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Tuesday, July 24th, 2001
12:02a - futile before I even try
today was not a good day.

There's this girl in my jewelry class, see. The one who picked me up on the street at one point, remember? Well, I'd decided not to do anything - because, let's face it, I *am* going back to Ohio in four weeks. It would just be painful - either having to leave her, or having a long-distance relationship again. I mean . . . I'm maybe a bit masochistic, but not *that* much.

Well, after all this, today I find out - completely by accident, she just happened to mention it during a completely unrelated subject - that she has a boyfriend.

It's like . . . I'm not even allowed to *hope* anymore. Not *only* wouldn't it have worked out if I had asked, but I'm not even allowed to entertain the possibility that it *might* have worked. I could very well have remained completely oblivious for the next four weeks, and after that I never would have seen her again, and I could always imagine that maybe she would have gone out with me - except now, nope. Now there really *is* nobody here for me . . . now I really *am* that alone.

And, I mean, that I can handle (after curling up in a bathroom and crying for ten minutes about the general unfairness of the universe) . . . but life just won't let up on me. Reading Terry Pratchett I run across a passage commenting about how most guys would go running after their girlfriend if she was taken from him. (The person in question was Carrot, and he didn't, but that's because he's too logical.)

And then one of my friends is talking about how her sister ODed, and they brought her to the hospital, but she was okay and didn't have to get her stomach pumped because they fed her charcoal so she could vomit . . .

and it's just not fair, any of it.

but I've been saying that for months.

And it doesn't help.

this wasn't what I've been trying to write about how I'm feeling. Maybe by tomorrow I'll be back to where I was, and I can try to put it into words again.


current mood: lonely

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2:52a
First, this.

Second, I have come to the conclusion that this organic pasta suffers from two important drawbacks.

First, it's more expensive.

Second, there's less of it.

While I suppose I might consider it being organic a significant advantage, the fact is that "organic" really doesn't mean a whole lot when what you're dealing with is pasta-in-a-box, and I'm not activistic enough to really care about pesticides and stuff.

I think I'll leave this window open in case I find anything else amusing, so I don't end up making two billion posts or something. (1:00 AM)

hrm. interesting, not amusing, but here it is anyway. (1:19 AM)

Wow. Nothing else. How boring. 2:51 PM.

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3:11p - miscellaneous randomosity
GRRRR.

I want good speakers!

grrr grr grrrr.

Okay. First subject.

One of the classic studies to show Bad Ways Of Taking A Survey follows. A group of people was trying to determine how many children, on average, people had. They interviewed a bunch of adults and came to the conclusion that males have more children than females - it was something around 2.2 to 1.6.

Geh?

Turned out that their survey targets had all been middle-aged Princeton graduates. So their survey *actually* concluded that, out of middle-aged Princeton graduates, males have more children than females. Whereas clearly males must have the same number of children as females.

But actually . . . they *don't*. Genetically speaking, males have more children than females. Why?

Because there are more females.

Yet almost nobody thinks about it that way - most people think it's a fifty-fifty divide :)

The second is that I seem to be turning into Carrot.

Only I don't remember why.

Hold on, I gotta go snag Jingo.

Aha! Found it.
    ". . . Have you ever really watched him? I bet he'd fonud out everything about Jabbar by the time he'd talked to him for ten minutes. I bet he knows the name of every camel. And he'll remember it all. People don't take that much interest in other people, usually." Her fingers idly traced a pattern in the sand. "So he makes you feel important."
    "Politicians do that--" Vimes began.
    "Not the way he does, believe me. I expect Lord Vetinari remembers facts about people--"
    "Oh, you'd better believe that!"
    "--but Carrot takes an interest. He doesn't even think about it. He makes space in his head for people . . ."
and although I don't seem to be as good at it as he is, I certainly try. Okay, okay, so I can't claim the "doesn't even think about it" part :P

Anyway. Probably post more later on. Probably doesn't really matter, since it's nigh-impossible to get into LJ right now anyway :P

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10:44p - people who refuse to tell you how they're feeling
Well, my mom gets home. And tells me she needs to check her email, which is a bit unusual because usually she says something like "could I check my email soon?" I happen to be at a good point to pause, so I do, and she does - takes her twenty minutes or so, also unusual. I glance over her shoulder at one point and notice that she's replying to a local news station - oh yeah, there was another helicopter today - apparently she sent an email to report it, and they said it wasn't important. Well, she was writing some sort of rant about how it *would* be considered important if it was in a different part of the city (quite possibly true). But anyway - I curl up in a chair and finish the last fifty pages or so of Jingo. I go over to see if she'll be done soon, and she is, she's just finishing, so I ask her what she was doing.

"Nothing."
"Really? It sounded like you had a definite reason to check email - something more than just wanting to see if anyone had sent something." (which I know full well because of having looked over her shoulder, but I was thinking that even *before* I glanced over.)
"No. Nothing. Nothing you'd be interested in."

ooo-kay . . .

Note that this is my mom, the person who'll cheerfully rant on about something you're *not* interested in for fifteen minutes. If you actually *ask* her about something, you'll be sitting there all day.

A few minutes later, she gets her pajamas and turns a light out or two, clearly going to bed. Very early for her, too.

"Are you going to bed."
"Yes."
". . . are you in a bad mood or something?"
"I don't know, should I be?"
"Well . . . you certainly seem to be."
"Oh. I'm going to bed. Good night."

And she leaves.

I mean, really . . . she probably *could* be more obvious, but she'd have to work at it . . . and she could at least *say* she is, when it's pretty blindingly clear . . .

sigh. It's stuff like this that reminds me why I really hated living here . . . now I can do something about it, finally, namely, totally ignore her. In three and a half weeks I'll be gone.

Not sure if I really want to come back here, either . . . I'm beginning to think that if I *do* come back to Seattle, I'm living somewhere apart from parents. And even that isn't even remotely certain. I'll do some major jobhunting a few months before next summer - might end up somewhere else, I'll get an apartment for summer and see what I can do on my own.

With any luck, I'll actually have some mildly impressive stuff done.

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