Living Inside My Head

There is, of course, an extremely subjective angle to my view of me.

Now that we are past that painfully obvious opening sentence, let's elaborate.

I think everyone has a love-hate relationship with themselves, which is the way things should be. You should love yourself at least a little, but you shouldn't be thoroughly egocentric. You should be able to see flaws in yourself.

In my experience, most people do this quite well. In fact, most people go as far as to see most of themselves as flaws with small seams.

I am no exception.

People say I'm smart, and yes, I know I am relatively intelligent. People say I'm flexible, which I know I am to an extent. People say I'm talented, which I know I am.

I know I am, but I don't think it's as much as other people.

Living inside my head is weird. I always want to stuff it with information. I always think there are things I should be doing better.

Periodically, people inform me of my intelligence because I'm okay at remembering things. Today I was helping people study for history finals, producing a date off the top of my head. "How do you remember that?" they asked, followed by, "You're so smart, why are you so smart?"

Also today, after I comforted someone who was stressing out, a friend of mine said, "Oh, she's not always an asshole."

Inside my head is a weird mix of the two views - contented with myself, yet thoroughly irritated at the same time and surprised when I get things right.

It's weird.

I don't know.

I'll go back to living inside my head.

I am a bad girl, me

So I went to ceramics, which was awesome. I painted a teacup I made with white and copper-green slip and I'm going to glaze it tomorrow.

Of course, since I wasn't throwing today (only trimming and painting and sitting around because I didn't make enough stuff this week to keep myself occupied), I, as well as my wheel, was much less dirty. So I cleaned up my stuff and then my friends and I basically ditched the class. (Oh well...the classroom was pretty clean anyways...)

We were upstairs and my friend and I were unlocking my bike from the railing by the door and another one was sitting on the railing and then my friend asked me to come get ice cream with her. At first I said no, I shouldn't, I should get home, because my grandparents will be expecting me (my parents are in the Berkshires). But then we started riding and I thought, what the hell, why not, ice cream is amazing.

So we went to Cabot's and each got an American small-size (which of course is medium to large size everywhere else) and stood around finishing them off. By then it was around six, and class had ended at 5:30.

Of course, I was expected to be a little late because I had to pick up a book at the library, but not as late as I was going to be now.

But anyway, she agreed to stop by the library with me. As we leaned our bikes on the bike-tying things (but didn't lock them because it's tedious) I called my grandparents and said that I'd had to stick around and help clean. Which was basically the opposite of what had happened. But whatever.

I checked out my request (The Night Circus, for anyone who cares) and another book that I saw that looked cool and I decided to check out (and I still have no idea what it is) and then we kept riding towards home. We take the back streets, since I hate one of the intersections on the way. Suddenly I noticed that in front of one house, the part between the sidewalk (or "pavement" if you're British) and the road, where usually there's water-wasting grass that the city maintains, someone had planted tomatoes.

Of course, we stopped and stole some. (To be fair, I think it's city property anyway, so whatever.) They were good. Literally just-picked. Nothing like it.

Soon we got to my driveway and we went our separate ways.

And this is why I relish my freedom.