On and on reckless abandon, something's wrong, this is gonna shock them

The awkward, the weird, and the entertaining, and it’s only Tuesday.

The non-interaction between EFY and BSG in my apartment last night.
Random cuts I keep finding on my hands. I think I my subconscious must fight crime at night.
Avoiding friends not wanting to tell them I don’t have the emotional energy to deal with their presence.
Telling professors I still haven’t finished the pre-requisite for the class.
Coming home and seeing RCW with an ice-pack on his crotch.
Having classmates apologize for openly disagreeing with me in class.
The “Partial differential equations” game.
California Roommate’s blatant disregard for my pleas not to use a funny but totally inappropriate nickname to refer to BSG .
Me dancing with the girl in my class who is six feet tall.
And of course, taking an hour to formulate two sentences.

I dreamt I saw you walking up a hillside in the snow, casting shadows on the winter sky as you stood there counting crows

The weekend:

Was packed with life’s simple pleasures
Further complicated my life
Posed a few new questions.

Today’s topic is EFY roommate and BSG (beauty school girl)

Background: EFY is great. He is the embodiment of all things good about EFY and none of the stupid things. After butting heads for a month last year, we became good friends. BSG moved into the ward just before Christmas. She’s physically open, easy to hang out with, on the “hot” side of pretty, not too smart, and is a hard core flirter. (Normally*, I comply when a girl begs me to take my shirt off, but this case was a little too weird. Gotta maintain a little mystery.)

After finishing my shenanigans Saturday night, I come into the apartment; EFY and BSG are on the small couch together watching a movie with RC Wiley roommate and BSG’s roommates. He’s sitting up, and she’s laying on her back with her head on his thigh, legs hanging over the armrest. They seem comfortable enough, but there’s no gross spooning. 12:00 rolls around, and we give them the boot. The following evening they were back in our apartment. I was off doing my own thing, but I imagine similar things went on.

EFY’s cell phone rings. He sees that it’s BSG, so he passes the phone to RCW. RCW goes back into the bedroom. Not thinking anything of it, the rest return to our evening of watching stupid internet videos of fainting goats, jumping fish, and Trogdor.

20 minutes pass, and RCW emerges. “EFY, someone has a crush on you.”

BSG has decided she likes EFY. “He’s a really decent guy” and didn’t put the moves on her during the previous night. I guess that’s a rare occurrence. Quoting BSG, RCW says, “I gave him every chance I could to take advantage of me, and he didn’t.” Now, despite the boyfriend in AZ, she’s in love with EFY.

Yes, yes, yes, hundreds of things to mock and so little time, but here’s the point. Who puts on a blind fold, tromps into uncharted territory, and dangles their foot in the lake to determine whether or not the piranhas and snapping turtles are hungry?

Some call it sexuality. I call it emotional masochism.
*By “normal,” I mean I have yet to do so.

When everything is wrong, we move along

Random thoughts for today.

Graduate school websites lie. They say they like M.S. students. They say they pay them. They even say they admit them. NONE OF THESE CLAIMS ARE TRUE! The good news is a friendly advisor caught this little discrepancy before it was too late to backpedal.

"Personal relationships, particularly romantic ones, can be the INTJ's Achilles heel. While they are capable of caring deeply for others (usually a select few), and are willing to spend a great deal of time and effort on a relationship, the knowledge and self-confidence that make them so successful in other areas can suddenly abandon or mislead them in interpersonal situations.

This happens in part because many INTJs do not readily grasp the social rituals; for instance, they tend to have little patience and less understanding of such things as small talk and flirtation (which most types consider half the fun of a relationship). To complicate matters, INTJs are usually extremely private people, and can often be naturally impassive as well, which makes them easy to misread and misunderstand. Perhaps the most fundamental problem, however, is that INTJs really want people to make sense. :-) This sometimes results in a peculiar naivete', paralleling that of many Fs -- only instead of expecting inexhaustible affection and empathy from a romantic relationship, the INTJ will expect inexhaustible reasonability and directness."

Is it possible to be overly warm blooded? After sitting around work for an hour I had to go to class in the WSC. I walked outside wearing only a T-shirt and jeans for 5 minutes, and by the time I got to my class, I was still overheating. What the heck is wrong with me? I went to the gym last night, so I'm a little sore. Could the circulation effects from yesterday's workout have continued into today?

