I think I'm just confused.

I think I'm still grasping the concept that I can be okay and not particularly happy, but not depressed. I'm sure this is something you all picked up on when you were about 3, but I didn't catch that.

I don't really know how I feel about anything right this second -- neither good nor bad... and it's odd. It's just such an odd feeling. I wish I could better explain. Sure lots of things are wrong, as always -- but unfortunately life just keeps rolling on oblivious to whether or not I'm ready for it to keep going.

And there's emotions that I'm struggling to understand -- and I wish I could post about it, but blogs aren't always the place for such things. And there's no one I can talk to about it either -- and lord knows if I know what to do so... I guess I just roll with the punches?

I think I should get a new psychiatrist... again. I want to go back and discuss my meds and life in general... but I don't like the guy. He makes me uncomfortable. He gives off the "I'm better than you" vibe and I don't want a "I'm better than you" vibe coming from my psychiatrist. Actually I don't want a psychiatrist at all, but I kinda need one -- I accept this.

I know I'm rambling on about nothing, and I know my recent posts have been boring as fuck, but I'm lacking in someone to talk to about shit right now, so I'm talking to my blog. It makes me feel better.

I'm doing pretty good in my 2 computer classes, it's weird -- I'm finally learning relevant information I might use in the future. We had a test Tuesday that no one finished. It was administered by a teachers aid (because why would the teacher who is getting paid to be there actually show up?) He wouldn't even give us an extra 5 minutes. And when I say that no one finished, I mean he said time's up and everyone was still there writing as fast as they could. The teacher told us it would be long -- but he said we'd have time to finish. Liar. God those math classes are stressing me out.

I applied for lots more jobs today. I wish the managers I speak to would just be realistic about wether I have a shot at the job or not. They all get excited that I want to work weekends and act like I'm a shoe-in. Of course the fact that I've now applied to twenty something places kinda says a different story. I went back to B&N (I'm a determined bitch, aren't I?) I spoke to the woman who does the hiring and she says they were actually going to call me next week. I don't know what that means... but she said the positions were still open and they might consider me. So who knows -- the ultimate job is still in the running! At least they know my face and my name and that I really want the job. There's nothing beyond that that I can do -- well, maybe I could make them a cake or something. Do people do stuff like that? "Here -- I baked you a cake... please hire me. It has cream cheese frosting."

After running around doing that all morning (I really just wanted to go to sleep, but to avoid depression and the bottomless-pit of being out of control of anything in my crappy life, I felt the need to get out there and TRY -- cause no ones gonna tell me I didn't at least TRY). Anyway, after all that, I had about an hour before class -- so I stopped at Arby's for lunch. Mmmmmm Arby's. I picked a spot in the window for lunch -- took a bite -- and then promptly ran to the bathroom to throw up. I still can't eat bread.

And it occurs to me that we put up with a lot of shit in our lives. We always think -- I can't take anymore. Yes, we can. Look at me. I had a surgery that causes me to randomly run to the bathroom and throw up -- I deal. I'm actually starting to question if it was worth it. I haven't yet -- but I'm about to, and once I hit that questioning phase -- it's all gonna be downhill. Twice a day, I grind up Effexor and drink it -- it's the nastiest thing I've ever had to drink and I don't know if it's the revolting taste or the drug itself -- but it makes me very sick. So I usually have to sit down for about ten minutes and tell myself not to throw up the expensive medicine. And I pay out the ass for this medicine that makes me sick twice a day. I don't feel that I currently have a choice. And then -- the hives. Do I really even need to elaborate on that -- I've said enough. I'm dealing. It sucks. No one cares.

We put up with a lot of shit, eh? And that's life. It seems that all I do is put up with stuff. I do it because I have to. I do it because it's what I'm supposed to do -- but what do I do because I WANT to?

I got the Nickelback CD today -- I wanted to do that. And last night I got to watch Medium. And I try to fill in spaces with things like that -- things I want to do... but it doesn't seem to be working. My life feels so pointless and empty. And when I say that, I'm not saying it from a place of despair -- it's more from a place of apathy. It doesn't matter how much I try -- it doesn't seem like I have any control of anything. I know exactly what I want -- but I can't have it or get it.

So what? Do I listen to the new CD I bought -- or do I lay in bed and stare at the wall? Who cares if I go to sleep? And what difference would it make -- this nights going to pass and tomorrows going to come either way. And really, I don't know if I particularly care.

My roommate annoys the crap out of me, by the way. Different cultures, I guess. Yesterday I left my door open, because I don't want to sit holed up in my room. Then she started slurping something so loud that I could hear it over my TV. I'm sorry, but I can't take that. It seems that no matter what she eats -- she's going to make as much noise as possible while doing it. And this is me, I've never claimed to be able to even sit next to someone chewing gum -- so really this situation sucks. And she's always... around. And it's really hard to explain that. It's like she's always just THERE. She's never not there.

Look, let me open my door. Why look at that, she's RIGHT THERE AT THE END OF THE HALL LOOKING AT ME. And if I were to walk down the hall to the bathroom, she'd watch my every step and never say a word. And then she'd watch me wash my hands... and then she'd watch me walk back down the hall. This is not paranoia, this is weird. And it's about time for her to cook dinner. This means that she will grab that radio that I hate so much and set it right outside my door while she does something with that raw meat that is always sitting on the coffee table. And it will smell horrible. An no, I'm not just saying that -- every time someone enters this apartment, the mouth to me "what is she cooking?" Fuck if I know. Just fuck if I know. I know it's nasty -- thats it.

I honestly can't tell if it's just me or not anymore. I mean I'm sitting here and she's listening to church hymns louder than I would hear them in an actual church service. And I can't tell if I'm going crazy, or if she's just really fucking weird. And she never goes away.

Ok, so I've rambled enough. Too much. I don't think I made any sense. I don't feel any better either. Can anyone help me? Some word of encouragement -- so word of something? What's the point of life? What do you do to pass the days?


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