Maybe I never update because nothing that exciting ever happens to me.  Honestly, I think the most exciting part of my day is when I tear a page off of my desk calendar, revealing the grammar rule for the day … I happen to know people who would rather stare at a blank wall.  As a result, I stopped writing letters to people because there was simply nothing to write about – who wants to read about how I needed to get rid of my Dinex dollars so I bought 12 bottles of water?  (Plus, even 39 cent stamps add up to a significant amount of money for a poor college student.  Perhaps I should convert to keeping in touch with e-mails.)  When I do finally catch up with friends, however, I am shocked to find that so much has happened to them that they can’t even remember all of the stories they have to tell.

Last night, while everyone else had news about major changes in their lives, my conversations went more like this:

Me:  HEY!  HOW ARE YOU!?

Them:  Good!!!  What’s going on with you!!?

Me:  Oh … Nothing …

And then I smiled awkwardly and looked for the next person that I had to “catch up with.”

WATCHING the musical for the first time in years was such a strange experience for me.  Sitting in the audience, I felt like such a has-been alumna and at times was rather jealous of those on stage, wishing I were still a local star.  It’s funny how you can go from being a somebody who is relatively well-known to being a nobody who has to work again to earn a place of importance.  When can I keep that place for good?  Will I even achieve it again?  Have I ever achieved a place at the top?  Is change even a sure sign of progress?  Should I be glad that drama merely dances around me?

I promise that the next time I write I’ll have something exhilarating to talk about.  (But most likely, I’ll just ramble again … Or else you’ll be waiting for a long, LONG time before you hear from me.)  In the meantime, I would love to hear from you.

"Hi!  I'm Jane!  What's your name? … What are you majoring in? …Where are you from?"  And, if you're extra courageous, "So … What's your favorite flavor of ice cream?"

In many ways, it parallels first grade:  "Hi!  I'm Jane!  What's your name?  Which Disney Princess is your favorite?  Do you want to be best friends?"

I would have to argue, however, that the process is kind of sped up in college.  Any time you find yourself not figuring out how blocks and Dinex work, moving dressers out of the middle of your dorm room, buying books, carefully learning how to operate a washing machine, and exhausting yourself at orientation events in hideous orange shirts (people have really got to stop wearing those), you automatically attempt to meet as many people as you can so that you can make your friend applicant pool as large as possible in order to find those perfect friends that you're going to latch onto so that you're not deemed a loser right off of the bat … But come on … We're at Carnegie Mellon University … We're kind of all losers.  As you meet each person you wonder, "Is she going to be one of those people I'm super close with at the end of four years?"  Tentative posses are formed and conversation moves cautiously past the usual, "I heard that's a tough major!" to "Well, do you know what you want to do with that major?"

At the same time, you're trying to keep up with old high school friends who are going through the same thing and everyone just wants everyone to know everyone because, well, we don't want that much to change in four years …

It's funny though, because a lot changes in three months.

You can still get together with your high school friends and know that nothing has changed amongst you except maybe a significant other here or there or some … uh … experimenting with other things, but -- half semester or whole semester or four years – every time you meet again it's like going out any other night after a vacation or something.  Meanwhile, in three short months at college you've quickly progressed from, "Yeah … I don't like that Walking to the Sky statue very much," to, "God, I hope that fugly erection just falls over.  Maybe it'll hit an unsuspecting CS major on its way to the ground!"  In three short months new friends have been made, news friends have been introduced to Pittsburgh rain, new friends have been lost, ID cards have been misplaced countless of times, and three extravagantly surprising birthdays have gone by.  Before you know it, you're dropping grate covers into 5-foot holes in the ground or escorting a friend home after a late night of "hitting up the Fraternity Quadrangle" or complaining about living next to sororities.  (But really, how could ANYONE enjoy waking up to "GAMMA GAMMA GAMMA GAMMA GAMMA GAMMA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" at the crack of dawn on a Saturday?)  In three short months, after declaring multiple times that you were going to commit suicide, you realize you some how made it through one-eighth of your college career.  In three short months, you're already past the first trimester of a pregnancy  (WOO RONDELL!).

If all of this and more has fit into a mere 3 months, I can only imagine what'll come out of the next four years.

Let's take a break this next month and put everything in slooooow-moooo, but cram in as much fun as humanly possible.  The Holiday Season means miracles, right?