I had a dream last night about biochem girl. I took her out a few times last winter, and in an extremely vague way, I learned she had no use for me. She went off to grad school and eloped with some dude. I stumbled across her email address a week ago and sent her a message. “Hi, I suddenly get what your email address references (it was Run Lola Run). Blah blah blah. I heard you got married; I hope life is good.” Last night a I had dream where she told me everything that was wrong with me. Though I can’t remember what she said, I remember being excited. “About time you told me what was going on! What took you so long? Slow down, I need to write this down.” I remember thinking that some of the things she said were way off while others seemed valid. I wanted her to elaborate but woke up right when it was getting good. What kind of person likes to be told what’s “wrong” with them?

Once again, I can only conclude that I’m a freak. (but hopefully the likeable kind)

Then ask me what it’s like to have myself so figured out. I wish I knew.

I got a letter from my missionary friend, Brooke, a few days ago. You know how getting home from a mission is like stepping out of a forward time warp? This letter was like a backward time warp. I haven’t heard from her since last April (this is my fault), so it’s been a while.

By the time I was 23, I thought I had myself figured out. The world made sense. I knew what kind of degree I wanted. I knew what kind of girl I wanted. I had some fantastic friends, and the future was set. Reading my letter from Brooke, I was suddenly a year younger and surprisingly different. At this age, I wouldn’t have thought a year made that much of a difference, yet I had the very distinct feeling that Brooke was writing to the wrong person.

I’m saddened that we’ve grown so far apart. I’m saddened that she can’t see the person I’ve become (or at least, the person I’m becoming). The two years I spent with/around her seemed decisive, finally she was seeing the real me. Now I look at those years like an author might look at the first book he wrote.

In June I suppose I’ll see her again. The us chapter has long since ended, and our dissimilarities will probably be even greater than they were before. I want to be excited to see an old friend again, but right now, I can only envision a stranger.

I don’t want to live this lie again; I know I’ll get right but I don’t know when.

Sometimes I get fed up with myself. All I want is to let things go and live for the moment. If the world blows up because of my actions, so what? There are worse things. If the train crashes and someone gets hurt, big deal. Thus is life. I didn't crash it on purpose.

But no, not yesterday, not today, maybe not ever. My brain keeps telling me it can predict the future, and I still can’t help but believe it.

You say that you’re starting to feel like you’re getting lost, well I do too.

Last winter, a roommate commented during a late night conversation, “Mike, for just one day, I wish I could sit inside your head and listen.” The previous summer, another friend had commented, “my goal for the summer is to figure out what makes Mike Morrill tick.” Though these kinds of remarks aren’t terribly frequent, they are an almost regular occurrence.

Now, I don’t think I’m any more interesting than anyone else, but such comments do make me think about my thoughts. I’ve heard people say that their inner being would frighten the public world. If you could “get inside my head,” I don’t think you’d be frightened; I think you’d be even more confused about me.

On days that I have nothing pressing for the morning, I’ll wake up around 8:30, but I won’t get out of bed. Often, I won’t do anything but lay still, thinking or playing out different scenarios in my head. These activities go on for hours if I let them. I wonder if someone like me would have a hard time with solitary confinement. If it were from Monday to Saturday afternoon, I think I’d do just fine.

P.S. Grad school applications are done, and the Sas incident has officially dissipated. The internet has sensitive ears, so interested parties will have to ask me in person.

Something in the way. hmmm mmm. Something in the way...

Somethin' ain’t stirring the kool-aid, man. I returned to Provo on Monday night feeling simultaneously relived and depressed as I always do when vacation ends. The nexted morning, instead of feeling excited, I felt anxious. The kind that makes you go half a day without eating. Normally, I need to eat every three hours or less, or I start thinking about devouring my shoes.

Here’s a few possiblitites:

-Grad School applications totally cleaned me out. I had to sign for a small loan from the Bank of Mom just to break even.
-My most relevant (and current) course work isn’t on my transcript. I’m afraid I won’t get in anywhere. (I don’t yet know if this fear is justified.)
-I think I weight over Christmas break.
-I still haven’t figured out what to do about sas.
-I haven’t started the online class I needed to have finished by yesterday.
-My personal essays aren’t finished either.

Most of these issues are in my immediate power to solve. They shouldn’t bother me, but the trouble is that I don’t know if they do or not. All I know is that something isn’t right; my appetite never lies.