No! No! I was over my rage issues! Don't make me go back there!

My sleep deficit is growing ever larger, and it brings with its massive bulk an ever-increasing store of RAGE AND IRRITABILITY. I'm not quite as crazy as I was over the summer, rest assured, but I'm not the kind of diplomat you want representing your country, either.

French Diplomat: Um, we feel that France is a completely independent country, Ms. Kuhl. Please sit down.
Kat: *red faced* WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT??? CLEARLY THE FACT THAT WE AIDED YOU DURING THE FRENCH REVOLUTION ESTABLISHES OUR OWNERSHIP OF YOU!!
French Diplomat: Um, no. Also, you didn't.
Kat: WE WOULD HAVE IF YOU DIDN'T SUCK!!
French Diplomat: *in a text message to his government* Let's bomb the US.

Last night, I heard that my roommate had found a bug in our room, and had therefore left to go chill at a friend's because she's freakishly terrified of bugs. There's no reason for that to upset me, right? Well, my reaction was "Why would she DO that?!" **rage.** I heart my roommie like whoa and I do not want to be bitchy to her, of all people.

There were people in the NARC all night, cackling and playing ping pong, and my reaction was "GAH! WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT!" because having fun is like a personal affront to me. (Because they were male, Crystal and I turned on Lifetime and chick music... unfortunately, it had no effect.)

In her genial way, Ash pointed out that occasionally things will upset me, because the world will not change to suit my desires. I wholeheartedly agree. Therefore, I am a little confused about why the clicking of the ping pong balls was making me WANT TO COMMIT MURDER.

I think I need sedatives. No, really.

I am hoping to take tonight to relax and sleep and engage in stress-relieving activities... but I can't think of any.

Yesterday I gave Crystal a tour of Dupont Circle. We went in a guitar store, walking up a narrow, creepy staircase and entering a claustrophobic little room filled with guitar cases. Good times. We went in the side room, and Crystal picked up an acoustic while I stared out the window at the Dupont traffic. I realized that I cannot imagine doing something -- like playing the guitar -- just because I love it.

I don't write because I love it. I don't do photography because I love it. I don't study languages because I love it. On the contrary, while I was originally interested in all these things, my interest has now dwindled into a resentment of perceived obligation... I write because I have to, I write because it's expected, I don't write at all - and the same with everything else.

I can't imagine just having fun, without wondering if I'm going to be good at an activity, better than my competitors -- I can't imagine just doing something that makes me happy. I don't think that's normal.

According to Crystal, I obsess over everything and I'm going to give myself a hernia. Wow. I don't want to be that person.

I wish I knew where to start... but I hate myself even for writing journal entries like this, awkward and clunky and whining, and I hate myself for saying things like that, for acknowledging my problems without changing them, and for saying weak things like "I wish I knew where to start" and I just wish I weren't in class so I could hurt myself; I haven't felt like this in a long, long time.

In a nice throwback to my high school self, I wish I had control.