Standing in Laura Schneider's driveway, I was suddenly hit with the reality of my situation and I started tearing up.  As I slowly glided down Wickford those tears started gliding down my face and by the time I soared over the first speed hump on Crofton I was full out sobbing.  When I made my turn onto Field Club sobbing turned to giggling and by the time I got onto Powers Run I was just a big mess of tears and laughter.  Speeding down Freeport and wiping away tears, I remembered that the last thing joked about was the size of my head as a baby and everything just seemed so ridiculous that I laughed so hard I almost crashed into something, but by the time I pulled into my garage I realized I had a whole lot of packing I just didn't want to do.  I ate a truffle and things are looking a teensy bit better.

Oh ... Denial.  It seems as if just last week I was starting elementary school and just yesterday I graduated from high school.  Then I'm seeing people before they leave and seeing people before I leave.  Hours before it's time to go I still can't grasp the fact that we're all leaving for different parts of the country if we haven't left already.  Even through my last round of hugs and saying, "Well ... I guess I'll see you ... soon?" I still don't realize that this is really it.  Then it just smacks me in the face like a glass door that I didn't see until I had walked into it.

I miss everyone like crazy ... Please write!

Jane Wu
Carnegie Mellon University
SMC 1362
3052 Forbes Avenue
Pittsburgh, PA 15289-1362

LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  (It's all you need.)

P.S.  I dunno that I'll ever write anymore entries.

It's days like yesterday that make me miss my friends while they're right next to me and resent work.  Luckily, my slave drivers allowed me a day of freedom yesterday since I just HAD to attend this CMU orientation dessert reception to do the "awkward shuffle," meet new people, and realize that in three short weeks I'll have to actually act my age.  However, for now, I think I just like to temporarily pretend I'm all grown up and normal when I feel that it's necessary, and apparently, I'm believable:

"After having to spend the day with twenty-some sixteen year olds, it's so refreshing to talk to eighteen and nineteen year olds ... I think once you graduate from high school and realize you're going to college, you become more mature."

Yeah ... Maybe the majority does mature, but MAYBE there's just a slight possibility that a few out there still laugh at things like, "choch," "EGGROLL!", or "cat," and give nicknames to people like "Dr. Deck" while claiming that they not only LOOK like pirates, but in fact ARE pirates.  It is also possible that these same people will sing along to songs (instrumental parts too) in weird voices, using any object as a microphone or drum.  They might still not know which corner of an envelope to place a stamp on and believe with all of their hearts that if they just put a person's name on the envelope, the letter will somehow find its way to that person's mailbox.  One can probably find several of these people in grocery stores, whining about not being able to find Mini M&Ms (because they are just superior to regular M&Ms) and then pouting.  Those people are also most likely arguing about which cake mix is best before finally settling on "Funfetti" and considering the glittery Barbie candles.  Some of us still understand that the different kinds of sprinkles are indeed different and will not hold back when there are so many color choices for icing -- who cares if the kitchen looks like a battle field in Candyland?  When there isn't one around, a few of us will attempt to be an electric mixer complete with the whirring sounds.  If you look out your window, you may find us out there one day driving around, lost in your neighborhood without any worries about time or finding what we're looking for.  It is very likely that every now and then we'll forget how to be socially normal for our age and will unexpectedly barge into your house bearing ridiculously decorated cupcakes and then proceed to explain some of the cupcakes inbetween fits of giggles.  We head straight towards the desserts at any gathering even though we've eaten nothing but sweets all day and we'll definitely wave like fools at strangers just to chuckle at their bewildered faces.

I don't regret any of it.

Despite my massive sugar migraine, I practically laughed myself to sleep last night ... Laughter heals all.

(Sorry I haven't updated much, but let's be honest here:  Who really reads this anyway?)

Growing up is not what it's cracked up to be.  No one's nice to you anymore because you're young and innocent -- they're all out to get you.  Boy, that didn't sound paranoid at all.  What I meant is that the selfish people out there -- and let's face it, the majority of us are -- are just looking out for themselves and are willing to step on anyone ... except kids (most of the time).  As a child you can be carefree.  There's nothing to worry about.  The future, grades, bills, high cholesterol, creaky joints ... Yeah, whatever.  You can attempt to fly from the jungle gym, nearly break your bones when you crash to the ground, cry for about five minutes, get a kiss from mommy, and then do it all over again.  The only thing we had to be upset about back then was not getting that new toy.  Heck, if you pouted enough you'd probably get it eventually anyway.  You could grow up to be anything you wanted ... A fairy princess, a pirate, a superhero, all of the above, and for those weirdo extra-ambitious kids, a teacher or even a doctor.

