one week and one day

hrm. well, that lasted a long time, didn't it?

remind me never to make resolutions; new year's or otherwise.

i dunno. i guess i'm still just intimidated a bit by this whole deal. somehow it feels like i expect myself to come forth with some great pearl of wisdom in order to justify my existence... dear reader, i hope you feel differently; otherwise, i fear you'll probably have to get used to disappointment most of the time.

so what did happen to me this week, anyway?

my life of late has been a jumble of frustration, confusion, and restless nights. and while i can point at any number of superficial symptoms that add up to me making such a statement, i fear there is something more sinister hiding beneath the surface, that i have yet to satisfactorily locate and identify. and that annoys the ever-loving shit out of me. how in hecate's hairdo am i supposed to find a solution---when i can't even find the problem?

if i was in a more optimistic mood, a sardonic dismissal would probably suffice. "if there isn't a solution, then there must not be a problem." but, sadly, i learned my truth tables well enough to remember that the converse of a true statement, however witty or convenient, doesn't mean shit. [insert generic deprecatory remark about me being an incurable geek here.]

but yeah. thrice this week alone, i've been approached by someone speaking russian---only to be reminded (somewhat painfully, i might add) that any progress i have made in french has only come at the rather dear expense of any proficiency (however humble) that i might have once posessed in russian. and i'm fucking pissed off about it. i mean, for crying out loud, i devoted how many years of my life to learning what i did? and now it just up and disappears? that's just so many shades of 'not cool' that i can't even fathom trying to describe it. and as if that wasn't bad enough, i'm still surrounded by francophones, and while my increasing aural comprehension is sufficient to shock even myself, i want to curl up and die everytime i have to open my mouth. i understand almost everything that's said to me, but you'd never know it, since any response i might make sounds about as comprehensible and intelligent as a toddler on dopamine. how bad must it sound to them, if even _i_ can tell it's just plain wrong? ha. and don't worry, we're not done yet. i'm starting to get scared that my english is suffering now too. yes, i'm probably paranoid, if not completely schizophrenic, but i doubt you have any idea how freaky it is to hear yourself accidentally start repeating the disturbingly common yet oh-so-gramatically-incorrect phrases used by all the people here. after all, i was warned from the beginning that the official language of EPFL is "bad english." i laughed at the time. now i start to find out how true it really is. the horror...

have you ever had a week where, for absolutely no rationally explicable reason at all, you felt like you just didn't know where you stood with your friends anymore? sure, paranoia strikes again, i realize. but i still have these holdovers from my early days of few if any playmates, and friendships are frighteningly precious to me. i know i'm being completely unreasonable; everyone is entitled to bad days. and yet, my emotions are too moronic to find consolation in this. anyway, it's totally stupid; a couple of people were just a little short with me, and it fed into my omnipresent fear that people will eventually/inevitably tire of me, and just be too polite to say it outright. god, it sounds so pathetic when i say it. just call me cassandra; i'm fully aware of how messed up i am, but i feel utterly powerless to do anything about it, no matter how much i want to just pick me up by the shoulders and shake me and scream at me. if i thought i could get a good angle on it without dislocating every joint in my arm, i would gladly attempt to bitch-slap some sense into me.

i wonder if there really is a possibility that it really is all (or even partially) just chemicals and disequilibria? i mean, i know i haven't been eating terribly well recently. yet another thing to get upset at myself for. no, don't worry, it's not nearly as bad as it was, but i'm beginning to understand that thing they say about addictions and psychological disorders: "you're never really actually totally cured; you just get better at learning how to cope." i've just been so worn out this week. after being at work from ten to ten, i didn't have the requisite energy to prepare a reasonable meal, or even do much more than snack, it seems (sometimes on acceptable items, sometimes less so). of course, it seems obvious *now,* in that disgustingly malifluous sort of way; mildly depressed, and moderately malnourished, i suppose it's little wonder that i didn't sleep well. and then it compounded for five days straight. there you have it folks, perpetual motion achieved. oh joy.

probably i really should write in this thing more often. for whatever humiliating reason, it appears (at least so far) that while attempting to explain my frustrations, they start to seem dumb and trite and petty and most importantly, to have blindingly obvious potential resolutions... sorry, this particular revelation probably isn't terribly exciting. really, i'm not completely brain-dead, just a little slow on the uptake (or at least that's what i prefer to tell myself).