Today, I'm thinking April 19 plus the hour or so the has passed, was a day for the books. I'll start backwards. I got home from work and my dad asked me if this was the day I was supposed to sign up for classes. Suddenly, I realized tonight (it still being the nineteenth) would become the twentieth at midnight, meaning tonight is the night I sign up for classes, not tomorrow.

So, at half past ten, though I had planned on going straight to bed, I assembled my class schedule in a frenzy for spring and fall. It was decided. I was going to get all of my requirements completed for transfer in 2013.

Summer: Anthro1, Anthro1L, Math 201

Fall: Eng5, Engl17B, Math203, Comm1A

Spring: Engl17A, Math 15, Geog1, some Area 4 requirement

And, done.

You see, over the past few days I've been overwhelmingly productive. This burst of productivity made me feel capable, which is something I have not felt for the a long while. Like, ever. I began to feel like I could pass these classes and handle the workloads. I could study and do my homework and volunteer and go to work and clean the house and still have time to watch some bad TV and read a book. Things were going really well. Today, the nineteenth, I even baked a cake.

My schedules were assembled around 11:30, leaving me with a half hour to kill. I washed my face and had a bowl of cereal. I watched two YouTube videos. I chatted with some people on AIM. All the while scrupulously looking over my schedules and watching the numbers change of my computer's clock.

At 11:56 I realized 12 comes before 1 and my summer semester schedule did not work because of that ingenious discovery. I panicked. I went through the .PDF of my school's schedule and came up with a new one by 11:58. I then refreshed my add class page until it finally let me in to sign up for classes. I copy and pasted the class codes and was signed up for summer semester in four minutes.

Then, it was the big leagues. Fall semester. Four classes and more people wanting them. I copy and pasted the class codes and submitted, to the page where four green check marks should have appeared. Instead, there were two green checks and two red X's. It let me sign up for math (thank the lord) and communication, but not my English classes. It said I haven't met the prerequisite. I have met the prerequisite. I took English1A, the prerequisite, in high school. I took AP English and got a 4. I took damn English1A.

That's when I broke. I started breathing heavily, wheezing, and finally full-on hyperventilating. I was crying. I was crying really hard. I was sobbing and yelling. True, honest hysterics. My parents tried talking to me and I shushed them. My dad came into my room and I yelled that I needed him to leave. He tried to pat my knee and I yelled for him to not touch me.

So, I sat there. I hyperventilated and yelled and sobbed. It was happening again. I wasn't going to college again.

The first time this happened was in April of 2010, the twenty-fourth to be specific. Two days prior, I had accepted admission at the private school in New York that my grandfather had attended. Then, my parents changed their minds and decided I couldn't go there. They had their reasons. Reason. Money. But, it crushed me. It was devastating. It felt like something deep in my chest had collapsed. That is what it feels like for a dream to not come true. I curled up in a ball on the ground and sobbed. I cried so hard and for so long I could barely open my eyes. For days, my face was swollen. For days, I could do nothing but cry. This perfect idea I had for myself and college had been snatched away just after it had been given. For two days, I was so happy. Then, I wasn't. Because I wasn't going to college.

I did end up going to college. To my tenth choice school. It gave me over half the tuition in grants, and the rest was covered by very reasonable loans. A year there cost less than a one-way ticket to New York. And, you know what happened. I stayed a semester and failed everything. I went through two roommates and was miserable everyday. My dream had not come true, it flashed through my mind all of the time. And, after a fall that hard it's difficult to get back up. But, I did.

The following semester I returned home and wallowed. Then I started volunteering and things changed. I loved it, but it was weird. I didn't quite fit in anywhere. I was too young to be a teacher, too old to be a student, and too not-in-college to relate to all my smart, in-college friends. In the fall I got a job and went to school and then my family blew up, but it was okay. Mostly. Kind of. I hated school. I hated school a lot. In my time off from my school I forgot how difficult it is for me to learn. I forgot that I have to try really, really hard all of the time. It sucked a lot. For most of this semester, too.

But, then, just a few days ago something clicked and that drive I once had returned. I started working really, really hard. I started making lists of responsibilities and sticking to them. I realized that I was going to college.

Yeah, in 2013, the CSU's might practically shut down and I have to jam three semesters of school into two and a half. But, like, I could totes do it. This was, like, really happening. I felt good about things about my myself about my life. The idea that things will work out in the end actually seemed plausible. After all this time of saying I really do like myself and my life is fine and college is necessary. Somewhere, at some point, I healed from that broken heart.

So, I sat there. I hyperventilated and yelled and sobbed. It was happening again. I wasn't going to college again. Then, I stopped. I calmed myself down and went through my sheet of transferrable courses. I started switching around my schedule and Plan B formed. It was Plan B, but at least it was a plan.

Summer: Anthro1, Anthro1L, Math 201

Fall: Math203, Comm1A, Geog1, Soc1

Spring: Eng5, Engl17A, Engl17B, Math 15

Sure, I would have to majorly cut my work hours during Christmas. Yeah, English 17A and B would have to offered during the same semester. And, fine, I'll admit an English class, two Shakespearean English classes, and a math class may seem a bit excessive. Especially for someone who has to read Shakespeare in total silence, repeatedly, for it to sink in. But, like, I'm a strong and capable person. I can do this.

I added and dropped a few classes whilst figuring out my new Fall schedule. Communications was the last to be added and it had to be moved the most. But, then, it wouldn't let me add the class. I was trying to add a class I had dropped and, apparently, that is not allowed.

