Okay.  I made the decision.

heystaceykay

There you go.

Add, please.  If you want.

Goodnight.

I'm thinking of switching to a new journal.

I read through this one and.  I'm not the same person anymore.

I'll let you know what I end up doing.

On a completely different note. This whole... plaid pants thing. I'm mad about it. And, I'm not saying "I'm mad about plaid!" like the ads in the magazines. No. I'm actually mad. Because I've been wanting a pair for a long time, and--all of a sudden, everyone has them.  Which isn't bad, but.  I felt unique.

This always happens.

And it's getting annoying.

I remember one of the first times was during my iron-on shirt days. I got the idea from one of my favorite books. After I made about three of them, everyone started wearing homemade shirts.

Okay. Anyhow.

I turned over a new leaf on Monday. Since then, I have proclaimed to my parents (mostly my mom) that neither of them is allowed to help me do anything anymore unless its absolutely impossible for me. This had led to a decent bit of soreness on my part, but I'm already getting used to it.

Also. I have cut my coffee consumption drastically. Only one cup a day. And for the rest of the day, all I drink is water.

There's a lot of other stuff that I'm doing, too. I just need to work on the whole self-improvement thing. If I work hard enough, maybe I'll be okay again. Or, as close to it as I can come.

I need to be emotionally independent from everyone else.

Solid.

Immovable.

It's sad that I want distance from the things that I love the most.

I got a hair cut this afternoon. Fresh hair equals fresh start, right?

It is my carefully researched conclusion that something in the universe has, quite obviously, begun to shift.  This may seem somewhat off base, but--trust me when I say that I have evidence.

One oddity concerning my dietary habits entails the unusual things that I enjoy eating in contrast to the absolutely normal things that I refuse to eat.  For instance:  I love to eat canned pears with cheddar cheese on them.  Or sushi, which 68% of my friends refuse to even try.  I eat almost every vegetable you put in front of me.  I love potato pancakes, which I think only exist in Christian's house.  Yet, on the other hand?  I have a newly acquired distaste for chicken parmigiana, and I'm not sure why.  I rather the PopTarts without the frosting.  I only eat hamburgers when I have a sore throat or a fever.  And until recently, my ban on hotdogs, bologna, and spam stood strong!  With the exception of barbequed hot dogs, I have a strong disdain for processed foods.  With spam, though--there is very good reasoning for my hatred.  At the age of nine, I managed to break a tooth while eating a spam sandwich.  For the record, I don't know why this happened.  At all.  I don't care to find out, either.  However.  Due to an obvious recent shift in the universe, as previously stated, my food taste has slightly been distorted.  I have eaten two regular hot dogs and fried bologna in the past month.  By choice.

I am concerned for my mental health more than anything else at the moment.

Also:  Mary can drive the van again.  We're very excited.

I'm turning into a major slacker.  Or, maybe I'll give myself a break and just admit that I needed a day to regroup.

Last night before I went to bed, I decided that I needed to not go to my first class this morning.  This is, quite honestly, due to the fact that I was both exhausted and not finished with my homework.  Yes, I was procrastinating again.  No, I don't care if that's bad.  I decided to write a note to my mom saying that my first class was canceled.  I left it by the coffee pot--the first place she goes in the mornings.  Success.

I emailed my teacher saying that I couldn't make it to class.  Mission accomplished.

Sleeping in until 8 rather than 6 means that I may have gotten some genuine sleep in last night.

Only, the fog this morning made the Interstate have rush hour speed traffic.  Which meant that getting to my second class on time became virtually impossible.  I turned out to be okay with that, though.

When I got to school, class had already been underway for 27 minutes.  Screw American Literature.

(And, don't worry--this is the first time I've skipped all semester.  I don't plan on making it habitual.)

