You're In My Head, Now Find Your Way Out

(This is for Kimberly. She's going to love it most of all.)


Psychological Psychology really is physiological psychology. Makes more sense that way, but also makes it much much harder. It's going to be a cheery semester, with a three month research project on The Biology of Suicide. Not to worry, the - tanning bed tan pop the collar of your brand name polo while you write in your color coded notebooks with pens that have glitter that swirls around - senior sits next to me and should keep the class entertained.

Spanish 201 calls itself intermediate, but really it's for smart freshman who placed into an upper level language. Oh, and for me, the third year idiot who thinks taking Spanish for fun would be, well, fun.

Luckily Senora Robin (make sure you add a swirl over that n. sen-yor-ah...) says she's more mom than professor and we can ask her if we should do our load of colors in hot or cold. (I'd choose warm anyway.) Perhaps we should have called her when our dishwasher wouldn't turn on. Instead we called maintenance to come fix it. The secretary asked us if we flipped the switch. What switch you ask? Oh, the one on the wall that doesn't belong to any lights in the room. Oh, yes. That switch. Oh and, friendly reminder, you have to put special dishwasher soap into the dishwasher. Not Joy dish soap. (Thanks Secretary. They should pay you extra money for that kind of advice.)

Philosophy is taught by an old BC professor. (Boston College, he's quite young.) He opened class with a joke - How do you know the toothbrush was made in Kentucky? If it was made anywhere else it would have been called the "teeth" brush. Har har. He then had us introduce ourselves by telling about an experience over the summer that was in some way true, good, or beautiful. I was going to mention my baby spiders that infested TFS, but instead brought up the kids dancing in front of the security camera. I'm not sure if anyone else sees my philosophical vision about this, but maybe I can convince them of the beauty and goodness of kids dancing in a bank another day.

~~

Other than classes there is Doug. Perhaps I should phrase this differently. In Psych we were talking about the mind-body problem. To define the body we said our physical being. To define the mind we said it was our non-physical being. We could come up with so many other definitions of body, but no more for mind. All it entailed was what the body wasn't.

There is Tom, then there is the non-Tom. Right now that's Doug. He's nice, I must admit, but I'm afraid of hurting him. I'm really not ready for a relationship. We're going so slow and I still feel like things are moving to fast.... I really shouldn't get involved at all. I'm just going to create a disaster.

I guess it's better than sitting here wondering when Tom is going to get ahold of me so I can bitch him out. Which is probably what Tom is thinking about, if he would think about it. Which would be a great reason not to call me, so we're going to play this silly game until someone, me, caves.

GREAT.

I find myself wishing the world was all color coded and the empty spaces were filled with glitter that swirled around and around, giving you that content, drugged high. Then again, I'd probably have to pop my collar and stop being translucent.

It really isn't worth it then.