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I just feel like shit right now because I am STILL SICK (sore throat/cough, sinus headache, runny nose), and also because I am feeling depressed due to my period.  Also, this is going to sound stupid, but I miss Rick...we haven't been seeing much of each other due to school and his band, and we were both pretty sick. Friday night we did our own thing, which was cool, except that we were both completely out of commission yesterday so we really couldn't hang out; he came over around 4, but we just slept until 7 and then he left.  Thursday night was a lot of fun, though!  Rick had to go to the one guy in his band's house to record, and he invited me along.  I was kind of nervous to go (I thought it would be weird if I was there) but it ended up being fine!  That was the first time I had ever heard him play the drums, and let me just say that Rick is a sick fucking drummer!  He looks really sexy when he plays, too...hee hee.  The whole band just sounds really good.  They are playing at Battle of the Bands on March 20th, and I am going to go!  Katie Wilson might come with me.
Basically, I feel like Rick and I haven't had a really good weekend to ourselves in a long time.  Hopefully that will change soon.

In other news, I changed my major to French.  Tomorrow, I have to go about making an appointment with the French, Classics and Italian people and start figuring out what classes I need for the rest of my life.  I fucking hate school, but I don't want to be poor, so I have to go.

I kind of feel like crying all of a sudden.
 

The snow outside today is blizzardy and beautiful.  I had this thought that maybe the reason it snows so much here is because each snowflake is a wish made by someone in a very poor place where it doesn't snow (such as India or Mexico or Haiti).  When I thought that, it made me sad.  It also made me want to be more charitable and philanthropic.  It also made me not want to catch any snowflakes on my tongue.  Really, though, after I thought about all that, the snow picked up and it was as if there were more snowflakes drifting through the air, than there were actual air particles themselves.  This thought made me really nervous and panicky and I felt like I was going to choke on the snow.  Damn my neuroses!  So I took a Xanax and felt better.

Here is what I wrote today in French:
"Now that I can't do it (my GPA is too low), I want to be in a sorority even more."
"There's this fucking Liz Hinkson looking bitch in my French class.  I can't help but hate her just by looking at her face, which is horrible because not only should I be over those fuckers I graduated with by now, but also because she is probably a perfectly nice person.  Kelly is from Farmington Hills, though, and with those people you can never be too sure.
"I really have to keep up this French thing I have going!  The class is pretty hard, but I am super good at it and it makes me feel really good about myself when Shankers hands back the homework and I get full marks and also sometimes even a <<Tres Bien!>> written on the top in red ink."

Today in French we worked in groups to analyze an excerpt from French literature by this guy named Patrick Chamoiseau.  The excerpt pertained to his feelings of bitterness about his French education, which consisted largely of his professor denouncing Creole customs and morals as being akin to the habits of demonic or possessed peoples...so, your basic zealous missionary kind of thing.  Shankers sort of compared it to the misplaced fervor Catholocism, so I had a wry smile on my face for most of that class.  My heart was twisting in my chest.  Also funny: Nate Deweerdt worked in the same group as me, and he too is a Catholic school alumnus.


I am burning my candles and incense right now and they smell soooo good!  The incense is Amber scented (whatever that means) and my candles are from Yankee (I love that store!) and they are scented Sheer Gardenia, and Spring Bouquet.


I have to leave for Stats pretty soon.  I don't want to go at ALL, but since Dikong doesn't use ANGEL, and the Stats website has yet to work on my computer, going to the class is pretty much a necessity.

"We are making box plots right now, and Dikong just likened outliers to Mexicans who are trying to jump the border into America.  The whiskers of the box plots are the barbed-wire fences they are attempting to scale.  Everyone is kind of giggling uncomfortably, except for people like me who are smirking, and those who appear to be affronted by his callous comments.  A handful of Mexican-looking students, perhaps five or six of them, have just gotten up and left the classroom."


My mom is here to take me out to lunch, so I have to go.  But I also wanted to say really quick that, on the 30 bus today, I saw one girl who looked like Amy Adams and another who looked like Liv Tyler.  Also, not on the bus, I saw two cardinals, one male and one female, in the branches of a tree.  I love those cute little birds!

Everyone writes.  Even stupid people write.  My boyfriend writes all the damned time.  He is really good at it, though.  I used to have one of these things.  It spanned five years of my life; arguably the five raunchiest, silliest, craziest, most fucked-up years of my life thus far.  In March 2008, following a series of nervous breakdowns, I began chemical therapy (read: happy pills) for my bipolar disorder.  I still have not decided whether or not those pills saved me or ruined me.  I mean, I have not had a panic attack in almost a year.  Nor have I blacked out or thrown anything or lit anything on fire, as a result.  But I kind of miss the mania; well, at least the whole getting-all-my-shit-done aspect.  Staying up all night for three nights in a row got lonely sometimes, though.  Anyway, after I started the medicine, I was just sort of flat all the time.  Not depressed, but incapable of jubilation.  I have learned to manage it now, though: I don't take the medicine all the time, I just take it when I am really depressed.  My mother says it is not supposed to work that way, but I am doing just fine, and it is my body and my brain, so.  I am aware that this entry has no organization and it does not proceed in a logical manner, but I am just kind of writing what I am thinking right now, letting the words flow from my brain to my fingertips.  I have a lot to say, but the hardest part for me is getting it all out here...because some of what I have to say, even I don't quite understand yet.  I'm getting a little depressed thinking about the last five years of my life right now.  So I am going to change tack.  I hope that you (whoever you are, if you are even reading this) are still following.  I promise I am a super interesting person.

I have this boyfriend named Rick.  He is an incredible person and, oh, my God, I love him so much.  We have only been dating two months so sometimes I feel a little silly about the depth of my feelings for him.  I don't know how I got so lucky.  I suppose every dog has his day, though.  But seriously.  He is so talented at music and writing and beard-growing.  Whereas my talents (irony, vocabulary, shortness) are lame in comparison, not to mention far less marketable.  He is also totally kind and a sweetheart, and I trust him completely.  He makes me feel like I won the lottery.  Maybe in my next post, I will tell the Story Of How We Met.  It is a thrilling tale indeed.

I need to get ready for class and such.  But before I do that, I owe you readers a little blurb about who I am or whatever.  So, here goes.
My name is Claire.  I am a sophomore at Michigan State University, majoring in political science.  I want to go to law school after graduating.  I am a staunch Republican.  I make people laugh, sometimes.  I have a vivid imagination.  Physically, I am four feet ten inches tall and I weigh roughly 86 pounds.  I have long, wavy auburn hair.  I have eyes the color of shit.  I have freckles, pale skin and bushy eyebrows.  I don't find myself very attractive but I guess I clean up alright, according to some.

I have to go now, my friend Kvamme wants me to cut his hair.  He just came in like ten minutes ago and we danced to Stars' "In Our Bedroom After the War."  In my next entry, I will tell you all about my friends.