if you try and you're still unhappy, then maybe the problem is you . . .

I have reached the point of total and complete frustration with everything. I don't even know what my problem is; I just suddenly became so tense it almost hurts to move. I think some of it has to do with the ridiculous amount of thing I have to do, even though I don't have any pressing deadlines. I don't know.

It didn't help that we had an interesting discussion in British Romantics about self-alienation (I'm not sure if that's a word but I'm using it anyway). Dr. Brown asked us if we are the same people we were 5 years ago and, if we said no, asked if we were less, more, or different. I think about these things on my own; his prodding only exacerbated the problem. So I have been thinking about my life since 1:45 this afternoon. And I have reached some very not-good conclusions.

For one, I am completely different from when I was little. I was happy and naive and trusting and sweet and innocent and all of the things little kids are. Even 5 years ago, when I was almost 15, I was a good kid. I didn't drink or smoke or even consider having sex or doing drugs. Now, while I don't necessarily do these things, I do partake in some of them. And the ones I don't do aren't nearly as scary as they once were. A lot of my core religious beliefs have shifted and I'm not even sure what I believe anymore, even though I can still recite Bible verses left and right.

Five years ago, I had just begun a relationship with my now-ex-fiancee. That was the biggest news in my life; up til then, I had refused to go near any guy even slightly interested in me because, basically, I was scared and insecure. Five years later, I am a bit more confident but even more scared. And guys who are attracted to me, I know from painful experience, are generally assholes. Even if I would, by some strange chance, find a decent guy, I know what it's like to have to rip my own heart out for the sake of both of us. I don't think I could handle going through that again.

So, to make what is becoming a very long story short, I am in a contemplative, slightly depressive mood. It doesn't help that I have become addicted to Liz Phair's "Exile in Guyville" album compulsively; my roommate says that if she hears "Fuck and Run" one more time, she might move out. My current favorite, however, is "Six Feet One Inch": "And I kept standing six feet one / instead of five feet two / and I loved my life / and I hated you." If only I could keep standing . . . I think I may be crumbling.