I think I'm always giving people the wrong impression.

Where have you gone? I used to talk to you every single day and you're suddenly nowhere to be found. I guess this wasn't as sudden as I'd like to think, but... well, I don't really know what to think. Someone told me that you're now technically homeless. I wish I could help, but even if I could, I don't even know how to go about it. Sometimes I reach for my phone to call you, then I hesitate, because I'm sure you don't want to hear from me. I'm unbelievably worried and it'd be nice to just hear that you are okay... or to hear something, anything at all.

Another S.A.D. has been survived. Brownies and candies and cheese ravioli (thank god, not together) helped me through it. Chocolate, in every form, tends to make these things possible. (As for ravioli... well, can't you just accept that it's delicious?) And now... I snow dance, because I desperately wish to be rid of Calculus tomorrow. Also, I'm in dire need of a sledding adventure.

February 13th. Today, she would have been nineteen years old. Today, she would have bragged about how she's 3-and-some months older than me. Today, she would have partied all day... and then she would have come home to tell me all about it; I would have laughed as she told me the high points--no pun intended. Today, her mother and her father would have given her a cake, probably a cookie cake. Today, they would have sang to her, she would have smiled her beautiful smile and enjoyed her last birthday before twenty. Today, her brother would have looked up to her and imagined what it will be like when he, too, is nineteen years old. Today, she would have danced with her cats and possibly caught it on web cam for me to giggle at. Today would have been just another birthday.

Today, and every day, I'm going to brood on what the world has lost... what I have truly lost.... in losing an 18-year-old Melanie, a 19-year-old Melanie, a 20-year-old Melanie, an every-age Melanie...: More than can be expressed in a stupid, unknown blog, this much is certain...

"Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is non-existent. And don't bother concealing your thievery- celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: 'It's not where you take things from- it's where you take them to.'"

- Jim Jarmusch

This is an idea that I've expressed to my closest friends for years now, but I obviously didn't word it so eloquently. (Also, quote within a quote = win.) I think this is what originality is all about... absolutely nothing. Somehow, it's comforting to me. No matter what each of us does in our life time, someone else did something very similar, or at least thought about it. Collective consciousness? Sometimes, I think so.

Dear Internet, it's sad but true: Facebook encourages stalking. It's not so much "encouragement" as it is pressure, really. So many people are like... books that I've been meaning to pick up. I'm afraid that they're much cooler only from the outside or in summarized form... and I'm afraid they'll find the same of me. I over-think these things, I'm sure. Note, also, that I don't want to seem like a creeper, and add people that I've recently met (but seem completely intriguing)... but in trying to avoid looking like a creeper, I become a true creeper. I think it might be murdering what little social capabilities I have left in me.

Snow days make me feel like a youngin' again... and they make my neighborhood look much less trashy.

I complain more and more with every day. I wish that this entry could be one of redemption--perhaps an apology for said complaints, a realization that I'm living a life undeserving of complaints, a new, positive outlook on life, etc. That'd be nice, eh? s'too bad. I feel like I've lost the ability to find the good in anything, my life included. I'm just as miserable as I was five months ago and I don't see change on its way. I'm sure that it's "in my hands" and all that jolly, simple shit... but most of the time, I want nothing more than to crawl in a hole and make it my home until I die.

I've had my eye on this guy for a couple months now. I had a class with him last semester, and I wanted to get to know him. I made a bit of small talk with him on a few occasions, but never managed to even introduce myself. Now, I have no classes with him, and seldom run into him--when I do, it's only in passing. I feel like such an ass.

Every time I feel even the slightest inkling of happiness... I remember. Am I ever going to feel happy again? ...Feel anything at all?

I studied physics for nearly four hours and I feel as though I absorbed nothing, postponing the rest of my work as I did so. Tomorrow will be a blast. :c

My cat just laid upon my open physics book. Does this mean I don't need to start studying for that exam on Wednesday? I think so.