Who Is The Worst Blogger In The World?

I am. I have not blogged in over 6 weeks. I abandoned my beloved followers the entire month of October and most of September. Nevertheless, I have a valid excuse. This being a double major in two reading and writing intensive fields--English and history--means one gets an ample serving of homework. The homework itself does not bother me. In fact, nerdy me rather enjoys the homework. Nerdy me does not enjoy how much it has cut into my online time. *sniffle*

Therefore, I apologize for my prolonged absence, both from blogging and the internet in general. I have neglected crits, personal messages, blog posts, and a whole slew of other things that I have truly hated missing, and I am so sorry about that! Forgive me! :( I am trying to catch up, but it’s going to be awhile.

To give a quick update about myself:

• I have been reading a lot. And at some point, not sure when, I will update you with reviews of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Things Fall Apart, The Dead, Death of a Salesman, A Streetcar Named Desire, a slew of short stories, and a certain book entitled Mockingjay.
• I have been writing a lot. So far this semester, I have written a poetry explication on Robert Frost's "Home Burial," an analysis of Charlotte Perkins Gilman's "The Yellow Wallpaper," an essay on plagiarism, and a ton of in class assignments and am currently working on an analysis of A Streetcar Named Desire, a rhetorical analysis of my own writing, a research proposal on the Russian Revolution, a research paper on the history of Nigeria, and an explication of The Picture of Dorian Gray. In other words, it may be awhile before you get another update from me . . .
• Before I moved away to college, I didn't go to bed before midnight because I was a night owl. Now I wish I could go to bed before midnight but never have a chance.
• The cafeteria is still going well. I have become a master of crafting pizzas *ninja pose* and dismantling the salad bar *special ninja pose* and scanning student ID cards *extra special ninja pose* and sometimes making correct change *extra special ninja pose with a cherry on top*. I am also slowly mastering the art of being a cook's help, though that's a bit more tricky *occasionally extra special super ninja pose with a cherry on top mixed with the more regular epic ninja fail sulk pose*.
• I have joined Sigma Tau Delta, the English honors society. Basically, this means I meet with fellow bookworms a couple of times a month to plan extra nerdy events. My personal favorite was our celebration of Frodo and Bilbo's birthdays, complete with cake. ^^
• I have learned that as much as I love history and still intend to major in it, my true passion is in English and that’s probably what I am going to go to grad school for.
• Since I have been forced off of the internet and don't have time to read anything but what I am mandated to read by fear of failing grades, I have been listening to a lot of music lately. I find it soothing to listen to music as I type. So . . . I have been rediscovering my love for Evanescence and classical music and The Doors and Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd. I used to prefer the darker Roger Waters-era stuff--and still love it with a passion--but I need to find a mental happy place and not a mental not-so-happy place, so the more whimsical Barrett stuff works for me right now. Besides, who doesn't love poor Syd, The Crazy Diamond?! Don't argue with me. I will hurt you. *psychedelic ninja pose*
• My first homecoming is this week. As someone who hates dancing and is a social recluse, I am somewhat relieved that I will be working through most of it. Haha Not that anyone has asked me to any of the events anyway . . .
• If you never leave your dorm except to go to class, work, or eat, people will think you’re a little odd. Who me?
• I have become an even bigger grammar geek than I was. Just warning any of you poor souls who are expecting a crit from me whenever I get a chance. I'm sorry. Blame my grammar class. I will say, in my own defense, that my grammar geekiness has taken on a less malicious tone and is now just a general infatuation with the structure of grammar. So . . . I am less likely to notice only when something is wrong and more likely to stop reading an email and happily exclaim, “That’s a past participial phrase!” In case you’re wondering, you’re right--I have no life.
• My infatuation with Oreos has gotten worse. I snack on them almost nightly. I have five packages of Oreos in my room right now.
• My already idiosyncratic eating habits have gotten crazier. Eating in a cafeteria--even a good one, which our college has--means that sometimes you're reduced to eating Cheerios for lunch. Yes, I have done this. Yes, I have done it more than once. Yes, it was good. Don't claim you wouldn't do the same thing.
• As hard as it may be to believe, I have lost weight at college. So much for the freshman fifteen. Okay, okay, I am technically a junior, but I’m still new here.
• I have become a connoisseur of microwavable meals. There was one brand that had excellent alfredo, so I bought all of their other pasta meals. I have thrown out all of their other pasta meals because they were inedible.
• I just learned my spell check does not recognize alfredo as a word. What a sad life you live, Mr. Spell Check.
• I went to a Career Day my college hosted to gather info on potential grad schools and ended up freaking out the recruiters for the State Department.
• I stayed up to nearly one in the morning sitting on a sidewalk with two fellow nerds and freaked out security. Apparently, their first assumption is that three college students sitting on the sidewalk late at night are intoxicated or high . . . We were only talking and plotting nerdy mischief and were stone cold sober! Thus, we became determined to stay out later than the security guy’s shift. We won. :D
• I am good at freaking people out.
• I really have to go, but I want to say that I shall post again as soon as possible, but that probably will not be until my Thanksgiving break. Until then, have fun! :)

So . . . how is life? Update me! :)

Blogging a Drive Home From College

In one of my literature classes, we were discussing how difficult it is to write in second person. In my grammar class, we were toying with present tense. I have decided to combine the both of them in a story that is not the slightest bit autobiographical. No, really, it isn't. *shifty eyes* Okay, maybe it is just a little bit autobiographical . . .

