I was going to be productive this weekend, I promise. I was going to read books and do my Graph Theory homework and study for my Applied Algebra test (tomorrow). I had this idea of doing a Lee Etude Marathon, where I would go through all 40 Lee Etudes in one sitting.

I was going to do a Popper Marathon too. And a Bach Suites Marathon. But I didn’t.

Instead I spent basically the entire break with a boy. And I’m really glad I did (he’s cute and funny and adorable and smart, among other things). But now I must mentally/emotionally recover, reform my life expectations, reset my routine, whathaveyou. I need one day to say “screw it” to The Rest Of The World and relearn how to stand on my own. What it feels like to be me, and just me.

If I were a psychology major I would tell you that I’ve been alone most of my life. I’d tell you that I saw the pain that people caused one another and I made the decision, the personal decision, not to need anyone ever. Not to want anyone ever. Maybe that suppressed need for someone has just been inside me all along, but I never knew how to express it, how to show it. How to be a normal, social human being.

But, let’s be honest, Black. I don’t bring people closer. I don’t hang out with people, I don’t go to parties, I don’t drink or smoke, I don’t really dance. I dismiss people that aren’t like myself. I put them into little boxes, niches. “People Who Lend Me Things.” “People Who Will Hang Out With Me.” “People I Can Talk To About.” “People Who Can Give Me Advice.”

What is a friend? Is there anyone in this world I actually, truly, care about?

Is this my being selfish? Or is this an inability to find someone I connect with?

Maybe I’m one of those throwaway jigsaw pieces that doesn’t really fit anywhere. No matter how hard I try, I’m going to end up alone.

When I was little, I told my dad that I thought everyone was selfish. Even the people who gave to others did so solely for that feel-good feeling, and people who had relationships with others did so because they wanted something from them. After a bit of debate, he finally agreed with me.

When I was about 14, I read Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. It’s this mammoth novel, a Capitalist Manifesto written between the lines of a 1168-page work of fiction. Her philosophy was that people do what’s best for themselves. That capitalism is based on selfishness. That we do whatever suits us, whatever furthers our goals, with no incentive other than that which brings about our own happiness. And I think, subconsciously, I’ve been living like that my entire life. When I used to look at my future I never saw anyone else with me. Whether rich or poor, happy or sad, it was only just me, alone apart or within a sea of faceless people.

I thought I would nap today. I e-mailed my Graph Theory teacher and he said I could turn in the homework another day, so I thought I would nap instead of going to class. The calm before the storm. The final rest before I do all the work I need to do for tomorrow.

But then I woke up… and I realized how completely unmotivated I am. Perhaps my nap was a little too long, and my body still thinks it’s asleep. But, whatever the case, I haven’t so much as gotten a textbook out. And yet I’m really stressed out about it. Why do I do this to myself? Am I trying to see what I can get away with? How lazy I can be? Am I just in a state of mental Limbo?

I think sometimes I try to do everything and end up getting nothing done. I quest to understand all of the universe in one day and can’t get out of the rabbit hole soon enough. I used to think that I played it safe, but the case is otherwise. I’m a risk-taker with my own emotions, with my time, with my thoughts, with my dreams. And they can harm me just as anything else can.

I need to do this. I need to get my act together. Too much is hanging on my sanity to let it go. People are counting on me to be normal, whatever that means. I need to be stable, I need to be real, I need to be social and open and organized.

I need to stop thinking so fucking much.

I need to get my shit done.

I have a bit of pent-up rage. At IIT. And the people at IIT. And at myself, for deciding to do math and for deciding to go here.

Here’s the thing.

Mathematicians are, seemingly by definition, elitist and impractical. And have really strange senses of humor. And get really obsessed about things that have no real-world application. WhatthefuckamIdoinghere?

Or maybe it’s just the people at IIT in general. People who seem smart because they’re nerdy but are really just obnoxious and unintelligent. And easily amused.

I’m probably being too harsh right now, actually I’m rather sure of it, but I still just feel really… purposeless?

What the fuck am I even going to do with a math degree?

Anyway. Here’s a taste of my angst, in the form of strange and experimental cello improv. It’s about 9 minutes long.

You should read minus. It’s a webcomic about a girl who can do magic; it’s ridiculously creative and imaginative, and the art is beautiful.

Also, you shouldn’t need me to tell you to read Dresden Codak, but if you do, then here goes: Read Dresden Codak.

Anyway, I’m actually sitting at work right now, having finished shredding half a box of old grad student files and running out of trash bags to put the shredded paper in. First day of work. And my first class starts in an hour & eleven. Applied (Abstract) Algebra with Ellis. Groups and fields and allthatcoolstuff.

Are you excited? I’m excited.