Flip Your Hair One More Friggin’ Time. I dare you.

Anxiety and stress has kept me from posting. I attended a party on Saturday, a football game on Sunday, and started the first day of classes Today. I’ve conquered them all and I’m zapped. I am not volunteering to leave my house three days in a row ever again.

I did pretty much enjoy the party. I got pulled onto the dance floor which is something I don’t usually allow (especially to music with a 3/3 count where I can’t find the right rhythm) but it was in the spur of the moment and actually exciting. It’s one of those things that pushes you so far past your comfort zone that you kind of just need to accept it or fall victim to further humiliation, mostly from your own brain. I’m still enduring some flashbacks of how much of an idiot I looked like but I just tell myself to shut the fuck up. I mean literally, I say it out loud. I get some strange looks sometimes (psh, pretty much all the time) when I walk down the street because my mind will be a million miles away yet I’ll be responding to it in real time, vocally. Very vocally. And profane. Very profane.

I ate a piece of fruit I thought was watermelon but apparently wasn’t and honestly had about the textural and flavorful attractiveness of the hoof of a camel that’s stepped in it’s own shit.

This is why I love when my mood shrouds a chunk of my anxiety; this is the feeling I want to have all the time, not some of the time. I hate waiting for the next plummet so I can feel worthless again. We’ll see what miss Psy.D has to say about all this on Wednesday. I’m interested in a second opinion.

Taking a Bart train system to a Coliseum felt like what I assume a subway in New York feels like.

That man’s face captures the feeling of my very soul.

I couldn’t stare straight ahead because a woman’s lower belly sat inches from my face. I couldn’t move seats because there were none left. I couldn’t move in general because we were all crammed together with hands up each other’s asses. Were I not feeling relatively normal, I would have had a panic attack. Any one person could have had a knife hiding in their sweater pocket and a thirst for blood or a gun and a thirst for brain. I felt like the dude in the sunglasses a few seats away kept staring at me. Some chick without sunglasses¬†was staring at me.

And then we stopped in the middle of no where with nothing but dry hills surrounding us and were delayed about twenty or thirty minutes. I figured some army dudes would roll up on dune buggies, pry open the door, and collect us all for some secret government lab experiment.

Our transportation to the secret government lab.

It seriously felt like we were getting led to a slaughter.

Even still, I’d have to say my first two classes of the semester evoked more anxiety than those two days combined. I was running in and out of the bathroom every five minutes, massaging my stomach and sitting in my Calc 2 class pretending like I wasn’t terrified. I hate that the class is in the building where my Physics lab was. I have to relieve that nightmare every morning as I pass my former classrooms.

I know a whopping total of two people out of thirty or so, both of which I don’t know well and who I didn’t see until I’d already sat down. I didn’t want to stand up and move next to them in fear of looking strange. Everything I do is either done exaggeratedly to avoid looking weird or is not done at all to avoid looking weird. I probably already look weird writing down the notes. Sitting next to people is a chore since they stare at my notepad and talk shit about me in their head. They think I’m stupid for writing down what the professor said because I should already know it. I’m supposed to be smarter than them, right? My slightly delusional self believes so. I’ve always wondered why my brain thinks what I know and what I don’t know is pertinent to other people’s knowledge. I’ve also always wondered why my brain thinks I should understand everything I see or hear the first time. It thinks the strangest things sometimes.

I am not my brain. I’ve learned that recently. If we were two heads on the same shoulders we would have killed each other by now and laughed at the irony while we did it.

But Chemistry was the kicker. This class is about 90-100 students (roll call took a good fifteen minutes) and we’re all crushed against each other at these long fake wooden desks in chairs with no wheels on shag carpet so you’re lucky if you can scoot around in your chair without face planting or falling backwards and thus looking like an idiot. You can imagine I don’t move my chair very much except at the beginning of class and end of class to get the hell out.

The grade is 70% exams. There’s some participation percentage of the class, probably for groups or something who knows, that I will undoubtedly fail. I have accepted that. It might seem like I’m doubting myself but no, I just know I’m not comfortable around this group of people. It’s much too large, we’re much too close together, and I know not one person. They all seem to know each other, though.

I came in ten minutes before class as usual to find most seats taken. So I sat in the back where I had an empty seat to the right of me and an empty seat to the left of me. I could never squeeze in between a row to get a seat next to someone; what if I hit something with my bag or step on someone’s foot or actually hit someone’s back or smell like shit or end up tripping? I don’t want to look like an idiot. I felt decently safe in the back. Some guy asks to sit next to the two guys at the end of our table to my right and they induce introductions among themselves. A girl sits to my left because she knows the guy at the other end of the table and they start talking. At this point I’m sure everyone in the classroom has noticed I don’t talk and they’re all obsessed with the fact that I’m acting strange. I’m just a fucking celebrity, aren’t I?

She continuously flipped her fucking HAIR. Every. Two. Seconds. Just. . .

. . . like she was a goddess.

It kept slapping my shoulder. I couldn’t move more towards the right without slamming into the dude who now seemed to be on good terms with his two new friends. Fuck everyone who can relate so quickly to others (Just kidding. Sort of.).

She whispered with her non-boyfriend through the entire hour and twenty minutes. Let me tell you, she was one hair flip from getting my fingers in her eyes. I’m not a rude person until I’m angry. I was already feeling my heart pounding, the sweating, the dizziness that came with the realization of all the work I needed to put into this semester, all the energy I’d need that I don’t have; the last thing I needed was some nursing student with more luxurious, holy hair than Jesus Christ himself tickling my shoulder and cheek with her bullshit.

I think I feel things too intensely. Everything is exaggerated. My anxiety, my depression, my happiness, my hopelessness, and the major one: my anger. I’ve punched holes in doors and walls; I had the potential to punch a hole in her face. Maybe I should have just yanked out a razor and sliced her hair off. You think they’d dock my financial aid for that? I’d probably just have to pay for her new hairdo.