And the walls shake
So, since tomorrow is the last day before spring break, apparently tonight is the night to party. Lucky for me I have a mid-term exam tomorrow...
Sadly, I haven't really studied for it at all. I haven't even gone over the powerpoints. Bringing myself to care enough has been exceedingly hard, even if the topic is criminology. I'm more interested in the criminal justice aspect, the here and now and procedures. What I'm learning about now is an overview on white-collar and organized crime, public order crimes, psychological theories, and biosocial approaches. The organized crime unit was the most interesting. Public order crimes was just irritating. Oh no, prostitutes are bad! They'll ruin the good morals of society. Hiss wah cry. To hell with it. Legalize it. If you're so set on keeping it from expanding, don't charge the prostitutes, just charge the men who hire them.
Anyway, it's boring and I don't care.
I met with my assigned counselor today. She's a British woman with stunning eyes and is decent at pretending to like me - I believed her, anyway. At least with the previous woman I could tell she felt a bit uncomfortable with me. It's fine, as I won't see her again. New counselor got me an appointment with the career services center, but also scheduled me to see the on-call psychiatrist. She thinks medication may be something I need as my "symptoms" have been around for a decade.
I don't know if I want to be on medication. Part of me does - the part that doesn't want to feel like throwing myself off a building anymore or getting into the deep slumps that prevent me from leaving my bedroom. Part of me doesn't - the creative part that seems to be fed on my foul moods especially. I haven't written a proper fiction piece for a while, but I remember my best writing was when I was depressed.
My best piano and clarinet playing is when I'm depressed.
My best acting was when I was depressed. I made people (and myself) cry when I played Sonia from Uncle Vanya. It was amazing.
If I'm drugged up, will I loose this? Can it kill the bad parts without sacrificing the good? I talk to the psychiatrist next Tuesday, so we'll see what she says. I don't know if I'll go through with the medication.
I'd have to tell my mother about everything then. That's exactly the last thing I want to do. As of now, only S knows about what's going on, and I think I'd like to keep it that way.
Sadly, I haven't really studied for it at all. I haven't even gone over the powerpoints. Bringing myself to care enough has been exceedingly hard, even if the topic is criminology. I'm more interested in the criminal justice aspect, the here and now and procedures. What I'm learning about now is an overview on white-collar and organized crime, public order crimes, psychological theories, and biosocial approaches. The organized crime unit was the most interesting. Public order crimes was just irritating. Oh no, prostitutes are bad! They'll ruin the good morals of society. Hiss wah cry. To hell with it. Legalize it. If you're so set on keeping it from expanding, don't charge the prostitutes, just charge the men who hire them.
Anyway, it's boring and I don't care.
I met with my assigned counselor today. She's a British woman with stunning eyes and is decent at pretending to like me - I believed her, anyway. At least with the previous woman I could tell she felt a bit uncomfortable with me. It's fine, as I won't see her again. New counselor got me an appointment with the career services center, but also scheduled me to see the on-call psychiatrist. She thinks medication may be something I need as my "symptoms" have been around for a decade.
I don't know if I want to be on medication. Part of me does - the part that doesn't want to feel like throwing myself off a building anymore or getting into the deep slumps that prevent me from leaving my bedroom. Part of me doesn't - the creative part that seems to be fed on my foul moods especially. I haven't written a proper fiction piece for a while, but I remember my best writing was when I was depressed.
My best piano and clarinet playing is when I'm depressed.
My best acting was when I was depressed. I made people (and myself) cry when I played Sonia from Uncle Vanya. It was amazing.
If I'm drugged up, will I loose this? Can it kill the bad parts without sacrificing the good? I talk to the psychiatrist next Tuesday, so we'll see what she says. I don't know if I'll go through with the medication.
I'd have to tell my mother about everything then. That's exactly the last thing I want to do. As of now, only S knows about what's going on, and I think I'd like to keep it that way.