Let's Be Sobering

Lately, I've been struggling with some issues. I think maybe it's time to hold myself accountable for them. It seems that I have a problem: I cannot say no when it comes to alcohol. I need to quit drinking. Let me explain.

Let's start from the beginning. I've been drinking since I was probably 15 years old, which means that I have a solid decade of drinking under my belt. Only four of those years have been legal for me. I'd love to say that my sordid affair with alcohol ends there, but it does not. I've made terrible choices under the influence. I've said terrible things to friends, thrown myself at people (male and female alike), driven drunk (I can't even say enough how lucky I am that I've never had a DUI or worse). There are large chunks of evenings that I just don't remember, and this hasn't happened once or twice. Lately, it's happened every time I've started to drink. Once I start, I don't stop. Because of alcohol, I've lied and stolen. Alcohol has made me indifferent to the destructive tendencies of my friends, and I'm ashamed to say that I've stood by drinking when sober me would never have allowed certain behaviors around me to prevail. I will tell myself that I need to stay sober for a night, and then, I drink anyways.

I'd been thinking about committing to sobriety a lot lately. What was my wake up call this week, you ask? A friend brought over some Jim Beam--a brand and type of alcohol that I cannot stand--and some of it spilled when we put it in the fridge. It spilled on my fingers, and smelling it on my hands made me want to drink it. I actually salivated. To tell the truth, I did drink later that night, though it was not the Jim Beam. But the fact that an alcohol that I previously found more or less abhorrent seemed attractive to me simply because it was alcohol gave me pause. I didn't realize how often I crave alcohol until I thought about it. When something's happening, I want to drink--good or bad. When nothing's happening, I want to drink. When I'm angry or upset, I want to drink. When I'm happy, I'm always down to drink.

To be perfectly candid, it scares the hell out of me. Seeing the addiction on both sides of my family has shown me what I'm possibly headed for. More than that, I'm tired of being that girl that has to apologize for everything. Sorry I threw myself at you. Sorry I broke that. Sorry I said fuck your face. Sorry I told everyone your business. Sorry I flashed your whole party my boobs. These are not normal behaviors! They're not!

As of now, I'm two days sober, but I'm so afraid to fail. I've thought about AA or something, but I feel like I'd be laughed out of those places. I've never gotten a DUI. I've never lost anything because of my idiocy related to alcohol. I just can't keep living with myself when I'm living like this. I'm probably going to speak to someone at our college's counseling center in the next few weeks. For now, I'm just trying to gain enough footing here to be able to say that I can say no.

Amusingly, I had a dream that I was trying to learn how to be sober, and I asked Josh Ramsay, my Marianas Trench love, what it takes to be sober. He answered me honestly, and gave me some Yoda-like personal advice. Then, I dreamed that he hung out with me while other people drank around us and tried to help me to resist. I woke up feeling like a failure. I'll be seeing Marianas Trench live in February, but I don't think I'll be asking Josh Ramsay for advice on sober living. It might be weird.

I don't really even want anyone to know that I'm struggling with these things. I've always told myself that I'm stronger than this. There's a little bit of a shame to not being able to control myself and my impulses. I definitely don't want my family to know. I feel like this would be much easier if I never told anyone. Sadly, I know that that can never be. I'd be lying if I didn't say that I was going to put it off. I need some inner-strength first.

The weirdest part of my sober dream was that I woke up hungry. How is that fair? My subconscious wants me to make good choices, but my body prefaces this by making me hungry. I'd really love it if I didn't gain a bunch of weight while trying to forge a healthier lifestyle. I'm already fat enough, thank you, Universe. Also, if we talk (face to face), let's never speak of this. At least, not until I'm comfortable with where I'm at. Give me that at least.

Major Changes

As previously mentioned, I have officially switched majors. I'm now an English major here at Lourdes. I have my classes for next semester all scheduled. I'll be taking the following:

Studies in English Lit II
Studies in World Lit II
History of Christianity II: Reformation to Present
Approaches to Critical Analysis

In all, I'm certain it will be an interesting semester. It will definitely be intense on the reading end of things, but I think I can handle it. I'm actually really excited to be getting my English on again. It's one of the few subjects that I've always been passionate about. I love to write. The problem has simply been that I don't really feel as though I'm all that good at it. Alas! Woe! To think that I'm entering a field that will keep me occupied and constantly striving for better! (Was that sarcasm?! From me?! Surely you jest!)

