Okay, it's a bad, bad sign when I yawn and then think, "Darn! I forgot to pay attention to the change in spatial frequencies of the sound of my yawn!"

Preparing to leave for Thanksgiving. Have cooked group dinner (though always with help) four times in the past 3 weeks. I think my grandparents are clear on the fact that I'll eat whatever my aunt chooses to serve, so that's good and I'm very happy with my decision that being a respectful guest should come before my choice to keep kosher, although I think it will feel weird - this will be only the second time in four and a half years that I've knowingly eaten nonkosher meat.

And I'm feeling like things in general are a little more manageable. Crying has dropped dramatically, though not to my preferred levels. Have made progress on applications to grad schools, found job-like things to apply for, may even get to shadow a woman who works with autistic kids over break. So, good!

And happy Thanksgiving to those who think this Thursday calls for pie. :-)

Today's moment of massive stupidity: Opening a door into my face. Ow.

On the plus side, have cried only once since last journal entry, have found a second person to be my reference, and am generally making progress in life. Yay!

Well, as long as the GRE focuses solely on my verbal and mathematical abilities and doesn't penalize the stupidity of being unable to open the blinds without hitting myself in the head with them, I'll be all right?


UPDATE: So apparently the GRE does not penalize blind-opening-fail. Huzzah?

It's been a rough...week and a half? Since last Friday, when I started sobbing shortly after midnight. The next day I did a hike with Active Minds that launched this new program about how treating your body well - exercising (the hike, plus a mountaintop yoga session) and eating the right foods (which we had at the top) - is good for your health mentally too, and that day I didn't cry (since after all cutting onions doesn't count). But with that exception, I've been crying, pretty hard too, multiple times a day since. Monday afternoon had to pull myself up from where I was sobbing on my knees on the kitchen floor so I could cook dinner for 30 people, and I did it. Albeit with help, which was more appreciated/needed emotionally than culinarily. And that evening I kept being confused by the fact that drops of water were appearing on my textbook. Tuesday I'd cried three times by noon. At some point Wednesday evening I decided to stop fighting the lump in my throat and was instantly sobbing over my keyboard. Thursday I was so proud of myself that I was tear-free till 6pm. Friday, after a bad morning, I made a resolution at synagogue listening to the start of the rabbi's d'var Torah that I was going to make this Shabbat a day of rest and peace and no tears; by the end of the d'var I was in floods again. But then I made it 47 hours without another one, all the way into Sunday night. And today I was so proud of myself, only a little crying in class and got through a couple iffy patches all right, and I was able to say, "Look, these things that have been causing a lot of it, they're going to go away now, this was their last day." And now here I am choking on tears again.

What I'm going to do is I'm going to apply to Glasgow and Nottingham and the funding I'd need for it, and jobs in DC and in NH, and I will also apply to the US master's programs as my parents feel I should. And I'm just going to fucking hope that I'm successful with one of the things I actually want.

The first autobiographical account of mental illness I read was of multiple personality disorder for a class during my freshman fall. (Quick note: Multiple personality disorder, also known as dissociative identity disorder, is not schizophrenia. Schizophrenia does mean split mind, but that phrase refers to a splitting of reason and emotion, not to multiple identities. It's a common misunderstanding that bugs me.) Long story short, the professors (one neuroscience, one psych; it was an interdisciplinary course they were co-teaching) recommended me a book by a psychiatrist about her manic-depressive disorder. I found her story fascinating and compelling, ended up buying myself a copy, and drew on it to write a paper for my abnormal psych class the next year.

I didn't read another such account for a while, despite deciding at some point (I think by at least halfway through my sophomore year, but maybe as early as freshman spring) to go into clinical psychology. I did, however, hear stories and poems (and first-person accounts) written by a girl who'd struggled with anorexia who was in my creative writing class. In spring 09, though, junior spring, someone left a memoir of anorexia around the house. I think all the women in the house eventually read that, and we all reacted the same way - by feeling a powerful urge to show that we weren't anorexic, look at all the food we were eating! - because it was so frightening and compelling. This summer, I've read one of autism (albeit from the brother's perspective, not the autistic man's himself), just finished one on depression, and am partway through one about schizophrenia. I think next I'll search for one about OCD, and maybe a first-person account of Asperger's if not autism; I wonder if I'll be able to find much about Alzheimer's, because I don't remember noticing any of those yet.