Then you actually do grow up and your limbs suddenly get really long in a short period of time so that your brain hasn't registered it yet and you become awkward and think that your depth perception is off.  AND, just as you're crashing into doorframes and knocking everything over, people expect you to be responsible as you become ... DUN DUN DUN ... A young adult.  You have to keep your grades up and get a job.  You have to actually clean your room and make you own appointments with the doctor and get normal skin-tone band-aids to put on you boo-boos ... er, injuries.  Cook for yourself and do your own dishes.  You can go buy your own groceries too -- but act your age ... No having someone push you around in the cart and no gliding down the aisles pretending the cart's a scooter.  And you can forget running around pulling coupons out of those flashing dispensers or sticking your arms inside your shirt to keep from freezing when you walk down the frozen food aisle.

Sure, in theory you can still do whatever you want, but you can't get away with it anymore just by being cute.  You're better off fitting into the adult society.  Go forth and be puppets.  Be responsible for your actions, earn lots of money, and then solve global warming.  Being carefree?  Ha.  Who wants to be a kid and be allowed to be blissfuly ignorant?  I'd rather have to worry about paying the mortgage and fixing this and doing the laundry and fighting wrinkles.  I don't want to take chances or do anything dangerous (although I guess kids don't really know what danger is).  No siree.  I want to plan every detail of my life out and live it that way.  No spontaneity whatsoever.

I'm going to throw a temper tantrum now.



.Born Under a Bad Sign - Cream.

I believe my dad told me to clean my room today, but I guess I wasn't paying attention because I've only made a huge mess that has carpeted my floor.  I suppose I don't really like listening to people who are fond of using one-word sentences ... "Go.  Clean.  Or.  Die." ... It's much more interesting to decide what to have for lunch or to dream about Captain Jack Sparrow.  Listening to my dad goes up there with cleaning on the list of things I despise.

Cleaning involves moving -- not only am I moving myself, but I also have to move objects ... Objects which have gathered dust that will go flying into my face causing me to slaughter tons of innocent brain cells by sneezing.  And what does my misery get me?  Large, sort-of-but-not-really-organized piles of STUFF all over my room and I can't find a single thing I'm looking for.

I probably wouldn't be faced with any of these problems, though, if I'd just stop being such a pack rat.  I can search and search through all of the heaps of junk for any given object, but the only things I ever find are memories ... Memories and my worthless belongings.  Oh look, there's the pile of giant scrunchies that always adorned my hair back when it wasn't always in my face ... And over there is an assortment of glittery make up people gave me in our middle school years that I've only broken out a handful of times to liven up my stage make up!  Here are all of the bottles of obnoxiously colored nail polish that I used to insist on wearing, much to my piano teach's dismay, and ... What's that?  Oh, the miscellanous pile -- I can see the box of incense that my parents once mistook for drugs.  That is one big heap of nothing.  The two biggest piles, however, are the clothing pile and the paper pile.

The clothing pile is made up of ... well ... clothes ... but they're not too small or anything ... I just stopped wearing them.  Why?  I honestly can't tell you.  But I CAN'T just donate them ... What if one day I want them again?  I assure you that this has yet to happen, but I just won't part with that silly peasant shirt with the huge sleeves or that silly fuzzy sweater with that terrible pattern.  This refusing to let things go is even worse with my paper pile.  Don't get me wrong, I'm quick to toss out my old school notebooks and binders, but when it comes to pictures, Christmas cards, programs from every single performance I've ever seen or been in, or even ticket stubs from EVERYTHING, I just can't bear to think of them sitting in a dump somewhere.  Do I ever reread those holiday cards?  No.  Do I look over the programs?  No.  Do I ever relive moments caught in photos?  Only if they're on Facebook.  And yet, SOMEHOW, I just can't throw these things away.  The funny part is, I usually don't even remember that I have them until I discover them when it's time to throw them away.  I HAVE to keep those seemingly useless papers just in case one day, when I'm old and senile, I break all of the rules of the human mind and remember a repressed memory (I can't figure out how that'd work but I bet I can do it.) about a box hidden away somewhere that contains Valentine cards from the fifth grade.