My main focus now will be getting down to business on this insurance issue and finding a job. The bottom line here is that I'm tired of being broke. My friends want to do things like go out to eat, and I cannot in good conscience accompany them knowing that I'll be the friend chilling there with no money. The last few times I went out with the girls, they've insisted that I order and eat something, with one of them footing the bill. This is a lovely thing for them to do, and I know that they do it because they care about me, but it makes me feel like a total moocher. I feel even worse because I can't return the favors. And maybe it will make me sound materialistic and selfish, but I'd really like to have some things. I'd like to get copies of the music I love or a new piercing if I want one or a tattoo when the mood strikes me. I'd like to have some jeans that aren't full of unintentional holes. I'd like to not have to sew my clothes back together when something happens to my favorite items. I'm just tired of all the struggle.

When does my life get an easy button?

Killing Time

This morning at 9:30 AM, I was supposed to have an advising appointment to schedule my new classes. In my general, fail-at-life fashion, I slept right through that appointment. It has been rescheduled for 12:30 PM today. So, in an effort to not sleep through it for a second time, I opted to get some creative thoughts going and toss a blog out there. No depth is guaranteed.

General updates seem to be needed, so let's go for that. My roommate, Kaitlin, is still funny and amazing. My girls are still wonderful. My high school crush is so last month--I mean, seriously, he's really stupid. We seem to have netted ourselves some drama with on of the basketball players, who swears that his sister will beat the shit out of my roommate. All of this drama stems from me asking him once, politely, to please not start a fight with our mutual friend in my apartment. Apparently, this was an unacceptable request. Needless to say, my roommate will not be touched by his sister. Rather, she will feel the wrath of a whole troupe of girls if she even tries to come near Kaitlin. We protect our own here.

Classes are progressing well enough. I had a presentation in pathophysiology which went swimmingly. I have a presentation to give in nutrition lab next week. Hopefully, after today's meeting, I'll be able to say that I'm officially an English major and will have all my classes scheduled. My criteria? Nothing in the morning. That's it. Clearly, I can't handle myself before noon.

As a random side note (because I'm both tired and scatter-brained right now), I want this so badly. It's Twitter jewelry. I'm sensing that as soon as I get that insurance settlement from my massive car accident, I'll be splurging the $65 dollars to get a silver @jessplatz necklace. Why? Because I love me some Twitter gear (and I secretly want perfect strangers to follow my feed because I fantasize that I am interesting)! Also, what kind of life would I be leading in the technology age if I didn't have something that showed off my Internet prowess? Not that I have all that much Twitter cred, what with my measly 41 followers, but still! It's the thought that counts, right?

I'm off to go and pretend my life has interesting points!

Nuns, Potatoes, and Body Image: The Musical! (Not really, but I'd so see that musical)

Tonight, while meditating on life in general as I enjoyed a nightly cigarette, a memory came whooshing back into my mind with a fervor that could not be ignored. Of course, I feel the need to blog about it for two reasons. One, I feel like it was significant, and I have something to say about it. Two, my blog has been frightfully neglected lately, and I like to jump at a chance to write something that may have some small amount of substance.

When I was a young girl, my grandmother had a relative who was a nun. I'm not sure about the specifics, like what order she was in or what have you because my father had converted to the Baptist faith after marrying my mother. We never really learned much about the Catholic faith, needless to say, other than the easy things like how to say the Hail Marys of the rosary for funerals. To be candid, I don't even recall her name.

This particular nun found quite a bit of favor with my grandmother and her two sisters. They were all devout Catholics. They volunteered regularly at their local parish and attended services very regularly. In the event that they could not attend mass, they watched the mass which was broadcast on local television. Because of their devotion to their faith, they often had the sister over for dinner.

I remember one particular dinner. I must have been around eight years old, I imagine. I was old enough to know I'd been insulted, to be hurt, without being so old that I had the guts to say anything back. My grandmother had made some sort of meat, of course, but the best part of the meal were the roasted potatoes that she made (mostly because, like all delicious and terrible for you foods, they were DROWNED in butter). My grandmother's potatoes were wonderful. We all loved them, and they always went quickly. I must have been eating them with particular vigor, however, because I recall the sister looking at me and saying, "You like those potatoes, don't you?"

