I know I could always be good,

To one who'll watch over me."

*********

I'm definitely feeling very Gershwiny. I don't know why I keep doing this to myself. Maybe there's some sadistic part of me that enjoys being miserable. My sadistic side must be bigger than I thought.

It's silly how much I whine and complain, really. For instance, about how jealous I am of "friends" who'd tell me stories of how they drove 200 miles to see other "friends" of ours, or how those people would come visit them. Yet never once do I recall being invited to visit anyone at school. Or about the uselessness I feel about being stuck at home. Being at home never bothered me for four years of school. The long drive to and from campus every day- well, I got used to it. Such a distance is trivial to me, really. But light years to others it seems.

I have no right to expect anything. My reputation as a quiet, boring little mouse of a person must precede me wherever I go, or don't go, as is the case now. People have lives, back at my school, or other schools, undergrad and grad students. Some lucky ones have fulfilling jobs and a chance at real happiness. And I'm so jealous. And bored. And boring. And so lonely.

Common optimists might tell you to "be yourself". Well today I came to the realization that I'm so myself that it's absolutely disgusting. I don't want to be me anymore. I want to be happy.

Now, I've never been one who was good at discovering what other people were thinking or feeling. When people are upset around me, I can do little more than offer an Altoid or a batch of brownies, or a hug and a sad, sympathetic little smile. Again. Therefore, I have no right to expect anything. I'm screaming outloud and no one can hear me.

Well, I'm sorry to keep unloading all this bullshit on the world. I just miss people, that's all. Tomorrow will be a better day- maybe I'll make my key lime pie. Perhaps that will give people an excuse to come see me. I wish sometimes that people would come to see me for no reason. Without an excuse. And sometimes, like a "little lamb who's lost in the wood", I wish for something else. But apparently that requires excuses too. Good ones, which I can never come up with, due to my lack of importance or interest as a person. Anyway, I'm going to go revel in my melancholy for a while.

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