A Gentleman of Many Names.

Remember when I said I was slowly going insane? Yeah. By now I'm pretty much cuckoo. In my cuckoo state of mind, I thought I would contemplate something of great importance:

Where's Waldo?

I mean, this guy has been in hiding for years. Someone's ought to have spotted the bugger by now. Sure, he as a list of aliases, depending on which children are searching for him, including Wally (British tykes), Jura (Croatia), Holger (Denmark), Volli (Estonia), Charlie (France), Hetti (India), Walter (Germany), Vili (Hungary), Valli (Iceland), Efi (Hebrew children call him this), Willy (Norway), and Hugo (Sweden). 

You'd think that with that many names he's make somebody's watch list. 

He never changes his clothes, either. With a consistent outfit, he should have been spotted at least once. 

Or at least smelled.

Silly boy. I wonder what he's hiding from. He's probably part of an international espionage ring. Move over, James Bond, the new kid in town's gonna bust in. This is driving me crazier than I already am. The whole concept makes no sense. I mean, to children it's perfectly plausible, a sort of geeky kid going on world adventures, but to a cynical chick like me, I have to wonder, what's this sucker running from? A psycho ex-girlfriend? Stalkers? Well, yeah, since everyone's freaking looking for him. Is he on some sort of mission to hook up with Carmen SanDiego? 

I give up. brb. Gotta find Waldo. And interrogate him. 

Heart, me.

Sometimes I Feel Like I'm Slowly Going INSANE.

I talked to Prancer today. We were on Skype for a good forty minutes. It was slightly bizarre. He insists he's changed a great deal in the three months since I've seen him, but I don't buy it. That also may be because of the fact that I talk to him the most since I've been out here in the middle of freaking nowhere. He says our friends have changed. I hope it's for the better. Some of them, I'm almost certain it's for the worse. Sometimes I find myself torn between wanting to keep them around forever and ever, or walking away without looking back.

See how crazy I am?

Oh well. I'll be home in 20 days, and I can see for myself if I need to keep my crazies or not. I love those guys man, I really do. They're the reason I'm so crazy.

Another reason I'm freaked about going home is the drama within my family. I haven't really needed to take my meds since I've been here, since I've been away from the craziness at home, and I'm scared I've lost all my tolerance for the drugs, and once I have to go back on them I'll feel all gross and nauseous. 

Sigh.

Heart, me.

I Forgot How Much I Missed You.

Dear Prancer,

Our chat on Skype last night seriously made my day today. I was walking along in front of these two blockheads on my way back from Arabic this morning (btw, according to my Arabic professor, "The British are trying to convince us that wizards are good, like good politicians.", and one was bragging about how he had to have a CT scan done. He was blathering on about being injected with iodine for contrast and whatnot, and it took all of my willpower to stop myself from turning around and slapping him. Not because I have anything against iodine, it makes starch turn a pretty shade of blue, but he was WRONG. You don't use contrast in a CT, unless you're looking for blockages in blood vessels. He was going on about how it was for checking his intestines. Silly boy, you use BARIUM for that. And it's all bubbly and gross and gives you diarrhea. How do I know this? My daddy's been drilling this into my brain since I was in diapers. I also know that contrast is not necessary for a CT. Why? Because I've had and have watched CT scans done without contrast. PS: They're a b***h to read if you don't know how. Mammograms are worse. I promise. It's like a vertical puzzle of squished boobs. (My dad's radiologist and I work for him when I'm home. Don't worry, I'm HIPPA cleared.) 

But this exchange reminded me of the time junior year when I was in the hospital, it turned out for severe dehydration, but I had a bunch of scans done. You know how annoying it is when people are trying to stick IV's in you and they don't actually know how? WHY would they stick a poor defenseless intern wit the cynical doctor's kid who was literally born in med school? That's just mean. ANYWAY, I remembered texting you to get my homework and drive my brother home from school the next day, and you replied "God, you're so demanding. Don't die." (I corrected the spelling, btw.) But that one text made me laugh so hard the darn intern messed up my IV bag. 

Getting to the point, and I swear, if you make this into a big deal I will walk to MSU and beat you up, I think I actually might miss you. I had gotten so used to talking to you almost everyday in high school and the first few weeks of college, and after we went a month without texting or Skyping, I forgot what a great friend you are. 

Heart, me.

All The Things I'm Too Scared To Say To Your Face.

Dear Boy, 

I wish we could be friends. I really do. You're a great guy. But this whole not-telling-me-key-facts-about-yourself won't fly. You make me laugh, and I promise, that's not an easy task. You made me genuinely happy the first few months I knew you. But now, every time I see you, I'm overly stressed, slightly neurotic, and just generally depressed. I'm at a point right now where I'm impatiently waiting for the semester to be over, when we both start our major-specific coursework, and the only time I have to see you is that awkward moment when you're waiting for an elevator and I decided to sprint down the stairs. 

I wish it were different. I wish you had told me this sort of incredibly important detail when I first met you. Now I feel dumb and awkward. We have this tense, pseudo-friendship deal going on, and it doesn't make me happy at all. It's actually pretty depressing. There are times when I just want to march over to your room and demand to know what the deal is. We're in college now. And neither of us needs to take First OR Second Year English Comp, so I think we should have left all the implying and inferring in our equally rigorous high school AP English classes.

I just need to know what your deal is. Why are you a sweet, funny, and generally perfect guy in class, but a tense, judgmental jerk everywhere else? Which of those personalities is just a front?

I feel like I need to apologize for how I've acted, but to be fair, you were encouraging me the majority of the way. So, I'm sorry. 

I know you're not going to read this, but I'm putting it out there on the off chance that your Logic homework is driving you insane to the point of perusing random blogs. 

See you tomorrow. I'm glad we're watching a movie in class. I don't think I can face you at this point. 

Me. 

Dear Prancer, 

I miss you. We need to Skype soon. I need your brain again.

Heart, me.

A Formal Declaration of War.

To The Young Lady [read: bitch] Who Jacked My Seat In Sociology:

We are at war. I thought I would warn you. Are you even in that class? Because if you are, this is the first time you've shown up. And guess whose seat you and your spot-faced friend decided to commandeer? That's right. Mine. And guess what else? 

You're toast. 

Crispy, crunchy, over-processed, and acne-ridden toast. As Twin would tell you, "Your ass is grass and I'm a lawnmower." Of course, Twin also has been known to say "Wow, my grandma's really bookin' it on that lawnmower," but the concept  is sound. 

I'm not making any veiled threats, mind you. I'm genuinely annoyed. And if it was some sort of breaching experiment to see if it would annoy me, guess what, it did. And now you're gonna pay. 

I thought I should warn you, that it would be fair and sportsmanlike and other such nonsense. But I promise, take my seat again, and I'll run my own damn breaching experiments. Namely unscrewing every joint that poor chair has. So you might just find your skanky ass on the floor. Oops. 

Sincerely, 

The Grand Council of Wartime Affairs,

Me.