You would think after 48 hours of no sleep, one would have no problem sleeping all night long; but NO, my damn head has to cap it at one and a half hours and call it a night.

Freakin' stupid head.

Six minutes well spent.

Keep in mind while watching this that these people make some of the best, most reliable and most respectable cars in the world.

Maybe Americans need to rethink football and start playing with some rubber bands.

Spring break starts next week. For me, it starts at 2:15 tomorrow. I am literally itching to be done with school. I'm doing wicked sweet this semester, at the expense of my love and social life. It's a really, really big expense. All those hippie people are telling me that I'm forgetting to live, that life isn't about what we make of ourselves, it's about who we are, who we love, and who we touch. Agreed. Partially. Life is also about not being a lazy idiot who sits on their broke ass all day long. Believe it or not, I can be myself on the weekends and be a professional the other 5 days of a week. I'm going into freaking nursing, my amazingly calm and loving personality will touch people every day. That was a joke, in case anyone wasn't bright enough to get that.

Also, I don't agree with the hippie people because they're okay with living in cardboard boxes all their lives. I would prefer a roof that doesn't leak, thank you very much. Their major is my gen ed... I love that quote.

Speaking of quotes, why the frick does anybody respectable use xanga? It is so filled with these mindless girls who post lyrics and seemingly deep poems (keyword: seemingly. Ladies, do some research before posting some of those things, please). Granted, I'm one who writes for the sake of writing, not for the sake of being read, but STILL. If you're just going to post a new set of lyrics everyday, WHY THE FRICK DO YOU BOTHER. People can just listen to the radio if they want new lyrics everyday.

Oh, yeah, and they actually canceled school today. Do you know how often that happens? NEVER. I slept for six extra hours. It was amazing.

(Overheard about a 4 year old)

"I'm upset... Conner has been saying 'hate' recently. I don't know where he learned it!"

"Probably from kids at school."

"BUT IT'S A CHRISTIAN SCHOOL!"

"I know, it's terrible. You should talk to his teacher about it."

Inch your car up to the parking lot entrance, look at me coming towards you. Look the other way. Look at me again. Debate whether or not you have enough room to pull in front of me. Think about it for another minute as I get closer. Decide you're an idiot and pull in front of me after giving it a lot of thought, therefore cutting me off.

Next time you spend so much time thinking about whether or not to cut me off, I'm going to spend time thinking about whether or not I should hit my gas pedal instead of brake so you have to pay for cutting me off. D-bag.

... but when the guy across from you is reading everything out loud to himself, why wouldn't I rush to tell the world:

NEWSFLASH: I AM NO LONGER THE CRAZIEST PERSON ALIVE.

Awesome update: also, to the girl who keeps getting up and taking samples, hoping no one sees.... I see you eating the entire loaf of bread. I'm not judging you, because everyone loves free food, but I do see you.

Awesome update number two: to the man who just stuffed a whole bunch of the sample bread into a shopping bag... I saw you too, and I am judging you a little bit.

Today was interesting. I had a patient who was 450 pounds. No, that was not a typo, four hundred and fifty pounds. Ouch, it's gotta hurt to walk with that belly. Also, two patients whose command of the English langauge wasn't the greatest, as displayed below:

"Have you been eating your meals?"

"Yes, I drink lot's of coffee!"

Had to be worse than mine. Today in and of itself wasn't entirely dispensable, but events building up to the suckiness that was my today made it almost unbearable. Between the mostly sleepless night, the still not having a phone, the hardcore tests being pushed FORWARD (forward, not BACK) a day (making it tomorrow, p.s., regardless of me having to go to clinical at 5 freakin a.m. in the morning, I have an exam at 12 that was supposed to be on Wednesday). Between the group projects where my group does NOTHING resulting in a poor grade and my contact ripping in half seconds before the presentation, so I'm winking at every classmate in the room. Somewhere, between everything, something had to have been good.

