Evacuate the dance floor.

I have two and a half hours to finish this paper, and I still need five more pages.

I'm not doing well.  I have been collapsing after minimal activity.  My eyes are this beautiful, crisp turquoise color, but the bags under my eyes are an ugly grayish brown.  I'm eating healthy, I'm taking vitamins, I'm going to the gym 4 times a week, and drinking 5-6 bottles of water a day.  But I'm gaining weight.  Every time I weigh myself, I've gained weight.  What is going on?  I wake up every morning with headaches, which sometimes continue to grow until they're migraines, and I have to lay in bed with the lights off for hours.  I frequently feel cold or hot when everyone around me is comfortable.  I'm dizzy, unfocused, and fragile.  I have no idea what's going on.

I went to the doctor.  I had blood taken.  I had to pee in a cup.

I still don't know any answers.  My results should be in at the end of the week.  My doctor says that I've let my condition, whatever it is, go unchecked for too long.  It might be as simple as a thyroid problem, but could be as serious as cancer, and I'm honestly a little afraid.  Hormone replacement therapy is a bitch, after all.

I've got track marks and bruises on my arms from the tests. I don't want to have to worry about this now.  This is not a simple case of stressed out college student.  College seems like the least of my problems right now, even though this paper is likely not going to be finished on time.  It hardly seems to matter when your body feels so horrible, like it might give out at any second.

Please think good thoughts about me.

Modularity and the Motor Theory of Speech Perception

There is a game of ultimate frisbee running on the pitch outside my window.  Everybody is very excited about it.  This is a side of Reed that I've never seen.  I have to admit, it's pretty adorable.

List of things to do today:
-Laundry
-Gym
-Morphology problem set
-Catch up on Macbeth
-Regular homework
-Portland food carts with dormies
-Skype with Matt
-Video games
-More paper stars

I really like how it deteriorated into a 'list of things I do when I'm goofing off' at the end.

I wonder if reading your old writing is even a good idea.  I went through my old journal yesterday, and ended up leaving with some uncomfortable thoughts and feelings.  There were so many flashing lights in those adolescent words, and I hope that I can be more honest with myself and others now.  For two years, I was tortured and didn't seem to really know it, and yet now at just a glance I can see that I was in trouble.  I don't want that to happen again.  I want to take those bad feelings and slowly breathe them out of me like smoke.  I don't need them anymore.  Maybe when I was a teenager, I needed something like that inside of me to keep me working for better things. Maybe I didn't know how to let them go, even though I can tell I was trying.

Anyway, the point is, I'm trying not to be so full of myself now.  Honesty is the best policy, right?

Okay.  I think it's hash-browns and over-easy eggs o'clock.

BAH.

A huge mayfly just flew out from under my desk and subsequently prompted some kind of death screech to come out of me.  I think I almost made Jane and Beth have heart attacks.

There's a hole in my story; there's a hole in my head.

Thank you, thank you, Friday.

Right now I'm getting over a cold and a too-short haircut.  So far I think I'm recovering.

Portland, you are a beautiful city, even while you're wearing your rainy, gray jacket.  I can see the city lights from my window.  They look so good I want to make them into tea and drink until the cup is empty.

So, I'm putting off some asinine social psych assignment because apparently I would rather organize my music folders and make 3-D paper stars out of written-on post-it notes.  Also, hyphens are pretty cool.  I guess it's not the smartest work environment to have Jane and Beth playing Kingdom Hearts in my room, huh? Maybe I should at least write a heading.

It's tough adjusting back into the rhythm of a long-distance relationship.  The late-night phone calls often stretch too long into the night, leaving us tired and groaning in the morning for all the wrong reasons.  I'm two hours behind Matt, so he often calls me too early and I keep him too late.  I think we'll find our way around it again soon.  And maybe by then it won't feel so strange sleeping alone.

Reed life is coming back to me in the same way piano pieces come back to me while I fumble through the notes.  My fingers pick up the melody before I really remember how it goes, and soon the whole song comes together.  I have a good feeling about this.  Although, I have to wonder if coming back to Reed will always feel a little bittersweet when Matt is so far away.

My goal tomorrow is to finally do my laundry.