Ouch. Right in the Hope for a Future. So, tomorrow morning I'm going to hop over to The Welcome Center and see if they will help me add Communication because I deserve that damn class. On Monday I'll go to the counselor center and make an appointment to see the counselor that aided in fucking over my future and demand she do whatever counselor magic is required for me to be allowed my damn English classes. The counseling office isn't open on Fridays, otherwise I would be camped out there right now. Not really. My school is in kind of a not great area so I would never camp there. Or anywhere. Camping implies voluntary interaction with nature. Ew, no thanks.

(Later, I walked into my parents' room and explained what happened. "That sound you heard, the sounds when I was crying and stuff? That was the sound of me not going to college. Again." Cue the tears here.)

Since this turned out to be so long, I'll be brief if the description of the rest of my day. This morning, the nineteenth, I drove my mom to her work so I could take her car to my work tonight. The parking lot was empty, but I needed a student decal along with paying for parking. I had two dollars, but no student decal. I don't even have an ID. So, I drove around (on an almost empty tank) until I found metered parking. I paid almost five dollars in change for an hour and a half of metered parking, and I still had a half hour for class. I went in search of a decal. I found one, and I also found out that I apparently had a fee waiver so the school is giving me nearly $500 back. I felt really badly about wasting all that money on parking, but the $500 took the edge away of $7. In math I was anxious all the way through because I was afraid I'd run out on the meter and get a ticket, and my fee wavier money may not soften the blow of that. I finished my quiz is two minutes flat and practically ran to my car, which had a minute left on the meter. Then, I went to the parking lot and (magic) there was still parking. So, I parked and paid and pet my shiny decal.

Then I baked a cake.

Das Ende.

Ugh. I'm having another one of those days where this is not right. Most days are like this. Yesterday wasn't like this. Yesterday was fine. Today, though, I'm going to go for a walk. With a friend. I haven't seen this friend in a while. Well, I ran into her the other day and we stood there, in the midst of everything, talking for twenty minutes. Then we agreed to meet today, Sunday, to hang out. She asked me to go for a walk.

And, just, the reality of nature and having to wear a pair of pants and real shoes is getting to me. I haven't even left the house yet, and suddenly I'm so uncomfortable and unhappy I don't know what to do.

Then, it just hits me, and it hits me really hard. This was never the person I wanted to be.

I hate working nights. It does bad things for my self-esteem. A lovely night-in consists of going to bed early, and watching TV shows on your laptop, tumbling, etc. But, since I work at that time, those nice things inevitably end up happening during the day. So then I feel like a slob and a mess and things I have to do at home never get done. Then I have homework and things and stuff, and I hate it. And, even though this is the first day in forever that I've stayed in bed for a really long time without having to run errands for my mom or drive her to a doctor appointment or rearrange furniture or some inane task that she can't do, I feel awful about myself. There are things I should be doing. But, I really just want to stay in bed and watch Community and eat an apple. It's not like I'm even working ... like, I still have my job but I'm getting scheduled for only one or two days a week. And, somehow, it's not enough time to get my things done.

Tonight, ignoring that it's past midnight, I hung out with Panphila. We got off to a rocky start (and it was totes my fault, as usual), but I think we had a nice time. One of the things I told her about was my recent series of revelations on relationships and myself and stuff.

First of all, it was 9AM on a Friday morning and my mom was getting an MRI done. I was reading when it suddenly hit me that I don't want a relationship. For quite a while, I've introduced myself with this greeting: "Hi, I'm Elizabeth. If you know a nice boy I'm totally, totally single." Never thinking this would actually lead to a boy, I was more than somewhat horrified when someone actually responded with, “I know a nice boy!” (Hi, Steve. Sorry. Don't read this.) While the entire affair was exceedingly awkward (and teeming with anxiety for myself), it forced me to actually think about nice boys and what I want. And, on that Friday morning, I realized that I am so busy with myself it would actually be a burden to have to care for someone else and make them a priority in my life. Like, let's be serious, my life is a mess with work and school and my mom's medical crisis and my dad being a less than stellar dad and my dog having to have surgery again.

Second of all, on Tumblr there was this thing about there being a divide in Tumblr. Those people in a relationship that would like to sit under a blanket, eat soup, and cuddle. The other half wanting ... sex. I am on the former half. I am much, much more interested in an emotional relationship. I walk walking around my house, trying to figure out the difference between how I feel about my best friend and how I feel about a potential boyfriend (sorry Cecilia, people are never going to stop thinking we're lesbians). And, I just want a relationship on a very deep and emotional level, eventually, maybe, branching onto something more physical. Maybe. Branches as strong as twigs.

Third of all, when faced with the idea of a boy out there that thinks I'm cute and wants to get to know me (hi, Steve. I seriously told you not to read this), I was horrified. I had goose bumps thinking about it, the sense that there was something on my back (Donna Noble understood when she could remember the thing on her back). Foreboding. That really isn't the proper response, though. I suppose some trepidation is acceptable, but I felt honest fear with a heavy dose of unease. There are things I have to work out on a personal level by myself before I can drag someone into this with me (refer back to number one and my life being a mess).

Fourth of all, while regaling the first two to Pan, she told me that I should date to get free meals (my immediate, internal response was that I don't eat in front of people ... refer to number three). She said I should date for fun and to get to know people. Do stuff besides Internet, which really makes sense. Talking to a boy doesn’t have to equate to a relationship, it can just be fun … I guess (having fun with a boy? Is that possible? Refer to number three. Again.)

In conclusion, these are my revelations. I'm going to print out my lecture notes and go to sleep because that's obviously what I should have done an hour ago.