Something, somewhere, had to make me smile. Maybe it was the inch long paper cut on my thumb. Maybe it was the not getting a chance to eat most of the day. Maybe it was the 80% on the quiz I studied my ass off for. Maybe it was the realization that this so-called amazing class will never get better. Maybe it was the fact that I look like crap today. Maybe it was that my right eye has been hurting since the ripped contact at 11 a.m. Something, please, something had to make me smile.

Maybe it's the fact that it's 7 o'clock and I just got done with the day's assignments and haven't even glanced at tomorrow's. Maybe it's the fact that I stood up one of my best friends because I can't make it to her place, and because of the lack of phone, have no way to contact her. Maybe it's the fact that a lot of my friends are hurting, and I'm not there for them because I don't have any time any more. Maybe it's the fact that my boyfriend and I are fighting. Maybe it's the fact that I feel like I have no where to turn because I've stood up so many people and backed out of so many things and forgotten so many promises. I don't know. Something out there had to have made me smile.

Congratulations on planning your wedding. You and your mother seem very excited to be meeting with this photographer, he is exactly what you're looking for, and I am aware you are 99.9% sure you will choose him. Why am I sure of this particular percentage? Because you screamed it, loudly. Because the phase "indoor voice" is meaningless to you as you sit in the middle of Panera Bread, proclaiming loudly to the world that you do not have a wedding planner, you are your own wedding planner. You have always known, all your life, somehow, that you would be the one to plan your own wedding. Congratulations.

Your fiance really wanted to help plan the wedding with you, but for some reason, changed his mind and is now spending the afternoon changing spark plugs with his father. You are getting married October 11th, because your fiance is superstitious about the number 11, and so he has to get married on that day. But oh my, you are graduating college in December, and here you are, all by yourself planning the wedding! You're so good, so you don't even have a wedding planner.

The girl you chose for your flower girl is very well behaved and wants to wear a fluffy dress, and your nephew will look ADORABLE in a little tux. You are going to wear heels on your wedding day, but wish you weren't, because you have a bit of a problem with walking in high heels. So when you fall flat on your face and are lying the aisle wearing heels against your wishes, please photographer, make sure images are captured as "I told you so!" is escaping your lips.

These things, and more, are things I wish I did not know about you, girl sitting next to me wearing a Boston sweatshirt. I wish I did not know them because I am trying to do pharmacology homework and read about what happens when patients with renal failure take digoxin. But instead, woman, I was forced to sit here reading the same paragraph repeatedly as your loud words overtake every other noise around me. Nobody really cares about you, woman, so please, shut up and stop acting like everyone wants to know every detail of your life and how you are planning your own wedding... WITHOUT A WEDDING PLANNER BECAUSE YOU'RE THAT GOOD. You kinda drove that point home. A lot. Annoying bitch.

I agree with you, good sir, that despite being past your obvious prime of life, you should be able to dance around in the driver's seat, singing hip-hop to anyone within a 25-foot radius. You have enriched everybody's lives just a little bit, because we now know that we are not the most ridiculous, nor the worst, singers on the planet. Thank you, Puff Grandaddy.

Heading into the sixth week of the semester, and I'm already feeling burned out. My schedule pretty much sucks in all forms right now, and this past year has really been kicking my natural born white arse. I blame it all on my first semester here, where I deemed myself too good for studying and working hard, and ended up with a 2.95 GPA and a bank account in the negatives. Ever since then, I have been trying to pick up the slack I left for myself. The following semester, I kicked it up a notch and started working three days a week and pulled four A's and one C (I really hate anatomy). Except my effing school doesn't give A+'s, only A's and below, so I didn't make the dean's list. I'm still kinda mad about that.

I spent my summer beefing up my bank account and making up for classes I dropped: I took anatomy & physiology II and Developmental Psychology, all while working 40-60 hours a week. By the end of the summer, I had just barely put my account into the positives and I was still trying to make up for that agonizing 2.95.

Fall semester started, along with the real nursing classes. Between thirty hours a week of work and major assignments due on a weekly basis, I barely had time to be nervous about doing clinical days or my GPA. I pulled out of the semester with an O.K. 3.5.... I blame the horrible nursing scale: 94-100: A or A-; 84-93: B-, B, B+; 83-77: C or C+; Anything lower than a 77: you fail.

