A sort of mournful cosmic last resort.

I've been feeling a bit out of step with everything, unfortunately. Spring Break really seems to have thrown off whatever equilibrium I'd achieved during the first half of the semester. They say "toe-may-toe," I say "toe-mah-toe," etc. I love them all, of course, to varying extents. Just not feelin' it, as it were, and any annoyance is really my own damned fault because I insist on socializing against my better judgment anyway and subjecting other people to my ridiculous mood swings and tendency to drastically over-analyze everything (pardonez-moi) instead of just sitting in my room and getting shit done like I really probably should be doing.

I've been trying my damnedest to strike a balance between online journaling and kickin' it old skool with ye olde pen-and-paper; the gods of technology have decided to spontaneously give me the blue screen (the greatest of digital "fuck-you"s). It's really quite generous of them, as it usually happens at the peaks of my angst and spares me a lot of potential embarrassment, assuming anyone reads this in the first place (highly unlikely). The internet is no place for the earnest.

"Goddammit Caroline, wear your pretensions on your sleeve." - the venerable Tyler Thomas

I'm currently taking a British Literature course that's moving far slower and covering way less material than the one I took in high school. However, my opinion on a lot of the stuff we're reading has changed with "age" and [minimal, admittedly] perspective (cue grandma mode; "back in MAH DAY..."; etc.) and it continually amazes me how much I'm LEARNING ABOUT MYSELF (ugh oh god how cheesy) by seeing how my opinions on some of them have changed. For instance, I'm actually enjoying Paradise Lost this time around. On the other hand, I don't get teary-eyed whenever I read the last stanza of "Dover Beach" anymore (yeah, that one reduced me to sobs at one point in my life, shutupshutupshutup). I appreciate it, but I don't think I'd be willing to jump Matthew Arnold's bones (or anyone else's, for that matter) if he recited his schmaltzily romantic verse for me anymore. Did I become cynical in my old age? Is it common sense? Am I secretly a replicant? The world may never know.

Truth be told, ironically, I've had a difficult time coming to terms with earnesty (my own and other peoples'). I've become increasingly aware that most of my friendships are built on an unspoken foundation of shared irreverence for pretty much everything. It's convenient in the short-term, but seems to complicate a lot of things that "matter." I suspect my difficulty with this results in many of my personal problems, ranging from rendering me terminally un-date-able (well, that's a problem, coupled with not wanting to be part of any club that would have me as a member on my side and the gradual realization that I'm not nearly as cool as I initially appear to be on theirs; yes, I HAVE been broken up with due to excessive self-deprecation before although I rarely mean any of it because I'm the biggest goddamn egotist I know) to rekindling my love for new wave music (possibly an unconsciously retaliatory action; artifice is most welcome in the wake of a bunch of acoustic guitar-wielding quasi-Bohemian douche bags) to my getting totally into the trailer for the Prince Caspian movie (please don't suck as much as Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe...) instead of putting a conclusive end (wow that was redundant) to this entry. Good night.