I don't find these easy to read. They are all frightening as well as compelling. They remind me of tough times friends have gone through and make me afraid for them. They make me cry. But it's important to me to understand - especially, I think, after my encounter with the work of the girl in my creative writing class brought home to me that what I'd learned in psych classes did not give me that understanding.

This book has just reminded me of why I'm putting myself through reading these.

As I said, it's a first-person account of her struggle with schizophrenia (it's the center cannot hold, by Elyn Saks). After several years in which a calm, patient therapist has helped her keep her schizophrenia under control, Elyn is involuntarily committed and restrained - meaning they tied her hands and feet down and put a net over her so she couldn't move her body at all - for hours at a time, an experience whose horror she communicates very effectively. Having regained her freedom, and control over her schizophrenia, she returns to law school, where she (unsurprisingly) has a special interest in mental health law. She is preparing a special letter (Note) to be published arguing against the (excessive) use of restraints, and writes:

DarWIN:
"He who rejects with scorn the belief that the shape of his own canines, and their occasional great development in other men, are due to our early forefathers having been provided with these formidable weapons, will probably reveal, by sneering, the line of his descent. For though he no longer intends, nor has the power, to use these teeth as weapons, he will unconsciously retract his 'snarling muscles', so as to expose them ready for action, like a dog prepared to fight."

DarFAIL:
Women may have once used music to attract men. "But if so, this must have occurred long ago, before our ancestors had become sufficiently human to treat and value their women merely as useful slaves."

It would be nice to write a happy story. I liked writing this story when it was happy. I liked feeling like I was creating magic as my two main characters fell for each other. In fact, I let him be happy for a good three weeks. My notes suggested that her mother die shortly thereafter, but it seems I was wrong - she is the one who dies. Of course. It makes sense that way. Writing his response to her death has been a challenge, definitely a worthwhile one, definitely necessary to the story. But I have also resolved that I'm not going to solve this with a new love, that though I'm hoping to heal him again I'm not intending to take that out. This girl was amazing, unique, fun to write one of a kind...he can't get her back. And that means that he's going to end up a more unhappy man than he started, and what kind of a story is that?

Every angel is terrifying. And yet, alas,
I invoke you, almost deadly birds of the soul,
knowing about you. Where are the days of Tobias,
when one of you, veiling his radiance, stood at the front door,
slightly disguised for the journey, no longer appalling;
(a young man like the one who curiously peeked through the window).
But if the archangel now, perilous, from behind the stars
took even one step down toward us: our own heart, beating
higher and higher, would beat us to death. Who are you?

Dear Life,

Do you see these people? These ones over here? They are my friends. Be nice to them. Please. I know "nice" is an exceptionally generic and unhelpful word, but just as a hint, it is not particularly similar to the way in which you are currently treating many of them. For example, being nice to them should involve them being happy.

Or I'll send the Dread Pirate Roberts after you, and you don't want that. Savvy?

Much appreciated.

Yours faithfully,
Rebecca

A conversation yesterday.

ME shows MOM photos from the foreign study program.

ME: And this is us playing Wah! It's this odd sort of game...you're a tree, and simultaneously a lumberjack. I think I'm going to teach it to my kids.

MOM: in a cunning, maternal fashion Are you planning on having kids?

ME: Yes. Twelve. Tomorrow.

MOM: Oh. Those kinds of kids.

So! Today I had twelve kids, ages 9-11. I am, again, a program assistant at a summer camp. The kids are difficult to herd and to get to agree on the same game (herding and entertaining constitutes most of my job), but the instructor who teaches them/works with me is really fantastic.

After 20 hours' travelling (door-to-door), at 4am Rebecca's-circadian-rhythm time (which was 11pm Rebecca's-body's-physical-location time), I decided to go to bed.

Me: *turns off lights and gets into bed* Ahh, at last! Now I can sleep.
Brain: No.
Me: What?!
Brain: No.
Me: Why not!?!
Brain: Need cuddle-time.
Me: ...oh.
Brain: Cuddle-time comes before sleeptime.
Me: ...there's something I should tell you....
Brain: Must have cuddle-time before sleeptime.
Me: ...um...Atlantic Ocean...uh...
Brain: NEED. CUDDLES. NOW.