Winter break started, and so did all the work. Over break, I only read one, count it, ONE book. I finally had time to read the final Harry Potter book, I sat myself down and finished it in a day because that's all I could afford. Then I went back to work. A lot. Money is really hard to earn.

Spring semester is going by like a harsh wind. It's not easy & breezy, but it's flying by and smacking me in the face at the same time. To give you a very detailed idea of my week:
Monday: 11-2:30, class. 3-4, work. 5-8, travel to the hospital (1 hr away) and do paperwork. Come home, prepare for clinical (usually 2+ hours of work)
Tuesday: wake up between 5-6 to get to clinical on time... 7-2:30, clinical. 3-4, work. 4-5, get tutored. 5-10, prepare for the next day (preparation is unavoidable because I have a quiz every day in every class. No joke).
Wednesday: 8-2:30, classes. 3:30-4:30, work. 5-11, CHILL TIME! This is the one day a week I get to spend time with my wonderfully understanding boyfriend.
Thursday & Friday: I usually get a chance to work an 8-10 hour shift at work each day and pack in as much homework and sleeping as possible
Saturday: 9-12, class. 2-11, work.
Sunday: Sleep, church, prepare for Monday so I can start it all over again.

It's kicking my butt. Hard. If you look, there are big, fat, red welts across my cheeks from the semester kicking it there. I usually only get to log onto Facebook 2-3 times a week, it makes me so sad.

For this reason, Internet, I have come to neglect you. I love your blogs, viral vids, and random crap. Spending all my days on you was amazing, I miss those days. Now I'm stuck in this havoc of bills, deadlines, and patients.

When will an end be in sight?!

I just thought the world should know that not once but TWICE this week I have woken up at five freakin' a.m.

TWICE.

I have a second job; I am a writing tutor at my school's writing center. The other day, I tutored a grad student, it was kind of weird. Not because he was in graduate school, or because he was 40-something, or because he was asking my eighteen-year-old self to help him write his resume. No, it wasn't weird for any of those reasons. It was weird because he kept inching closer to me and told me that I smelled nice.

It is the first sunny and semi-warm day we've had in weeks; I am inside Panera bread studying. It is 3:09, I have been studying since 11:30 (save for the hour and half I talked to Rachel).

There are old men sitting near by, drinking coffee, reminiscing about life, and enjoying the young lives around their older and wiser ones. There are two men two tables down, each with his pricey MacBook out, discussing business moves and laughing over trivial matters, enjoying their time together. There are two teenage girls a few tables away, scarfing down soda, sandwiches, soups, and pastries enjoying every bite without appreciating the way it will not stick to their fifteen year old hips. There is a little old lady next to me who is slowly eating a sandwich on wheat bread, with an apple, and a steaming hot black decaf while she reads a book and enjoys the freedom of retirement.

I am at Panera bread, alone, on a nice day, surrounded by people happy with their situations. I'm wishing I could eat a pastry, put REAL sugar in my coffee, have a carefree afternoon to read a book or make strategic business plans to buy my third Lexus.

Alas, I am not. Instead, I am reading about the effects of drugs on the GI tracts of geriatric patients.

I hate my life.

Why don't I write in this more often? Is it because I'm too busy, really, to say a few words? To make a quick update to chronicle my life? Is it too much to take five minutes to type "Today sucked: four quizzes, fight with the BF, my teachers are morons, but smiles from friends at the end of the day keep me going"?

No, it is not too much at all.

So why don't I do it? Because the entry won't be good enough? Won't be interesting enough to read? Will be too lame? Because I can't hold it next to Heather Armstrong's blog and go "doesn't even compare, I shouldn't bother writing!" ? What a terrible reason not to write. Fear of rejection. Is that why I write, then: to be accepted? To be liked? To be thought of a "funny" or a "good" writer? To gain approval from those around me?

Yeah, sure, because people judge me THAT much on a blog they don't even read. I always think I have to have some huge, elaborate, hilarious entry to make this readable. But why do I care if it's readable?

I think, to answer my own question, I'm going to have to reach into my hat of English training... You always write with an audience in mind. You always write for the reader.

