So, uh, hey.

Four years later and here I am.

My posts were jacked before, weren't they?

In any event, I'm now the proud owner of 16 1/2 pounds of baking powder and two gallons of white vinegar.

What is life?

Fuck you, Obamacare.

Medical bills are some bullshit. Just saying.

I dreamed I couldn't stop a bomb.

I've been having wild nightmares lately about war and death and being ignored. I hit up a dream dictionary (even though it's probably crap) to see what I could find out. The summation of all that I read is that I am at war with some part of myself and my anger has been out of control, but I am ignoring these two factors in my life.

I'm supposed to see the psychiatrist next week. I'll have to ask her if this is a side effect of my medicine or if I'm actually trying to tell myself something.

It's unfair.

Why does she get to be perfectly and blissfully happy with everything and I feel miserable about the most inconsequential stuff?

I found out recently that she's pregnant - almost two months along. I found out on a really bad night when Ben had to watch me to make sure I didn't do anything, and it made me want to die. After I reflected on it for a few days, I realized that I hope she loses it. That's horrendous to say and I hate that I'm like this, but when it comes to her, I want her to know the misery I've lived with all my life.

I just don't understand what she's done to deserve happiness and what I've done to deserve depression.

I made an appointment with Health Services to see a doctor about my medicine. I wish I could have seen someone this week but they didn't have any open appointments, so I'll have to wait until next Tuesday. Still, at least I'm making the effort. I know for sure now that my Prozac is not working. Even double doses of it don't make a difference. I still get upset over something small every day and today I just want to lay down and die.

It's so easy to trigger these emotions.

This time, I think the trigger was Ben. He didn't do anything - rather, I did something that made him act a certain way, which in return has made me sad and insecure. I'm basically worried that he's mad at me because I didn't sleep over last night like I said I would.

And now he won't answer my texts.

I know it's silly to think he's doing that on purpose. He's at work. He's probably just busy. But my brain is making it up into a situation where he's avoiding me.

I hope he's not mad. We're going to Massachusetts this weekend. I don't want my one decision to ruin our trip. A small decision like that shouldn't even bring about this much pain.

Ugh. I want to quit life.

Senior year has started.

Since when am I a senior in college? This entire idea is absolutely mind-blowing for me. The CDC (Career Development Center) sent out a message to all the BU seniors saying, "Graduation is nine months away - start your job hunt now!"

UH WUT. NYUUUU REAL LIFE LAWLZ.

Except no lawlz. Not real ones. Only sarcastic, ironic, semi-terrified lawlz allowed in this subject.

I've been so eager for so long to be done with school and branch out on my own. The past few days, Ben and I have been talking about looking at places to rent for when I graduate in June. I'm thrilled about all this happening and there is no way I want to stay in school longer, but it's still bizarre that everything will change so drastically come May.

I'll officially be an adult. Like, a real one. With a 9-5 (I hope) and stuff.

And I'll be living with my boyfriend.

Omfg, forget this rant. I just got wicked excited to graduate. :D :D

Everything is so near.

Graduation is less than nine months away. This fact is mind-boggling for me.

The fall semester starts up again this coming Monday, the 30th. The last six months of this year will contain my last fall semester as an undergrad, my last fall in Binghamton, my last Christmas with my friends here, and my 22nd birthday.

I'm having a small age crisis, even though I once said that I never get them.

I have to start looking for a real job soon and I need to try and figure out what exactly I want to do after graduation. Do I really want to accrue more debt in grad school? Do I want to try my hand at living in the real world for a while?

Who knows.

Average people SUCK.

The only thing I think I hate more than an average, 8-4 job is the average person that works it. Fortunately for Ben and I, we have one of these startlingly average people living right beneath us, in the apartment below. Whenever she thinks we use too much water, she bangs on the wall. When she thinks we're too loud, she bangs on the wall. When she can hear just the tiniest bit of the TV or our laughter, she bangs on the wall.

And yet when we see her outside the apartment and try to remain pleasant, this middle-aged woman literally runs away from us. She ACTUALLY books ass.

I've been stomping around the apartment all night just to piss her off. Ben asked me to stop, so I did (because it's his place), but you can bet if I was paying half the rent for this apartment, I'd damn well keep doing it.

Stupid average bitch. I hope she gets no sleep tonight.