Only, I didn't know what to do to fill up the time until my next class.  Which was over an hour away.  Then, it dawned on me.  I am moving on campus next semester.  I should probably go check that out.  That's what I ended up doing.  With my wonderful iPod shoved into my ears, I listened to the beautiful voice of Mr. Gary Lightbody as I walked to Legacy Park--ridiculously expensive but definitely the most accessible.  Of course, I couldn't just waltz into Any Random Apartment.  Therefore, I settled for going sit in the lounge.  Which, it turns out, has a Quizno's, Mello Joy, and slightly kickass television.  And maybe I only say "slightly kickass television" because of what was playing on it when I happened to look in that general direction.  My Jewish Husband.  Zach Braff.  Scrubs.  I take this as a sign.  An obscure welcome mat, of sorts.

I sat by the couch and watched a rerun that I hadn't seen previously along with a few other people, who I assume actually live in the apartments.  I felt like it was right.  Maybe I'm looking for it to be right, though.  I'm not completely sure.  Either way?  I was happy.

Now, I have a sinus migraine.

But I don't care.  Because I think I'm finally learning to move forward.  And that's worth more than an entire bottle of Excedrin.

I used to be one of those rare freaks of nature that felt nothing and never cried.  I was, to an extent, a robotic mechanism substituting for a genuine person.  I was sort of awesome, like a rockstar--in the sense that I was always doing great and never really cared about anyone.

You know.  Unless you take into consideration that, by never doing badly, you can't be doing so great.  Perspective and all.

But anyhow.  Back to my comparison.

And then, he happened.  Which royally screwed up my rockstar status.  Because then, I felt genuinely great!  Which left a lot of room for, later, feeling like genuine postmortem crap.  As it very much did.  I remember it so damn clearly.  Football field.  Blinding lights.  KATC cameras to the right.  Freshly cut grass.  The beginnings of a chill in the air.  Then, him.  Holding her.  And the kissing.  Then--me, feeling like I was about to puke, everywhere.  My vision went from digitally enhanced photography to the very first model of a camera.  Stunning clarity to unbelievable distortion.

I miss the clarity.

I miss feeling nothing even more.

Because now, I feel how sharp and dangerous everything is.  I cry, pretty much, for the stupidest reasons you can possibly think of.  I've permanently lost the jaded rockstar status.  I am really tired of caring.

I'm putting in my two weeks notice.

To quote William Gass: "And I am in retirement from love."

Wow.  It's been awhile.

Er, not much has happened.  I thought that I had my head cleared out--but, I always go back to my bad repetitive thought process.  I've finally got best friends worth loving with everything I have, yet I always feel insecure about how much they care about me.  Or, that they'll just get tired of me really soon.  I'm not sure why.  I'm hoping that I eventually get over the inferior bullshit.  Maybe I just need a shrink.

This weekend was mostly made up of [belated]birthday festivities.  On Friday night, I went out with my parents to Tokyo Live, a hibachi grill in Lafayette.  We only go to this one once a year, because it's ridiculously expensive.  So it was pretty awesome.  Sarah and I went to Lafayette on Saturday.  We got ate, got coffee, and shopped a tiny bit.  I bought two books to start researching my term paper in my Introduction to the New Testament class.

We can choose our own topics.  When he said that, I already had the exact topic in my mind.  Revelation:  Past or Prophecy?

Most people I know think I'm a little strange for obsessing over the End Times and all of that.  Others think it's terrifying and would rather ignore it all.  The ignorance is bliss approach.  I love it.  Knowing about it and studying it is one of my favorite things to do.  Bottom line being:  This paper will rock my scholastic-geek socks right off.

I also bought a value pack, at WalMart, with a MagnaDoodle and an EtchASketch--for $15.  Yeah, I know how dorky that is.  But I love the MagnaDoodle.  When I was younger, I had one--but my cousin broke the eraser.  So, I'm basically reliving that aspect of my life right now.

Yesterday, I got in an argument with my Dad about the van again.  All I want is permission for a small handful of people (other than them) to drive.  Not any random person, but a few chosen friends.  Trustworthy ones that are excellent drivers.   It seems as if I may be on the brink of getting my wish, but--it's going to cost me $600.  That's a roundabout estimate of how much a rental van would cost for one week in the instance that one of my friends would wreck while driving.  I am willing to cough up that ridiculous amount.  Unfortunately, this means that I cannot spend a single dollar unless it's necessary from now until June.  Argh...