Of course, trying to be polite, I nodded and replied, "Yes." Mostly, my responses to the sister were monosyllabic because she was older and made me uncomfortable, as all old people did when I was young.

Her answer to my reply shocked me into submission. With all the cruelty she could muster, she said, "That's why you're fat."

To be perfectly honest, I have been fat basically all my life. You can chalk it up to whatever you want. I'm working out, I'm eating much more healthily, I've reduced portion sizes. I'm still fat. I'm probably always going to be fat. I know this. What perplexes me is not that she pointed out that I was fat. Let's be honest, everyone with eyes knows that I'm fat. Why cover what you can't hide? What perplexes me is why she would so cruelly point it out in front of other people when I was but a child.

Now, I could launch into a tirade about how inappropriate it is to say that to a child. I could mention that nuns are supposed to live their lives as manifestations of God's love on Earth. Neither of these things are the centrality of why my memory struck me as so terribly important. I'd been called fat in school before. This, however, was the first time that I'd been confronted as being undesirable for being fat by someone who was related to me. It was the first time a relative made me feel terrible for my body.

Don't get me wrong, family has made me feel terrible for personal choices or what-have-you many times since then. Feeling terrible has not been in short supply in my life. Yet, this was the first time that I'd been made to feel terrible about my body, the very beginning of all my real struggles with body image. I've hated my body for so long. I've never embraced my body. I always think, "If only this were smaller," or "If only those were bigger," or "If only I wasn't so fat!" All my life, I've always thought that I'd be more desirable, more lovable if only I were just a little less fat.

Here's the problem: being less fat won't make me less of a bitch. It won't mean that I'll suddenly start to trust people. It won't make me stop pushing people away when they say things I disagree with. Being less fat won't mean that I'll be nice to people. Being less fat won't make me stop saying terrible things to anyone that gives me a sideways glance or mistakenly finds themselves on my bad side. Turning into a skinny, gorgeous little thing won't turn me into Mother Theresa. It probably won't make me happy. It certainly won't provide me with the direction that my life is lacking.

The most important part of the memory is the part that I almost always forget. I get so wrapped up in the cruel words of the sister I forget the really important part of what happened that night: the look of abject horror and shock on my grandmother's face. I always forget that, after the sister left for the evening, my grandmother and her two sisters, my great aunts, sat at that table and told me how wrong she was. I forget the huddle of glorious, loving, motherly women who tried to tell me how much they loved me by telling me how beautiful I was. I forget how offended my mother was when they related the story to her, how she reacted in agreeance with what my grandmother and great aunts were telling me at that table. That's the part of that memory that counts.

People will always be ready to strike you at the core of the most obvious faults you bring. Fat. Skinny. Pimples. Whatever it is, they'll always be ready to call you out to make themselves feel better by making you feel worse. The important thing is the support that we get from the people who really love us. Personally, I just hope that all the little fat girls out there who have their feelings hurt by other people trying to tear them down, whose body image issues will begin at a young age and continue to be a terrible struggle, have a gaggle of loving women ready to tell them how wrong those other people were. I hope that, like my grandmother, someone will react as though they themselves had been personally insulted. I hope those little fat girls have the kind of love that I did because that's what really counts.

Body image continues to be a struggle for me. I'm going to try a lot harder to believe it when people tell me that I look good. I'm going to try to believe it when people tell me that I'm pretty or that I have sex appeal, even if I can't see it in myself. Just do me a favor: if you ever see someone that doesn't believe the compliments they're getting, smack them upside the head for me. Sometimes, we need it.

The Neglectful Author

Oh, long neglected blog, I pine! Well, that's a lie. I don't really pine. At least, I don't really pine for blogging. I do pine for the creative gumption to get around to writing something that isn't trite and stupid, but I don't think that counts as pining for blogging per se. I can happily report, however, that I'm so busy keeping my resolutions that I've been unable to think for myself--or, at least, that's what I'm going to claim.

Clearly, I'm not keeping all of my resolutions. After all, here we are at almost 6 AM, and I find myself blogging. Needless to say, some will be harder to crack than others. I can cheerfully report that I've had earrings in my ears every single day since that last post. I've put on make up more than just once since that post as well. I finished one book and started another. I've been varying my music tastes. I've been committed to trying to listen to the little voice in my head that feeds me nothing but quiet degradations--because, let's be honest, I really do need to listen to that little voice that tells me that I can't sing worth a damn and should shut up. (If you've heard my singing, you'll agree with that.) It's an uphill battle, but I am at least still making the effort. I'm also happy to report that I have not cried drunkenly since my last post!

