Invisible Monsters

It's the title of a book by Chuck Palahniuk. I read it this summer, and all I have to say is that the human mind is pretty sick and twisted-- mine, yours, and Chuck Palahniuk's, no less.

I've been thinking a lot about brains recently. (Feel free to giggle with me at the blatant pun-ish type device I have deliberately inserted into the previous sentence.) AP Psychology, while lighting a fire to my bottom and propelling me with full-force towards my goal of becoming a doctor, has made me realize how much more screwed up I am than I previously believed. It's true. Not only that, it's fueled my wonder and fascination with people who are also screwed up: my brethren. I'm constantly trying to analyze small modulations in behavior, facial expression, voice; it's getting to be utterly creepy. Not everyone likes it when you stare at them with squinty eyes trying to diagnose potential stimulation of amygdalas and release of the neurotransmitter GABA and such, I've realized. Presently, I've decided I've developed a crazy person fetish. An unhealthy need to be around, talk about, read about, and analyze mentally disturbed people. Myself included. Go figure.

Perhaps now would be a good time to bring up a somewhat sequitur thought. I've realized that what gets me through my screwed up, over-analyzed life are productiveness and friends. These two parts of my life keep my brain from spontaneously combusting and blowing up. (That was an intended redundancy, by the way.) They help me retain my sanity; without an exact balance of working hard and my dear friends, I'm a mental mess. It's funny, because my life does basically consist of these two things--yet, they are my source of solace. A paradox. One of many to come, in fact. Lots of things in my life are circular contradictions. Snaps, please.

Anyhoo, I like the feeling of being productive. For all the, ahem, "haterz" who chide me for writing a 500 word blog while making the pompous assertion that I like to be productive: you're completely right. I like it, yet I'm not doing it. Paradox snaps again, please. As for the friends...okay, well yesterday, I experienced the all too familiar feeling of missing someone. I told myself I didn't know who I was missing, but I really did. I missed someone that I physically see and talk to every day of the school week, yet never at all. (Ahem snaps *cough cough*). I went insane for a couple hours that day, yet I'm going to listen to his stupid-but-reluctantly-accepted-as-cute jokes but 12 hours from now. And THAT is what happens when my two sources of solace are thrown out of balance--I go mental again. Just like I am now, ranting and raving about every arbitrary thought that comes to my mind, writing a blog post that no one but me could understand. The mark of a true crackpot, my friends.

Which is why I have decided, out of the pure goodness of my heart, to spare the world from my nonsensical ramblings and get back to that whole balance of sanity thingy. You know, productiveness and such. :)

Bad Timing

It's the one time in 123439824 billion weeks that I have absolutely nothing to do, and I don't seem to have any deep, profound, or eloquent thoughts to express. Maybe I'm only eloquent when I'm highly stressed or angry. :) I guess I'll be back when I have my next tantrum?

Lament of the Late Bloomer

Perhaps Sunday evening at eight o'clock (I love writing out the word "o'clock". It's a terribly underused phrase nowadays) isn't the best time for unleashing my inner conflagrations of emotional conflict to the world...so I'll settle for my profound thought of the day.

Happy late birthday, Somewhat Sequitur. The reason I say late birthday is that this blog was supposed to make its entrance into the world a looong time ago, indeed. At least, in my guilty mind. It's always good to channel your thoughts into an outlet of expression, right?

Well, frankly...I'm not quite the Michael Phelps of realization. Any thought/goal/aspiration that makes its way into my mind is shoved mercilessly into one of my 5 to 7 short-term memory slots (thank you, Mrs. Ford) within a couple days, and is completely thrown out once something momentarily more critical comes along, like studying for the SAT, grade-whoring my way into shamelessness, or finding the mother of all bs-ing methods. (BS? B.S.? b.s.?) "Hmm...Carrie's blog puts so much literature to shame...I should start a blog like her!" suffered a similar fate...until now. Maybe. Anyhow..I'm just always late. Late for maturity, late for school, late in starting a blog, late for starting anything. It's a product of my suffering of the It'll-Happen-Eventually syndrome, and its fed by my incessant lack of time/griping. What can ya do.

Oh, and here's another belated realization. It's not so bad to be a late bloomer, y'know? Ever heard of delayed gratification? That's what delay does to you. It makes the fruit of the effort that much more sweeter. And why didn't I immediately fix the grammatical error in that previous sentence ("that much more sweeter") before doing anything else? It PLEASES me more to fix it at the end, when I can see the correction's effect on this entire passage.

Speaking of oranges...I must homeworkificate. Okay, that sentence did NOT fall into the category of somewhat sequitur, but there's always time for the latter later. Story of my life, right?