Malaise

I can't describe what's wrong with me. I must need some extracurriculars or something, because there has never been a time in my life when I have been more terribly lonely. Almost all of my friends live somewhere far enough away that it's rare to see them, and I have never needed good friends more than I do right now. I wish I still lived with Ryan, with his near-religious drinking binges on Thursday nights. I wish I still lived across the hall from Mark and Kai and Jennifer. I miss random dinner invitations, prohibitions against going to bed simply "because you're in college," and watching documentaries about ice bergs on Friday nights because it was by far the best thing on TV--with Mark's commentary.

I am feeling so nostalgic that I can barely function.

I hate school so bad that it's a struggle to get out of bed in the morning, no matter how much sleep I've had. I do my assignments and assloads of projects from a waning fear of failure than from any commitment to the discipline or interest in the subject matter. May seems hopelessly far away. I'm running on fumes and have been since August.

Life seems to have completely lost its meaning, which is encouraging only in that it means it once had some to lose. I have no direction and no impetus but inertia, no plan but the vague hope that someday, if I keep working hard, I'll be happy again, but I suspect this last to be the holdovers from my conservative Protestant background.

There's really only one thing that makes me happy anymore, and it's poisoned by not being able to tell most people about it. There is no aspect of my life whose potential to yield me happiness is not sabotaged, and I resent it.