My turkey slaughtering holiday found itself appropriately thankful, as the title would seem to require. It's funny, though, that spending time with my family mostly just makes me yearn for my roommate and our apartment. It makes me long for a place where no one screams at me for little-to-no reason. It makes me want the peace and quiet that comes in the night there. It makes me crave the friendship and the solitude--though I do recognize that those are conflicting ideas, I have them both in a lovely balance back at school. It makes me wonder what will happen to my poor mental state when the Christmas break comes. I'm fairly certain I'll lose my mind.

My room here in Delta is so terribly boring now. All I have is my laptop and the bed. I don't even have a TV in here anymore because it's in our living room at school. In lieu of any other form of watchable entertainment, I turned to Netflix tonight. There's a movie that I've recently fallen in love with that I opted to watch again called Teenage Dirtbag. It's an independent film, and it would be impossible for me to describe it without giving too much away. The best part about it is how deeply it makes you feel. The emotion is so subtle, but so palpable and real. It leaves me feeling gloriously empty, sad to the core.

Strangely, sadness is an emotion that I have always embraced--much to the chagrin of others around me, I think. Many people don't seem to understand it, and it bothers them. I think sadness is an integral part of the human experience. We have to understand our own pain, embrace it, in order to be able to empathize with the pain of others. We have to examine our pain to be able to move through it, make it a part of ourselves. Of course, that's an idea that I've always embraced. Pain is part of life. Sadness can be painful, but that doesn't mean we can shove it under the rug and ignore it. We have to see it, to acknowledge it. Sometimes, we have to live in it for a while. Too many people let it overwhelm them, suck them in, because they've never tried to walk in it.

Apologies, sparse readers. My mind is trailing off because of the late hour and because of my own distraction. My thin attempts at depth are failing me, indeed. As a result, I think I shall call this entry off.

Resolutions Without the New Year

Time has been harsh with me lately. It seems that I never have enough. It passes so quickly that I feel as though I cannot manage to catch my breath. Circumstances have been so cruel lately.

To begin with, AW no longer wishes to be friends with me. He claims he will keep in touch, but this seems a moot point now. JJ has been terribly demanding as of late, even necessitating at one point that I call the Indiana police to get him. This is a little bit complicated because I live in Ohio. I'm still very angry with him for putting me through that. I feel like it's been incredibly difficult for me to talk to him even though he needs me because my fury hasn't faded yet. I feel as though he hangs things over my head in an attempt to make me love him, but what really ends up happening is that he can't even comprehend how much it makes me resent him.

Yesterday, after going to the club with my group of friends, I made a fool of myself. In an attempt to further preserve what little dignity I happen to have left, I will simply say that the high school crush that I wrote of before is well aware of what I think of him now. This, of course, wouldn't have been a complete humiliation if it hadn't been for the drunken crying. Thankfully, this happened back at the apartments and not in public. I'm pretty sure that it will be best if I simply wallow in my embarrassment for a while so that I get a complete reminder of why I don't speak to males. "Hi, my name is Jessica, and I'm incompetent." Oh, if only there were a support group for that!

I've decided that, in spite of my recent cluster of faux pas, I'm going to make a few little resolutions here for my life. They may seem silly, but I think they're important, so here they are:

• Wear earrings more often. What's the point of having the holes if I'm not using them? (Please, control yourself and stifle the "that's what she said" response that we all know is rolling around your brain right now.)
• Try to put on make-up every now and again. It actually does look good on me and it really doesn't take all that long to put on.
• Read more. I have some time right now, and I ought to be making use of it, dammit.
• Keep working out. This is a good thing! It must continue!
• Enjoy more R&B instead of immediately judging it. Vary your tastes, Jessica! DO IT!
• Drink less. Nothing good ever comes of it, and I don't know how to keep my mouth shut when I do it.
• Lie to myself more often and tell myself the brutal truth. Seriously. I need to stop living in the scenarios that play out beautifully in my head. What I need to hear more of is that I don't have feelings or prospects. It would be great if someone could tell me no. It would also be great if I started to believe that little voice in my head that says things like, "You look stupid when you dance" or "He doesn't like you!" or "Please stop talking."
• Go to bed earlier. This 5 and 6 AM shit isn't working anymore.