You are going to drive home tonight, despite the fact that you've only driven the road once before, it's pitch-black, and you have no sense of direction.

You don't change out of your work uniform because you're in a hurry to get home. You think your uniform makes you look like a ninja, a Russian anarchist ninja from the early 20th century. You think you take Russian history a little too seriously. You even think that you may read too much. You decide you don't read enough. You make a resolution to read as much as you did before you moved away to college. You know this will not happen.

You turn on your car's interior light to find your favorite Pink Floyd CD before pulling out of the dorm parking lot. You didn't get to celebrate going back to school with your annual tradition of listening to "Another Brick in the Wall." You feel like a substandard Pink Floyd fan. You quote to yourself Roger Waters' sarcastic line about feelings from "The Trial" and feel like a slightly more functioning Pink Floyd fan.

You drive along, not paying attention to the music, convinced you will take a wrong turn and end up stranded at night in the middle of nowhere in a somewhat malfunctioning car. You tell yourself you're being paranoid. You count the prepositional phrases in your inner thoughts because that's what you covered in grammar class. You are obsessed with prepositional phrases. You distract yourself by reviewing your day. You analyze each social interaction you had and decide that your true calling in life is to be a hermit.

You wonder why your car seems so bright. You think it is perhaps the moonlight. You see there is no moon. You realize you drove for nearly thirty minutes with your car's interior light on and was totally oblivious to it. You ponder how you have managed to stay alive for 21 years.

You get distracted when you hear Pink Floyd's "Pigs (Three Different Ones)" come on. You sing along. You tap your foot along to it, as well. You get so engrossed in it that you look up and realize you have no idea where you are. You look around for road signs. You see no road signs. You think about how very dark it is. You think about how despite the fact you're on a major road, it is pitch black because there are no other vehicles on the road. You lock the doors on your car repeatedly. You hear a clunk in your car and jump. You tell yourself you're being foolish. You re-lock the car again, just in case. You relax and sing another line. You re-lock the car one more time because you're obsessive like that. You re-lock it another time because that noise distracts you from the unidentifiable noise. You start to re-lock it again when you see your exit is up ahead. You didn't miss it. You just have no idea where it is because you've only driven this road once before. You re-lock the car once more because it's now a nervous tic.

You're finally on a road that you drove every day for two years. You think that you should be able to find your way home with no problem. You forget that you only drove the road at night a few times in that two years. You forget how terrible your eye-sight is. You underestimate how different the landscape looks at night. You shrug off the fact that more than anything else you want to pull over and take a nap.

You see a cop car's lights flashing on the side of the road. You become alarmed and automatically slam on your brakes, though you're not speeding. You grip the steering wheel tightly and hope you're not violating any traffic laws, none of which you can think of because you're too terrified of being pulled over at night in the middle of nowhere. You realize what you thought were cop car lights are actually random light reflections off of a mailbox. You feel somewhat stupid. You wonder why you're so scared of cops. You think that growing up in an area with a nasty reputation for police vigilantism may have something to do with it. You remind yourself that your severe anxiety disorder means you're slightly paranoid of everyone. You feel like Wade Duck from Garfield and Friends--you're scared of everything. You think that driving home from college by yourself at night might help you become less paranoid. You reflect on your journey, which is bringing you closer and closer to home, and decide that view is giving yourself too much credit. You realize you really miss reading Garfield everyday. You decide to get a newspaper subscription at college. You don't really check your mail enough to justify buying a newspaper subscription.

You pull onto the dirt road your family lives on. You know that home is only ten minutes away. You decide that since you've listened to the Floyd CD twice already, you'll turn it off and listen to the radio. You turn the radio on to a classic rock station that barely gets reception. You hear commercial after commercial but no classic rock. You get annoyed at the radio. You shout "Shut up!" at the radio after listening to 9.5 minutes worth of commercials and a truly obnoxious dee-jay. You calm down as the station then segues into a song. You become irritated as you realize the singer is Tom Petty. You do not like Tom Petty. You suffer through the Petty song anyway because you're pulling into your family's driveway and will turn off the car as soon as you park. You made it home it home in one piece. You think this is a cause for celebration. You try to ignore how silly that sounds as you walk into the house.