BRAIN infuses ME with unwanted energy.

Brain: GIVE ME CUDDLES!
Me: *sigh*

ME gets out of bed and locates cat, then proceeds to cuddle cat until such time as cat manages to escape.

Me: Happy now? Can we at least sleep past 5am tomorrow morning, O enforcer of cuddle-time and jetlag?
Brain: Sure.

ME falls asleep and has odd dream about fighting off evil alien parasite things that are essentially large, albino heads that live in people's stomachs. The dream concludes with her vanquishing the evil aliens and then discovering that the young boy, who she was told was her nephew, and whose alien-infected father she has just slain, is actually her own son. BRAIN promptly awakens her at 6am sharp.

Me: That wasn't quite what I was hoping for.
Brain: *ignores, as per usual*

Putting sterling in my purse is starting to make my heart race. Now that's more like the reaction I'm used to!

Wow. It's the end of my junior year at Dartmouth, and my ninth term (counting the foreign study program, when I was enrolled in classes but not on campus, and this term, during which I've been on campus but not enrolled in classes).

And I can't help but think how glad I've been to leave so many times. To get away from roommates (four separate times that was a huge relief) and to be finished with work; plus six times, counting this one, I was about to see Nik.

The first time it was much different was my sophomore summer (2008). I regretted that I'd be gone and wouldn't be able to really befriend the people from creative writing who were starting to turn into friends. As for Fall '08 (junior fall), I was in Maryland. And then the end of the FSP in winter '09, I was, yes, I was a bit sad, knowing I'd made friends there who probably wouldn't last into Dartmouth proper, and I stayed up till 2am hanging out even though we had to get up at 4:30am.

This term I'm crying. Even though I'm about to go see Nik. I've left eight times now and have never felt this sense of loss before. It's a strange feeling.

I'm definitely going to visit Dartmouth this summer.

So, while cooking today, I may or may not have unthinkingly plunged my hand into more or less boiling water. And I may or may not have not bothered to run it under cold water afterward. It right now may or may not be swollen, achy, and discoloured. Yes, I may or may not be exceptionally stupid.

Ow.

Major update on my life: I am at college, doing research rather than taking classes. I am deadly bored with my psychology research project now - it doesn't help that it's kind of stagnating because I need three (just three!) more subjects and no one's signed up - and don't want to have to tell my prof. I also feel guilty for trying to get friends of mine to take the subject slots; I'm so bored with it, why should I make them sit through it? But I think if I just get the running subjects over with, I'll enjoy writing it up. Also, I think I have some ideas for a cool thesis project that's kind of related that maybe I could bring up wanting to do with my prof without feeling too awkward about having totally changed my plans. I still (think I) want to do a thesis, just not something that feels as meaningless as this.

I'm living at Amarna, which is pretty cool. We seem to have picked up some really awesome people in my absence. Maybe I should go away more often? My roommate is also an incredibly lovely and wonderful person, which is very nice. I mean, I roomed with half a dozen...or more like 10?...different people over the course of the foreign study program (FSP), all of whom still are (or appear to be) on speaking terms with me. Maybe roommates aren't so awful? Or don't necessarily think I'm so awful? And can be happily coexisted with? I may have to find out (again) next year....

Speaking of the FSP.... After returning from the FSP, I got an AIM account, figuring I could keep in touch with some of the FSPeeps (especially ones who aren't back at Dartmouth) that way. I have also added a couple other people now and am starting to really remember to turn it on. And it is so strange having people on IM after 10 o'clock at night. All my MSN friends are 5 hours ahead of me (except for the one that's 6), so they're abed by usually 7 or 8pm my time; I'm just not used to being able to chat late at night. But the really surreal part is that it does feel so strange. Like...come on, you used to talk to people online after 8 o'clock. Why all of a sudden do I feel awkward about using IM, or like I don't know the appropriate protocol for talking to people?

I have to choose classes the day after tomorrow. It'll be good to get back to the real business of studenting...although I will probably be scarily procrastinatory, too. But what else is new?

