The One With the Russia Soon
I'm having trouble grasping the concept that in fourteen days, I'm going to be on a plane to Moscow. It's just very odd and mostly unsettling. I still do a sort of double take when I think about being a Russian major. I'm in all sorts of a bad way right now, and it's kind of ridiculous. I'm so excited about Russia though, I can't let other stuff bother me, especially silly stuff.
I was reading over my past journal entries, and I did this thing where I say something vague about how something is really stressing me out without actually pinpointing it. At the time, it was always this huge deal in my life that was so on my mind, I had to write about it a little bit or something. What's weird though is, half of them at least, I can remember what I was talking about. Even when I was wibbling on about boys, until I get some kind of date context, I have no idea who I was talking about. "This is so wonderful. Things like this just don't happen. I've never met anyone like this before." Reading that stuff? Really? When I realized who I was talking about and what actually went down between us, I'm like...what? Did I miss out on something? Because all I remember is flirting, a few dates, and a lot of really crappy nights of me feeling terrible about everything.
I am really cheesed off right now though at one, Mr. Jack. Abandonment isn't cool, man. I don't think he reads this journal..and if he does that's a little weird and stalkery...but that wouldn't surprise me at all? I don't think? So, dude, if you read this -- I'm going to Russia for three months. I think I'm going to send you a postcard just for giggles, only because you seem to want me to burn in Hades right now.
I have a lot of books to read. Jane Eyre is getting a re-read, Notes from Underground, The Idiot, and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? are slated for pre-Russia. When I get to Russia, I'm going to read Michel Strogoff (AH JULES VERNE!) in English and try to track down a decent Russian copy while I'm there.
I've got to find some good Siberia reading, because I'm a little afraid that I'm going to be too scared to meet people.
...nah. (still need reading though.)
I was reading over my past journal entries, and I did this thing where I say something vague about how something is really stressing me out without actually pinpointing it. At the time, it was always this huge deal in my life that was so on my mind, I had to write about it a little bit or something. What's weird though is, half of them at least, I can remember what I was talking about. Even when I was wibbling on about boys, until I get some kind of date context, I have no idea who I was talking about. "This is so wonderful. Things like this just don't happen. I've never met anyone like this before." Reading that stuff? Really? When I realized who I was talking about and what actually went down between us, I'm like...what? Did I miss out on something? Because all I remember is flirting, a few dates, and a lot of really crappy nights of me feeling terrible about everything.
I am really cheesed off right now though at one, Mr. Jack. Abandonment isn't cool, man. I don't think he reads this journal..and if he does that's a little weird and stalkery...but that wouldn't surprise me at all? I don't think? So, dude, if you read this -- I'm going to Russia for three months. I think I'm going to send you a postcard just for giggles, only because you seem to want me to burn in Hades right now.
I have a lot of books to read. Jane Eyre is getting a re-read, Notes from Underground, The Idiot, and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? are slated for pre-Russia. When I get to Russia, I'm going to read Michel Strogoff (AH JULES VERNE!) in English and try to track down a decent Russian copy while I'm there.
I've got to find some good Siberia reading, because I'm a little afraid that I'm going to be too scared to meet people.
...nah. (still need reading though.)