Doing stuff.

It’s always been the case that things tend to work themselves out by themselves. That I’ll magically survive. Or so I’ve felt.

Control. I don’t remember his exact words, nor do they really matter. I don’t like being in situations where I’m not in control of what’s going on. Fear. So I avoid situations I’m not familiar with, so I can maintain some semblence of control.

My The Rapist did some situational things, pointing out how I am in control of everything at all times. Internally, I was thinking, “Wait, no, I don’t need more control. I need to let go.” Yet, letting go, and control is the same thing. Letting go just means knowing that you can always do something later. I don’t think I’m making sense, but whatever.

We got in a circle in Expos 2. Going around the room and talking about what we’re going to do our research paper on. I considered just winging it. I had nothing in front of me. But I had an idea. When it came my turn, I tried passing. *smirks* She put forth the idea of “selling composition courses.” Get my anger out. *smirks* I said I didn’t like the idea, then went into what I had in mind. My idea? In short, selling computers to people who don’t need them, and the cultural shift that happens when mainstream invades underground niches. So to speak. I could also bring in Classical VS Romantic consumers, relating to Mac Culture. Or just the reasons why people buy computers in the first place. Not sure how I’ll hit on Linux culture.

I happened to say last class that she’d probably never like anything I wrote. *smirks* She talked to me before class, and I specified that it was because of the style of paper I’m supposed to write. You know, fulfilling the “requirements.” I’m playing to strengths, as always. It’s scaring doing shit I’m not good at! She said I didn’t engage the text enough. You know what? I did that on purpose. I don’t like papers where you see only citations and no original thoughts. I like to keep the texts in mind, then find an argument above the texts.

She told me I have a very strong voice, and she doesn’t want me to lose it. She called it sardonic. She said that in another class, my first essay would have been an A paper. But not here. Research papers. Blah. I refuse to write something dry and boring. I refuse to overuse citations to the point where fluidity is lost. But look at how stubborn I am! If I intend to pass the class, I’ll have to submit to the requirements.

Idleness breeds idle hands, as they say. Whoever they are. The Man says so. Doing nothing is very self-perpetuating. I’m not working on the paper, because I’m not working on the paper, because I’m not thinking about it, because I’m not working on it… And on it goes.

Yadda yadda. It’s so difficult to fight apathy. I never learned how to deal. Control?

It amuses me how free I am when I write. I could write a dissertation on why I’m not achieving optimum erections. But. Mentioning to my The Rapist that my sex drive is dead is embarassing. *nodnod* Very. She said that bad masturbation is usually a sign of something else. (One, duh. Two, my words.)

Feeling overwhelmed sucks. I always run. Blah blah blah. I should GOTO the library. Even though I’d much rather mindlessly look at breasts. Porn hasn’t aroused me in years. I’m hungry, but I can’t keep eating those breakfast bars. GIVE ME BACK MY FORESKIN.