hands-down) best hot chocolate I've ever had the privilege to consume. We sat around and played Scrabble while various open mic performers with varying degrees of talent shuffled across the stage. It was quite lovely, to be candid, though I'm pretty sure I still smell like cigarette smoke from when I went outside with Lauren to keep her company, not that I mind too much. It was freezing cold, but we ended up making friends with another random dude who was outside for a smoke break and that was sort of nice. I don't know, random encounters like that with surprisingly friendly people always cheer up my soul a little bit. Perhaps it's a tiny restoration of faith in humanity? I don't know.

I'm currently waiting for Shannon to call me so we can figure out when she, Liz, and I are going to see the Dragonball Z movie today. I am unspeakably pumped. We've been waiting for this for years. x]

 O hai existential crisis. Long time no see.

I almost find it funny how quickly a sense of freedom can turn to one of inescapable futility. A few months ago I would have told you that the most beautiful thing about life as we know it is that nothing truly matters, that nothing we do while go through the motions of existence in the little time we have will ever matter against the grand scheme of things. We will die, our children will die, our friends will die, our planet will die. It will be as if we never existed at all. Yeah, a few months ago I would have told you that the fact that nothing really matters puts a lifetime of possibility at our feet, an incomprehensibly great freedom. Now I can't reconcile myself with the reality I used to embrace and feel liberated by.

It's moments like these where I really understand why so many people comfort themselves with belief in the divine. It's hard to face your own mortality. It's hard to consider how puny you are in the face of an ever-expanding, cold, and indifferent universe. The same forces that created us will eventually destroy us, and without believing in a better place, a higher power, or a divine plan it's a hard pill to swallow.

I woke up this morning feeling more profoundly alone than I ever have before. It was almost paralyzing...a dreamlike and fear-filled state where every particle of my physical being seemed to slow almost imperceptibly, energy fleeing to make way for a reality that now seems a part of the fiber of my being.

I just hope that whoever first said that there's nowhere to go but up knew what the hell they were talking about. I could use a lift.

In other news, I went to the parade today. I really only go every year to be reminded exactly why I hate teenagers and drunk people, and this year's crowd did not disappoint. I have successfully been averred from both groups of people for at least another year.

Things have continued to sort of suck. I feel like over the past two months I've been run over by a taxi and three buses in quick succession...as if as soon as I'd started to peel myself off the pavement after one disaster another speeding vehicle barreling down the causeway of my life flattened me again. I feel like one giant ache, both literally and figuratively.

A teacher of mine with whom I was rather close passed away very suddenly on Tuesday of this week. Two other members of our old broadcasting crew and I went to his funeral yesterday morning. It was awful. His oldest son, who turned out to be our age, seemed to be taking it remarkably well, but his wife was absolutely heartbreaking to see; when we stuck around to talk to her after the service her eyes were so swollen and purple from crying they almost looked bruised. For once in my life I had nothing to say...another former teacher of ours and Miriam did most of the talking. What can you say to someone who's in that position? I can't imagine any empty words have the capacity to offer even a shadow of consolation...I just hope that the fact that we were there meant something.

On the lighter side, my YAE audition went well. At least now I know that my summer can't completely suck, even if the universe's whole let's-fuck-with-Kaylee game keeps up until then.

I love new books. Especially new used books. I like when my books are a little careworn; I feel like it gives them character. They've already belonged to someone, already brushed against the spheres of countless existences. The little cracks in the binding, the soft spines, the scattered dog-eared pages...it's like someone else has already gone to the trouble of breaking them in for you. Never for a moment do they seem too nice to carry around casually, and there's no pang of annoyance when the first creases appear on the cover. They're already familiar and warm. They already feel like home. I like that.

Sheila and I went running around this evening because my dad took the baby and I got myself a stack of books from Half Priced with some of my birthday money. I got Candide, A Farewell To Arms, The Virgin Suicides, Running With Scissors, The Other Boleyn Girl, and a Dover Thrift edition of The Metamorphosis and Other Stories because I simply can't resist a seventy-five cent classic. I'm now rediscovering the magic a stack of books can hold.

It's been a long few months, but it seems silly to recap what the important people in my life already know. It's good to be feeling like myself again, though--I spent the last week hovering between bed and the couch with bronchitis. On Friday morning I was diagnosed with asthma as well, but we're still waiting to hear what they found in my chest x-ray to be sure. My mother was inexplicably upset about this, but I later realized that on the bright side I'm officially undraftable.

My mom surprised me with Spring Awakening tickets for next weekend today. I'm pretty excited--I'd been hoping to be able to go, but I'd doubted that my parents would jump for it. Hopefully they don't decide to make things awkward.

YAE auditions are next Saturday. It's so weird...I posted a lot during the summer and looking back it seems really far away. Going on a year, I guess. It just feels odd.

But I guess that that's about it. I'm drowning in makeup work at the moment, and I suppose if I were a diligent, responsible young scholar I'd go and try to get some of that done, but quite frankly I don't really care. It feels good not to care sometimes, I'm finding.

So I was standing at my locker today when it occurred to me that, over the years through which it has been in service, it probably once belonged to someone who is now dead.

I'm sort of disturbed. Sharing space with the now-dead troubles me slightly, I'm not exactly sure why.

I'm also not exactly sure why I felt so compelled to share. :/

Oh well.