I find it incredibly ironic that the lead singer of Death Cab for Cutie and the Postal Service, Ben Gibbard, has a solo tour that is stopping in Los Angeles ONE DAY before I get there in May. [ #@*%!&^$]  Damn.

Two big exams on Wednesday for me.  Which sucks, but--I'll study and get it over with, I suppose.

It's one of those Can't Sleep Nights.  It's a night that I've spent writing in my new journal because my reasons aren't fit for public reading.

I have nothing legitimate to complain about.

I am a greedy, unsatisfiable kid tonight.

I cannot accurately express the ecstatic happiness that I'm feeling right now.

For anyone who knows me, the following sentence should show, somewhat, how excited I am:

For my birthday, my parents got me tickets to see the Price Is Right.

There are simply no words to describe.

Thanks to everyone who wished me a happy birthday.

You all made my day much nicer.

I'll post about life when I'm feeling more coherent and less exhausted.

I have been woken up five times already this morning.

Twice from Phil texting me.  Once from my Uncle Jay saying, "Can I go annoy Stacey?" (Uncle Jay, you succeeded.)  Once from my Uncle Jay and mom walking in my room and talking about my closets.  Then, lastly, from a large bearded man, who looked remarkably like a lumberjack, walking in with my dad and talking about the air vent in my room.

The lumberjack topped it all off.

I'M UP, JEEZ.

I have drawn the following conclusions from these occurences:
--  I should close and lock my door at night.
--  I need to move out.

Right now, it's safe to say that I have the most awesome dad on the planet.



He came home from work with that for me.

He's pretty great.

*Singles Awareness Day

( Tells your new friends: I am a visitor here. I am not permanent. )
All because I should be sleeping right now.  I'll do anything to procrastinate.

Because I suck.

Since my evasive emo-style breakdown, things have gotten better.

I didn't mention it fully.  I felt no real desire to do so.  It isn't important now, though.  The problem has been addressed to the best of my ability.  Everything is will be fine.

Anyhow.  Last Friday, I finally got my chair back.  It has been officially christened McChair v2.0.  Amazing is probably not descriptive enough.  Basically, it has side compartments, a cup holder (whoa), new tires, Tempurpedic cushioning, and a seat elevation system.  As in--I can raise about 11 inches taller when using it to its maximum potential.  Bam, bitches.

In my creative writing class, we have homework due on Tuesday where we have to make a soundtrack for our life using a maximum of 5 songs.  It's pretty much impossible.  But it's incredibly fun.

Other than that, stuff has happened.

But I'm exhausted and can't think of anything else worth making you read.

Instead of updating about how entirely crappy my life is at the moment, I will provide you with a somewhat amusing anecdote from my day.

At noon, I got a call from Phil:
Him:  I just got out of school.
Me:    Yep, it's about that time.
Him:  I'm going to Subway.  Then I'm going make up a test.  Then I'm going to your house.
Me:    Awesome.  I miss you!
Him: Okay--I'll talk to you soon.

Five minutes later...
Him:  I'm on the way to your house.
Me:    What about your makeup test?!
Him:  I told Mrs. Stalnaker that my dog had a seizure.
Me:    Badass.
Him:  Well, if my kharma bites me in the ass and my dog croaks--I blame you.
Me:    Sounds like a decent trade-off to me.

I just text messaged Michael for a phone number.

He texted back.

I thanked him and wished him well.

In response, he sent, "You're welcome.  Same here."

It really might not seem like much, but it really meant a lot to me.

This weekend started out with the highest level of optimism and possibility.

And it turned out to be the absolute worst I've experienced in recent history.

I'm starting fresh.  Because it's the only thing to do.

I think I may have just dodged a stress/panic/anxiety attack.

Ugh.  I don't know what's wrong with me.

I need to sleep.

It's bad when your parents refuse to turn the heater on and you have to wear two shirts and a jacket in your own house.

Harry Potter release date!  OMGSQUEE!  July 21st!!!!!!