In case you're wondering how I ever finish cleaning my room, I normally relocate the sort of sorted mountains of items to various places in my house where I know they'll be out of my way but safe.  I'm running out of space.  Today I almost gave up and got as far as putting my memorabilia in a trash bag, but I haven't quite gotten to moving this trash bag out of my room.  Maybe I ought to bury it in the ground where I can dig it up anytime I want.  It would be like a time capsule for myself.  A big old trash bag full of Jane's childhood buried in the dirt of her backyard, acting as a time capsule.  That's almost creepy.  I should look into getting a treasure chest.  Maybe I'll even draw a map.  Because THAT wouldn't be creepy.

Savvy?

Ok, did anyone see the match between Australia and Italy yesterday in the World Cup games?  Ridiculous!  Sorry, just had to ask.  Let's have a party/get together around someone's large TV to watch the finals because I'll exist on that day (Sunday, July 9th WOO!)!  Who wants to volunteer their really large TV?  I would, but my TV isn't that large.  And my family is odd ... and sometimes dangerous ...

Next question:  Does anyone remember (I think Laura was there, but it might have been Jessica) when I went into guidance that one time to get some pointless form?  Hm, I guess I did that a lot, so let me be more specific:  I went to school one morning wearing this Chinese shirt I have -- I'm sure you've all seen it -- and then when I went to get this pointless form from guidance the secretary not only asked for my name but also for how it was spelled after I told her it was "Jane," because she was just "making sure there weren't any Is or Ys or anything like that."  She'd never double checked the spelling of my name any other time I had given it to her ... I was just blatantly Asian that day (as opposed to every other day, I suppose).

"Well, whatever," I thought, until yesterday:

"So what's your name again?"
"Jane."
"How do you spell that?"
"... J - A - N - E."
"Oh, so just plain Jane, nothing weird or anything.  Ok."

No, you jerk, I guess there isn't anything WEIRD about the way I spell my name.  But if there WERE, wouldn't it probably be because I'm Asian?  Is it WEIRD that I'm Asian?  But eh, it doesn't matter because luckily I spell my name the PLAIN way.  The plain traditional way.  Nothing WEIRD, because apparently DIFFERENT is WEIRD and that's BAD.  If it had been up to me, I think I would have not picked the name "Jane," or I would have spelled it some really interesting way with Xs and Qs.  Unfortunately, my parents aren't the most creative in the world.  I actually like my name though.  Jane.  Sure, it's a bit simple, but not a lot of girls our age seem to have it ... It's a nice classic name.  SO SUCK THAT.  Nothing makes me cringe more than when people call me "Plain Jane."  I'll have you know that I'm hardly plain.  Haha, Plain Jane, Plain Jane!  Isn't that cute!  It rhymes!  There are plenty of other things that rhyme with Jane.  Such as insane.  Or will-beat-you-with-a-cane.

Please, anything but plain.

My brother got braces yesterday and they're Steelers colors.  My brother got braces yesterday and in August he will be starting 6th grade on 6C.  That was the team I was on.  In August my brother will start the 6th grade on my team but unlike me, he probably won't find his middle school years to be the most awkward years of his life, braces or no.  My brother will probably not be awkward because other kids like him.  Other kids like him, so my brother will probably be popular. 

And you know what, if you aren't, like, popular as a child, well you're pretty much doomed for,like, life.  OH MY GOD, for real.  If you don't climb the social ladder by stepping on loser freak people to fit into the right group at the right time then you have, like, failed.  You won't get into college or have a successful life or, like, any of that.  Learn -- and learn while you're young -- that if you aren't, like, popular in school, well you might as well just, like, give up on life because no one will ever like you.  If you don't do what all of the other kids do then you are not cool and being cool is everything.  Duh.  If you find yourself in a pickle just make it known that, like, you were once popular in middle school or high school and you know what?  Everything will be perfect!  LIKE, OH MY GOD!  Just perfect.