My apologies for my absence! My homework has been quite unmerciful lately. I have realized that my school schedule is meddling with my blogging. I have decided to start rotating between weekly posts on this blog and my book blog. So . . . next week I'll post a book review, but the next week, I'll post something here. I'll still be posting weekly, just not for each blog. :)

The Art of Making Eye Contact

Most of you who know me know that I am a somewhat backwards person when it comes to being social. Since I now have to walk everywhere I go, I have discovered a new social conundrum that vexes me: When passing someone on the sidewalk, what is the correct procedure? Should one look at the person and smile? Look at the person and nod? Look at the person and say, "Hello," and walk on? Look at the person and say, "Howdy! My name is Zella! I am a junior history and English major, but I am new here. My friends think I will be unemployed after I graduate, but that's only because they're jealous of all of the homework I am assigned. So nice to meet you. I deduce you are heading to the cafeteria, seeing as that's the only thing on campus at this location. I have read every Sherlock Holmes story ever printed; hence, my profound skills in deduction. I am sure nobody else besides Sherlock--we're on a first name basis, Sherlock and I are--and myself would have guessed that you were going to the cafeteria. Did you know Sherlock is still alive? Are you hungry? I recommend the quesadillas. Did I mention I work at the cafeteria? While at work the other day, I slightly burnt my hand on a pizza the other day. See? Isn't that a great scar to have for life on my left index finger? I have a lot of scars. I have always been clumsy and prone to trip on flat surfaces, though tripping isn't what caused me to burn myself. I like your shirt, and that's saying something because I don't usually notice other people's clothing. What did you say your name was? Hey, why are you running away!"

This is driving me crazy! I don't feel compelled to talk to someone I pass on the sidewalk because it's not the same as standing in line with someone, but since passing someone on the sidewalk means you often do make eye contact, I think it's rude to not do anything!

My old strategy of combating this was to look at my shoes or look on the other side of the pavement to avoid making eye contact, primarily because eye contact makes me nervous. I don't like people looking into the windows of my souls. I am afraid of what they will see . . .

But the other day I was walking along the sidewalk, watching other people, when I noticed them doing the same thing as me and it was so obvious that they were not trying to make eye contact! I may not want to look at someone, but I don't want them to know that I don't want to look at them. Therefore, for the past couple of days, I have tried to devise a less obvious way of not looking at people when I walk by them. This has proven tricky, primarily because I never know how the other person will react. There seems to be no one-size-fits-all tactic for meeting people on the sidewalk.

Some people make a point of not looking at me. I am not sure if they are fellow socially awkward souls or if I just look that hideous, but I like these people. I can either look at them and not have to fear making eye contact or I can look away from them and not feel bad for my cowardice. Either way, what little self-esteem I possess emerges intact.

Other people, however, are not as cooperative and insist on looking at me. These people unnerve me. I can't look away because that means I am essentially admitting that I am an asocial moron who has a weird phobia about my soul windows. However, I am never sure what to do when I look at them. At first, I was inspired by watching other people's take on this and thought I had a good solution to the problem. I noticed some random passers-by take care of the problem by nodding at me slightly as I pass by. I think this is a useful non-committal greeting, so I tried using it. Sometimes people return the nod, and we go our happy individual ways. But my nod sometimes gets stared at. I am not sure if these people want me to be more friendly or less friendly or if I just look ridiculous while nodding--a distinct possibility--and have confused them.

So . . . what do I do if they don't want me to nod at them? Maybe the nod is too non-committal. I have tried smiling at people. Usually this nets me a smile in return. Sometimes I get a glare in return. If I could figure out who was going to glare at me, I'd glare at them first, but life doesn't work that way.

I don't feel right glaring at someone without provocation, so sometimes I just settle for a slight smile, so it's not quite so happy but is still not unfriendly. This seems to work, most of the time, but, again, you always encounter the glaring types who are apparently not pleased with this.

Smiles can have several meanings, so maybe these people are just unsure of what I am smiling about. Do they not know I am smiling at them? Do they think I am snickering at them? Do they think I am going to mug them? I decided that I should announce my intentions, so they would know that I am just being friendly. But . . . I am not out-going enough to greet someone I don't know verbally, and I have been on the receiving end of this one and have mixed-feelings about it. A "Hello!" or even a "Nice day, isn't it?" are more than okay with me, but I feel trapped when someone thinks that because I happen to be at the same intersection as them entitles me to hear his or her's life story. I only say "Hi!" to someone if they initiate it by acknowledging my smile or nod with a smile or nod in turn. Yet this strikes me as overkill because I have already greeted them and greeting them again makes me feel intrusive.

I really don't think I have any other recourse besides these meager options listed above, so for now I have settled on waiting for the other person to see me and then seeing what they do before I respond in turn. If they don't look at me, I don't look at them. If they smile or nod at me, I smile or nod at them. If they say "hello!" to me, I say "hello" to them. If they glare at me, I look away and pretend to not see them. If they run up to me and decide that we're going to be the bestest of friends because I am going to lunch at the same time they are leaving the cafeteria, I run like a track star in the opposite direction. *sigh* The perils of social engagements . . .

What's your method for making eye contact? Or avoiding eye contact, for that matter?