Monday, December 6, 1999

Two hours of sleep was all I got last night. Two hours of sleep in my clothes no less. When I got up this morning, I didn't even bother showering. One look at the condition of the bathroom in my residence hall had me convinced that using it would only cause me to become filthier.

Last night was the closest thing I've come to an all-nighter in I don't remember how long. It started with me trying to finish an assignment I should have finished weeks ago. I had gotten part done, when my friend stopped by, pissed off about his roommate's stupidity. We end up going out for coffee, but because the store on campus sucks (they turn the cappuccino machines off at 10:00PM - just when most people really start to need them), we ended up walking downtown.

The weather wasn't all that bad. Personally, I enjoy a warm rain (in Potsdam, 50 degrees is warm, trust me). My friend, The Tall Guy, was out of place sans his umbrella. He wanted a stop to the precipitation. I didn't care, since I was already wet, and stopping it wouldn't get me dry.

Upon returning to campus, I did a little more of the assignment. After that, I nodded off. The morning found me in WAIH, unshowered, wearing the clothing I had slept in. Radio is wonderful for two reasons: not only can you not be seen, you can't be smelled either. I hate being dirty - it just feels wrong.

I did finally get the assignment done. Between the end of my show and the beginning of my class, I got that sort of inspiration that only comes from last minute panic, and completed the task.

I feel really melancholy right now. A friend of mine is having a family emergency, and had to leave the campus - I don't know what's going on.

This is worrisome.

I've been having thoughts lately as to whether or not I really belong at S.U.N.Y. Potsdam. I mean, I fit in as much as someone like me can "fit in," but sometimes the atmosphere seems incorrect. I wonder if I chose a college too quickly after high school. If I could go somewhere else, where would it be, and would it truly be an improvement? I may as well face facts: I'm stuck in Potsdam. I'm never going to leave this place.

My hallmates have calmed down, just in time for midnight. I'm savoring this rare moment of silence. Usually, they hit their peak decibels around this time. They must have gotten all the screaming and door-slamming out of their systems earlier tonight. Maybe - and this is a radical concept - I'll get some sleep tonight.

Here's a thought: whatever happened to the dreamers? Whatever happened to originality?

I walk around, and I see hundreds of people everyday. They walk alike, they talk alike and they even begin to look alike. Precious few deviate. Are we such a caged and restrained society that we cannot be original?

One trend I see on campus is that a lot of people have been dying their hair black. It's not as if we've had an explosion in the Goth population or anything (half of these people are so far from Goth, they should have probably dyed their hair platinum blonde), it's just something that seemed to catch on for no reason.

I had been throwing around the idea of dying my hair black for a while. The thing is, when I see everyone else doing it, I think to myself, "What's the point?" Why would I want to be like everyone else? [Then again, my skin is so much paler than anyone else's who have inked his or her manes that I'd still be unique - it wouldn't look "natural."]

Trendy bothers me. To me, trendy really means, "cloned." When you carbon copy something, it gets further and further distorted as you make it through the levels, until finally you are faced with a thing of ugliness. If we are all the same, we are not all beautiful - we're all ugly; revolting, in fact.

I like to dream. I don't dare do it often, and if I do, I don't share with many people. Who can I trust not to laugh at me? I wonder if there are others out there, who dare to dream, but will not share for the same reasons.

I think I finally determined why I hate my Language and Linguistics class so much. When in there, having the others tell me what I should and shouldn't say is a big bullhorn screaming, "You're wrong!" How do you know I'm wrong? Even when I've said things that I know to be true, they've refuted what I've said with their opinions, which they believe to be true. You're wrong!

I refuse to accept that I am always wrong. I also refuse to accept that there is nobody else out there that has an original thought. I've found a few people who do; there must be more.

[Insert sigh.]

The mysterious "gremlin" who bangs on my door (especially when my music is on - "it" seems to particularly hate VAST, The Sisters of Mercy, Nine Inch Nails, The Ataris - oh fuck, who am I kidding, it hates my entire CD collection) is back. I should stop typing now. My keystroke noises probably interfere with "it's" flow (whatever the fuck that is).

I hate this paralysis and all that participate in it, pretending they are enriched.