This is true. Most of the time. For papers, for stories, for some poems. But for journals? Journals? Journals are for self-expression! Chronicles! Memories! Irritations! Joys! Worries! Journals are for the JOURNALER. It's not like a paper a professor has to read or a poem I'm going to be graded on... This journal is for ME. How many times did I loudly proclaim that when I journaled stupid, obnoxious crap all through high school? I guess some of that annoying edge has been rubbed off with time, but man, I wrote some great pieces back then. I should take a leaf out of my fifteen-year-old self's book.

Funny. I thought all of this college stuff would make me a better writer. Not a safer one. Granted, I've become a safer person overall, given that I've learned how more consequences follow more actions the older and more "responsible" you get (yes, for me, responsible gets quotation marks. It's still up for dispute whether or not to attach that word to my name). Writing was always, always, the area of complete freedom in my life. How did I lose that?

Hours of intensive writing classes, workshops, and Reading for Writers? Maybe. Maybe I got so distracted with that, I forgot about this. I forgot about My World. My comfy blue chair. That's what blogging used to be for me. It was my safe spot. Now it's a pair of shoes I struggle to fit into. I love these shoes! I used to wear them all the time, they went great with EVERYTHING! But now? Now I'm trying to force my feet in, and they just won't fit. Did the shoes shrink? Did I grow too much for the shoes to ever fit again?!

Perhaps there are new shoes out there. Shoes very similar to the ones I used to wear, similar to how I used to blog, but they fit me better. They look more grown-up. My shoes aren't going to grow with me. I have to buy new ones every few years to accommodate my feet as I grow. And if I keep trying to force my feet into the old ones, my feet will bleed and swell so badly that I will only look at the old shoes with disdain.

Good news! DSW is having a sale!

CAAP exams. I know, they're a national thing. But have you ever heard of them? Probably not. Apparently, only lame midwestern colleges with nothing better to do force their students to take them. Why do we take them? To get accepted into our major. When can we take them? Anywhere from Sophomore to Senior year.

To clarify: go through four years of college with a GPA of 3.89 and if you forget to spend four and a half hours taking a standardized test proving your ability to read, write, critically think, do science, and math, you WILL. NOT. GRADUATE. Four years of A's isn't enough to prove you're smart. So take a test that the freakin' Communications majors have to take too, get tested on the exact same stuff, as if your fields of study are anywhere near related. You can wait until Spring semester of your Senior year to take it, and you technically won't be part of your major until you pass it.

I filled in the part I needed to pass (writing) and just put C and D for every answer to the rest of the sections. Bite me, Ohio.

He wishes he could take a vacation and just romp about and enjoy life, he wishes the world was different, so he didn't have to save the it.... When thinking about all those people out there depending on "us" (Scientologists) and it makes him feel like he has more work to do, and needs more help to "Get those spectators either in the playing field, or out of the arena..."

He's basically the worst spokesperson for scientology ever, because just watching him talk makes someone want to shoot themselves in the face.

I've become the worst blogger ever. Once, this was my life. Now, it makes me sad. I used to spend hours a day reading blogs, responding to them, and writing my own. I figured it was a fair hobby, and one I could take with me into adulthood seeing as the majority of bloggers are, well, adults. Once college started though, I found myself engrossed in hours of Anatomy, days of Health Assessment, and ages upon ages of Sterile Techniques. I'm learning some of the coolest things I've ever gotten my hands on, but I'm neglecting what once used to be a big part of who I am. This depresses me.

When I write now, I feel fake or superficial. I feel like I'm writing just to prove to the internet world that I still exist. But to what purpose? Who am I proving that too? I don't know. I just miss writing.

Maybe I'm afraid that it's been so long, I can no longer write like I used to. Maybe I'm afraid that I've changed so much, I can't be interesting anymore. Maybe since I stopped watching TV last year, I haven't had anything to make smartass comments about.

I should stop studying so much and start watching a little more YouTube or something. After all, who doesn't want to make fun of Chris Crocker?

I'm pissed. I really like writing the number 7.

Oh. Yeah. Happy New Year.