Contradictions, contradictions.

Today has spanned perhaps too wide a spectrum of emotions for me. Let me tell you all about it!

Before writing my previous entry (emotion: terrible embarrassment), I overslept and missed attending the lecture I am currently TAing for (emotion: guilt). Lately I find myself sleeping like the most unpleasant parts of my subconscious have me in a headlock; the dreams are terrible and I'm too exhausted to wake up from them. Last night/this morning, I dreamt I was being hunted down by various hitmen, who'd get a million dollars if they managed to kill me. For some reason, I was also some kind of hitman, or at least really familiar with firearms, because whenever one found me I managed to avoid being killed and take them out instead. I even remembered to switch the safety off.
The panic of all this "action" lingered on after I woke up.

While I was being shot at/hiding from being shot at, my mother threatened to commit suicide (emotion: anger). I also had to take several buses/trains for no apparent reason (more panic), and rescue one of my sister's childhood friends from a large cult religion (which my mother had also joined) based on the idea that the world was about to experience a second biblical flood. Emotion here, of course, more anger. God, do I ever hate anything involving cults, or my mother.

Upon waking at long last (the dream went on from here, by the way, but I know how impossible it is to make a dream ever, ever sound interesting), I took a shower, which was at least rather pleasant. The morning coffee was also good, until I discovered captain moustachio douchebag's photo on the internets. And then, bus ride (frustration), class (moments of feeling smart again), and finally, the contradiction that made me feel like writing something today.

I volunteered last week to meet with a prospective student for our department, and after class I and a colleague met up with her. I've done this once before, and today I was surprised again to see myself becoming effusive about my advisor, classes, fellow students and all the rest of it. After all, as anyone who has read this blog or ever spoken to me knows, my experiences in grad school have been pretty tumultuous. I'm always broke, I have trouble with my workload, I don't always like teaching very much, LA frustrates me, and on it goes. And yet I still felt like it was my job to personally convince this girl to come study here anyway. I imagine patriotism feels something like this.

I even stuck around after our assigned meeting time to make sure the girl managed to get on her shuttle back to the airport, all the while talking about how our dissertation program is better than the ones they have at other schools, and on and on. Why do this? I have no idea if this school is the right fit for other people, since I've never done graduate work anywhere else. It feels, now that I'm home, as if I was being disingenious. At the same time, I was doing a great job of convincing myself that I was happy to be where I am.

Then, I got on the bus to go home, as I do every day. From somewhere behind me, I heard a girl say a terrible thing; worse, a terrible thing I would never have to hear if I did not live in LA. She said, "There's an Ed Hardy store at the Beverly Center. We can go there and buy whatever you want". That one really made me feel sad, there's just no way around it.

And now I'm home on Friday night, and I must say I feel at the end very melancholy. My roommate invited me out to karaoke, but I only like to sing around people I know well. But of course, I also hate sitting alone on weekend nights, feeling like a loser who should have made plans or have more friends.
Hopefully, the cure for this is listening to Al Green's "Tired of Being Alone" ten times in a row. You and me both, Reverend.