...I think I'll leave it there for now. And try to update more often than once every other month. Although does anyone who doesn't talk to me really read this? I guess I don't get a chance to say hi to Zoe much? Hmm. If you're out there, say hello. Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3.

I did, after all, make the decision that I wasn't sure if I could last entry. Unfortunately, it looks like I won't get my first choice job for the summer, but I'll be happy in my second-choice, and I have a ticket to England in 65 days and counting.

I am back at college, and it is fantastic to be here. Lots of Amarnites are here and we had a big FSP reunion last night; everyone who's on campus this term and one person's who's not were here. Haven't met with my research prof yet, but I will in two hours. (I don't think I've slept past 8am once in the last three months - I was awake before 7 this morning. I would really rather like to be able to sleep better. Aside from getting up at 5:30 on Saturday, I haven't needed to set an alarm in weeks - including getting up at 4am one day after going to bed at 2.... I'll put it on the to-do list.) We spoke briefly, though, and I'm really excited and optimistic about the term to come.

I have just applied to a summer job even though I'm probably a little late doing it and I would really really like to not apply and be able to book a flight to go see Nik in June.

I want to feel able to make the choice to spend time with him rather than applying for this job. I want to feel able to put him first.

But in a year and a half I can.

New definitions, as shaped in my mind by the past month and a bit in Costa Rica:

luxury: having a pillow. Did not have one for Santa Rosa (two nights), most of Cuerici (four nights without), and all of Corcovado (seven nights).

cold: requiring a blanket (not just a sheet) to sleep at night

hot: sweating profusely while engaging in real physical exertion like sleeping. Yes, I have seriously been drenched in sweat while lying down multiple times. And when I played football for half an hour, my clothes were still pretty wet hours later. I went into the bathroom even though I knew the shower wasn't working, and I turned the knob although no water came out, and I said, "Look, I am going to shower. I can wait all day." The shower turned on.

clean (human): has showered within last three days. When the hot water was restored to the showers at our coldest site, I was genuinely confused by the idea that I might therefore take another shower; I had taken one the day before.

clean (clothing): has been laundered within last two weeks. And my clothes still don't count as clean. ETA: I have few items of clothing here. Over the space of two weeks, clothing probably gets worn at least three times. Through the dirt and grime of the forest. And the sweat of soccer games.

clean (socks): not currently damp with sweat or crusted over with dirt.

low elevation: below cloudline.

short distance (to hike): 8km. That was into Santa Rosa, and took a little over two hours; Cuerici was barely one. Going into Corcovado, I left at 8am and arrived just before 5pm. (To be fair, I dawdled - ate lunch, looked at bugs and monkeys, etc. - and the people walking out took only 6 hours. I finagled my way onto a four-seater biplane that flew low over the Golfo Dulce and the rainforest.)

long distance (to dining hall): more than 3m from bed.

haut cuisine: lentils. They were SO GOOD. I cannot express how exciting it was to find lentils. The flavour was amazing. FANTASTIC.

everyday animals: toucans, scarlet macaws, hummingbirds, four different species of monkey, crocodiles, sharks, and 20cm long grasshoppers. Coatimundis and agoutis are still pretty rare and a tapir or sloth would be amazing. Many of my friends regret the lack of snakes, but this bothers me fairly little.

truly unnecessary extravagance: electricity in the bathrooms. You don't really need to be able to see any more than the location of the toilet. I felt pretty guilty having the light on this morning.

I am in Costa Rica. It is awesome. There are so many cool trees - trees with peeling red bark over a green photosynthesizing trunk ("gringo trees"), trees with green lines all along their bark from swelling with water to store it for the dry season, trees swarming with ants who protect it from competition and herbivory in return for food and shelter.... And class today was delayed somewhat by the arrival of some howler monkeys, whom one of my classmates noticed while taking a quick bathroom break. And the place is full of people who pick up bugs and scorpions and snakes the better to look at them ("By the way, Ernesto, we looked up that snake you played with this afternoon, and it was poisonous!"), which is pretty cool too.

The trees are probably the neatest part of this for me right now, but since people tend to have a cute-and-fuzzy bias, here are ( two white-faced capuchins for you: )