Do you remember how every Friday night Waterworks Cinemas would be packed with Dorseyville Middle Schoolers seeing a movie?  If you went to Dorseyville Middle School and you didn't go see a movie with all of your popular little friends every Friday night then you obviously weren't cool.  Maybe this is where I apparently went "wrong."  I didn't go out every Friday night to see a movie and then sit around in Barnes and Noble pretending to like coffee afterwards.  I guess that since I was never part of the movie/Barnes and Noble crowd I also, probably for the same reasons (although what those reasons are I do not know), didn't participate when, in high school, everyone started moving away from movies and coffee-sipping to creating their own drama and alcohol-guzzling.  But you know what, I didn't move to the other extreme either.  I didn't become an angsty teen who wore all black clothing with chains, who drew crosses over my eyes with heavy black eyeliner, who dyed my spiked hair in all sorts of strange colors.  Ahaha, emo kids.  Let's all be individuals together by dressing the same and doing our hair the same way!  Please tell me what you are angry about.  Maybe I'm angry about it too.  Then we can fight the norm by being different in the same ways.

How is it that all popular kids find each other and befriend each other?  Every now and then a cool kid will accidentally befriend a loser, but as soon as they realize their mistake they ditch the unpopular kid and somehow just fit into the popular crowd.  And how is it that all emo kids find each other and befriend each other?  Meanwhile, the rest of us who don't really fit into a category find each other and become friends because really, what choice did we have?  No one else wanted us.  Not that I don't like my friends.  I adore them, which is surprising because upon close inspection, we're actually not all that similar.  Perhaps we all found each other because we all knew that secretly, one day, we're all just going to become normal adults.  Most of us anyway.  The popular kids' popularity won't matter in the real world and the emo kids will get normal hair and carry not chains but briefcases to their normal jobs.  Or maybe we're all just too many years too late. 

Mara and I decided to wander past all of the useless stores in the Mills yesterday and wondered why all of the people who we saw where bunches of giggling and obviously cool middle schoolers or packs of scowling emo preteens.  And then we realized that it was because most other people in our age group were probably getting high or drunk or impregnated or all of the above.  As everyone else downed alcohol Mara and Jane were experiencing the middle school thing to do:  Movie and coffee afterwards.  In fact, we ran into and talked with -- at -- a group of collar-popping, glitter eye shadow-wearing middle schoolers.  Their preppy shirts were pretty bright but alas, they were not.


Boy:  Hey, ya know what the Imax is?

Jane:  It's a massive movie screen.

Boy (while performing some odd clutching motion at his head/face):  Oh ... Do you wear GOGGLES!!!?

Mara & Jane:  No.

Boy (looking confused):  Oh ... Is it 3D!!!?

Mara & Jane:  No.

Boy:  Have you been to the Science Center?  They have that ... that ... really cool thing ...

Mara:  That's the Omnimax.

Boy:  What's that?

Jane:  A big dome screen that's all around you.

Boy:  So what's the Imax?

Jane:  A big rectangular screen.

Boy:  Then what are the regular screens?

Mara:  Smaller rectangular screens.

Boy (turning to friends):  Whoa ... Hey guys!  Let's go to the Imax!!!!


Mara and I skipped straight to tall (Why is the small called a "tall?"  I hate this.  But that's a different rant.) mocha frappachinos after this conversation. 

Ah middle school ... I hope my brother has an easier time with it than I did ... I think it's where I went wrong with my life.  I'm going to go reinvent myself at CMU as a popular-emo-jock-whore. 

Because it all matters in the real world.

At some point after the minister cracked the joke about "the beginning" being "the big inning," I tuned out the sermon and in between playing the dot game with Suzannah and Kwoh and being pelted in the back of the head with paper airplanes by Laura, who also made explosion noises, my mind settled once again on the matter of religion, particularly Christianity.

If god really loved me, he wouldn't have made me get up at the crack of dawn to sing in his house, which is carpeted with Swastikas.  I kid you not -- next time you find yourself in the sanctuary of the FCPC take a gander at the green and yellow carpet.  Although I'm not a huge fan of worship I kind of like churches.  I'm not sure what it is ... It could be the acoustics or the pretty windows or the organ, but I enjoy being in churches, especially huge cathedrals.  Other than for singing or looking at the cool chandeliers, why would anyone want to go to church?  To hear a sermon?  But why?  The combination of bad stories or jokes and the minister's soporific voice just bores you to tears but you can't take a nap because pews are definitely not designed with comfort in mind.  I cannot understand how anyone could, once a week, sit for an hour that seems as eternal as god apparently is and pretend to be holy and perfect.  Maybe it's just me, but I can't see anyone actually ENJOYING church.  In my mind people go because they were raised that way or they've done something bad and feel guilty or their life sucks and they're hoping that god will make it better.  I even know of someone who goes to FCPC a lot right around musical auditions.  Perhaps the most common reason that I can think of, however, is that people are afraid of what comes after death and spend their lives being good so they can be happy for the rest of their afterlives in heaven.  This is fine, I suppose ... This idea of there being something after death, but I don't get the part about morals.  I don't see why you have to be saintly during your life to enjoy the afterlife.  The thing is, even church-goers are hardly holy.  This belief that if you just go to church every week and confess your sins and pray, then you can do whatever you want all of the other days really throws me off.  If you commit a crime, forget about apologizing to anyone about it but god, because you're afraid that you might no longer be accepted into heaven.  Do what you have to do and then ask for forgiveness and everything will be ok.  Whatever a person's reason for going to church is, I don't believe many go because they WANT to.  It seems every person who goes is afraid of something; they don't go because they love god, they're afraid of him.