We'll see how much of these things that I can manage. Hopefully, more than I thought I could.

For the time being, I'm in the middle of a cynical patch. I really just need to chill for a while. I need to wallow in it for a day or so. I need to stay in bed and do next to nothing, drift in and out of a comfortable sleep. Oddly, I'm very comfortable with my cynicism. This is like putting on a favorite shirt from high school that you forgot you had. You're surprised at how well it still fits, how much you forgot that you sort of enjoyed it, how it feels against your skin. I remember this cynicism well. I just forgot about how good I am at it.

Halloween and Maturation

I came to a sad realization today: for the first time ever--even in my adult life--I am not excited about Halloween.

When I was a child, Halloween was always my favorite holiday. You could be anything that you wanted, dress in any way that you chose. My usual wardrobe, which was considered by my parentals to be "too dark," was actually acceptable. It was alright for children to roam the streets after dark, laugh too loudly with all of their neighborhood friends. Even a little bit of mischief was tolerated because it was expected on Halloween. It was always an evening that was rife with possibilities.

Autumn itself has always been my favorite of seasons for the same reason. The cool air just feels pregnant with change, potential. It seems like it could be a time when special things happen, when life brings you the things that are supposed to come to you. Nature fools you with it. The air becomes temperate, then cool. The leaves begin to turn the beautiful colors of fall. You begin to feel it in your bones, that feeling that something is coming, maybe for you.

Halloween has always yielded some of the best parties, best memories. With the exception of one very notable year, it has almost always been positive. I've spent time with my friends, laughed about as many things as possible, and followed the typical rule of eat-drink-and-be-merry that usually goes along with the season.

This year is different. This year feels dormant, passive. Perhaps this really is my final leap into true adulthood. I've never felt adult, not even with all my independence and adult responsibility. Maybe this is part of that transition. Is it time for my to put away childish things? I suppose at the age of 25 it might be time to start laying that part of myself to rest.

Autumn's Chilled Arms

Much has happened since last I updated my poor, neglected blog. Leaves are turning, falling. Wind is picking up. The air has a chill now that comes with late October. I have forgone sleep for many hours. It's comfortable and familiar to my Midwestern heart. Autumn has always been my favorite season, but the cold of the air leaves a cold within me that I can't seem to kick until snows begin to fall. Oh, Autumn, you sassy wench! I love/hate you!

To begin with, AW's visit came and went. It was blissfully free of drama or event. I've never had so many people surrounding me at once. It was nice. I felt popular, well-liked. He was exceedingly quiet, which was not quite something that I expected. Yet, he gelled well with my friends. Charles, one of the basketball players that lives in my building, actually grew quite attached in the short time that they made each other's acquaintance. Endearing, no?

I've also managed a trip back to Indiana since last I wrote. JJ's cousin Matt was got married, and I was able to go to the wedding. It was a small, intimate ceremony. It was really lovely. We got to spend a little time with his family. Then, we went back to his father's house, where he's staying, and had some quality time to ourselves. There was no fighting or arguing. We simply enjoyed each other's company. It was comforting to sleep next to him again. I miss that physical intimacy. I was only able to be in town for a day, but it was still nice to be able to go.

I also went to a Halloween party and made a drunken spectacle of myself. I'm not proud, but I chalk it up to one of those normal college things. It's not like I'm getting smashed off my rocker each night and sleeping with strangers. I just got drunk once and said some idiotic things, sang too loudly, danced like a fool, and woke up hangover-free the next morning. All's well that ends well, I say.

There's not really too much else to say. I managed to get an A in my biochemistry class, which I wasn't sure was going to happen. Now we just have to see how I do in nutritional chemistry and pathophysiology.

One thing that I have found less than attractive about myself lately is how emotional I've been. I've been sullen, giddy, childish, indecisive, sad, jealous, and a host of other silly little things. I get offended so easily when it comes to certain individuals. Worst is what I am about to admit next...