The only other reason I can think of for going to church is that is hones one's imagination.  Which people are the ones who are guilty of something?  Which ones are terrified of dying?  Who is sucking up to not only god but also Mr. Cannon?  What will become of the kids being baptised today?  I was baptised as an infant and look how I turned out.  I kind of wish I hadn't been baptised ... My mom was in one of her religious phases though.  I wonder why she goes in and out of them.  She was in one at the time of my birth and we went to church all of the time in my youth, then we stopped, then my friend made me go to church with her, and then my mother started again, dragging me to church every week, then every few weeks, then just Christmas and Easter, and then we stopped.  She's currently in her "I'm returning to Jesus" phase, but as for me, I can't really return to something I never found nor do I think I'll ever find.   My mom tells me that she prays for me.  I don't know what to do about this.

Church has allowed me to perfect my daydreaming.

I hope this doesn't depress you, Paul.

It's amazing how quickly I can empty my brain of seemingly useless information.  A few days away from school and I've already forgotten how to read speed limit signs as I race off to the next graduation party while grooving to stoner music.  And I wonder why no one wants to hire me.

Everyday is the same thing.  It's become predictable to the point where I don't even see why I need to waste pages in my journal detailing each day when I could just as easily write, "See yesterday."  I wake up, I practice piano, I waste time on the internet, I party, I chill, I read, and I sleep.  Eating is a constant activity throughout all of this.  I hate waking up, my piano's out of tune again, even my Facebook addiction is wearing off (Facebook really alters the meaning of the word "friend"), graduation parties mean getting fat and seeing the same group of friends over and over and over again (I love them, but I'm not seeing anyone new), hanging out and talking after parties usually just ends with my being sad about something (probably the fact that I don't have a hot tub like Nathalia's), my list of books to read is forever growing, and I've already successfully screwed up my sleeping patterns.  I love eating.  I need some more variety in my life.

The fact that I've just been feeling detached from reality probably isn't helping either though.  I'll THINK that I'm happy or sad or bored but I won't FEEL happy or sad or bored.  I'm actually not even thinking that much anymore and when I do, it doesn't make sense.  If I see a street, I cross it ... Nevermind the honking car shooting down the street towards me.  I feel the desire to do something and I do it.  I want to say something and it just comes out of my mouth.  Who cares about what's going on around me?  I'm only half-listening to things people say while thinking about who knows what ... If you asked, I probably wouldn't be able to tell you what I just heard or what I was turning over in my mind.  I've stopped thinking, "OK, I'm going to do this now."  It just sort of happens.  By the next day I can't remember details of the previous day.  It's as if I'm permanently getting that feeling I get everytime I'm performing or being recognized for something.  Before I dance onto stage or walk into a scene to recite my lines I'm overly aware of my surroundings, but then when I begin playing the piano in a recital or I'm walking across the stage to get my diploma I'm not conscious of anything until I'm back in the audience or hidden in the wings.  I couldn't tell you what was happening around me.  I couldn't remember what I was thinking.  I couldn't recall what I heard.  I couldn't remember if I did this step or said this line or shook his hand.  At one point my mind just blocks everything out and I become a robot on autopilot, going through the motions without realizing it, and after the fact, I only have very vague memories.  It's hard to explain, but this is how I've been for a while now.  Nothing matters that much and I don't get that worked up about anything.  "Oh, that's cool.  Man, that sucks.  Hahaha, that is hilarious!"  I know how I'm supposed to think and feel and react, but it doesn't happen and I just perform the actions that I'm expected to.

I need to light something on fire.



.There There - Radiohead.