I developed a ridiculous high school crush on one of the guys that hangs out with my group. I almost feel too humiliated to even admit it. As a friend so callously pointed out to me yesterday, he'll never see me the way that I see him. More than that, I'm a tangled mess of problems and people wanting wanting wanting from me. I don't have room for another. And those things are even before I mention the fact that I'm married and he's in a relationship (lest you be worried, I am not the type of woman who cheats or invites others into cheating, thank you). Sort of makes my stupid little crush seem like a moot and foolish point, doesn't it? I have a plan, though. First, delete phone number from phone, which I have already done once and plan to do a second time. Second, stop hanging out with this individual--not that he's not a great guy, but I really don't need the drama of extra stupid feelings. Third, never speak of this again. Please feel free to commence step three expediently.

I feel like I'm no longer sure what I want from my life. Nursing was a bust. I hated it. English or social work are good options, but I don't want to do all the bogus classes that I'm seeing my roommate taking right now for social work. I've always wanted to be a writer, but I really don't know if I can hack it. I don't think I'm that good. What to do? I'm still in the midst of wondering if this is me or autumn's cruel influence or both. I think sleep is much needed at this point.

The Ever-Impressive Inability to Rest

As I noted in my post a few days ago, I had a birthday the other day. It was uneventful, as has been my entire week. Yet, despite all this nothing doing, I'm still missing out on sleep and relaxation time. I'd really love to be able to say that it's super easy for me to drift off in this twin XL bed, but it's actually really terrible.

Here's the thing about college: I love the freedom and the independence. There was definitely something there that I needed. The downside is that it all comes at the price of having anything familiar. In essence, it's like being instantly single. There's no one to look after you or to take care of you. You don't get the luxury of cuddling up to someone in the night. There are hook-ups all around you, but you're not having them yourself. Though the independence is cathartic, everything else is sort of cold and lonely.

Don't get me wrong here, this doesn't stem from some teenage yearning to be liked or desired. I'm actually very well-liked here. In fact, this is the first time in my life that either people aren't talking about me or, for a record-breaking first time, I really, truly just don't give a shit. I just can't seem to enjoy it. If I'm not feeling the pressure of existence or freaking out about some stupid deadline, I'm not really feeling much of anything. Yet, somehow, I'm more or less comfortable here. Odd, no?

In other news, AW--the ever-famous Canadian--is coming to visit me on Monday. He'll be staying for a week. I have no idea what will happen or if we'll even enjoy each other's company. I have a feeling that I'm much more of an acquired taste than the lovely ladies that share my time lately have assumed. The closer that we get to this arrival, the less I think of this dynamic. Rather, I'm certain that things may go south in one way or another. In some ways, that makes it a good thing that I live in the dorms. I mean, sharing a building with a bunch of people who know and love me can't be all bad, especially if things are sinking faster. We shall see.

In the mean time, I'm going to attempt to shake off the bondage of insomnia and sleep for a while. You may have noticed that I am up very late, despite a need to awaken early. Why is this? I can't seem to get comfortable enough to rest. Every time I start to settle enough to sleep, the phone rings or I get a text message. It was hard enough to settle in the first time, harder still to manage it thrice. Needless to say, the fourth time wasn't working for me all that well, which is what spurred my update. Oh, Brain, when will you decide you're tortured me enough?

Busy Doing Very Little

Lately, I seem to be really busy. The funny thing about that is that I find myself doing very little most of the time. I have a feeling that I'm getting a much more authentic college experience than I bargained for initially. I think every high school kid sort of has this idea that college is going to be full of awesome parties, hanging out, and living like you're an adult or something. Being an adult and living in the dorms, I can say that it's really easy to adapt to that sort of do-nothing lifestyle. I'm busy all the time, but I'm busy doing nothing. It's kind of lame of me, really.

But then again, how much would you pay to be able to do very little? It might just be worth the tuition money.

Moving on, this week was my birthday. I turned 25 yesterday, in fact. Being 25 isn't really any kind of milestone. You've survived two and half decades. You're five years from being thirty. Mostly, that seems ridiculously depressing. Don't get me wrong, I like the idea of growing old because age is accompanied by an increased comfort level with the world and one's self. It's just that I've run out of birthdays that one looks forward to. From now on, it's just keeping a count of the years until I croak, which will not be any time soon.

Of course, I'm coming across as much more morose than I really am. I had a very nice, low-key birthday, actually. I got a good drunk on with my girls and we laughed and played a game. Nick took me out to dinner, and my father made me a chocolate cheesecake. For the most part, I stayed in and played it cool. Someone at the dorms decorated our door with streamers and signs. It's been nice.

Hopefully, my boring theme keeps up and I can stay low-key.