<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315</id><updated>2011-04-21T22:26:52.267-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Laura's fun journal</title><subtitle type='html'>this is my journal.  don't take it too seriously.  </subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>29</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107879363380626756</id><published>2004-03-08T18:50:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-03-08T18:58:26.110-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>man, i really understand now how important privacy is to me.  i don't feel like there's ever a time i am truly ALONE on this campus.  i'm never alone in my room (well, it's rare anyway), i'm never alone walking to class, in class i'm surrounded, at uds i'm surrounded...sometimes i think the bathroom is my only recluse, but then there's just this wall between our bathroom and our neighbors', so more often than not, my privacy there is interrupted by sounds of someone next door gargling or blowing their nose or pissing or brushing their teeth.  i've made it a point now to be home when she* is at night classes, so i can be alone in my room.  i try to get all my chores done beforehand, so i can have time to just chill-&lt;em&gt;alone&lt;/em&gt;.  or talk on the phone without her listening and adding stuff.  argh.  I cannot wait to get out of Middlebrook.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107879363380626756?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107879363380626756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107879363380626756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107879363380626756' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107877947136677324</id><published>2004-03-08T14:57:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-03-08T15:00:57.640-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haha, i LOVED this show!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://images.quizilla.com/P/pacosmotorbike/1056345190_esClarissa.gif" border="0" alt="HASH(0x8a7a92c)"&gt;&lt;br&gt;You are CLARISSA EXPLAINS IT ALL.  She is a rad&lt;br&gt;chick with absolutely no fashion sense.  If you&lt;br&gt;are a guy and chose this... you are gay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;a href="http://quizilla.com/users/pacosmotorbike/quizzes/Which%20old%20school%20Nickelodeon%20show%20are%20you%3F/"&gt; &lt;font size="-1"&gt;Which old school Nickelodeon show are you?&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;BR&gt; &lt;font size="-3"&gt;brought to you by &lt;a href="http://quizilla.com"&gt;Quizilla&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107877947136677324?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107877947136677324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107877947136677324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107877947136677324' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107877868168415298</id><published>2004-03-08T14:44:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-03-08T14:48:31.250-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm not sure this is entirely accurate.  But interesting, nonetheless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://images.quizilla.com/P/punkandbarbies/1077859378_yclothymic.jpg" border="0" alt="you have... cyclothymic disorder"&gt;&lt;br&gt;Â½Â›(0x8855730)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;a href="http://quizilla.com/users/punkandbarbies/quizzes/What%20type%20of%20Depression%20do%20you%20have%3F%20(MANY%20different%20outcomes)/"&gt; &lt;font size="-1"&gt;What type of Depression do you have? (MANY different outcomes)&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;BR&gt; &lt;font size="-3"&gt;brought to you by &lt;a href="http://quizilla.com"&gt;Quizilla&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107877868168415298?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107877868168415298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107877868168415298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107877868168415298' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107877496618778651</id><published>2004-03-08T13:32:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-03-08T13:45:51.936-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>things about middlebrook that annoy me (in no particular order):&lt;br /&gt;1) scary IT boys who walk really close to the wall in little steps&lt;br /&gt;2) the food&lt;br /&gt;3) the stupid bag lunch rules&lt;br /&gt;4) the music my neighbor plays (theme songs from disney movies)&lt;br /&gt;5) the annoying loud people on my floor&lt;br /&gt;6) the fact that i can't eat in the cyber cafe anymore&lt;br /&gt;7) my roommate's alarm&lt;br /&gt;8) my roommate's music&lt;br /&gt;9) the lack of windows in my room&lt;br /&gt;10) girls (and boys, sometimes) walking around in big furry slippers&lt;br /&gt;11) the lack of washers and dryers&lt;br /&gt;12) the lack of working washers and dryers&lt;br /&gt;13) not being able to make private phone calls&lt;br /&gt;14) not having anywhere to sit in private&lt;br /&gt;15) ok, lack of privacy in general&lt;br /&gt;16) making my bed (it's a bunk)&lt;br /&gt;17) the way my bed creaks when i get in or out&lt;br /&gt;18) the way my door creaks "  "&lt;br /&gt;19) the sharp evil sprinkler thing by my bed&lt;br /&gt;20) the heating system&lt;br /&gt;21) not having an oven&lt;br /&gt;22) not having a dishwasher&lt;br /&gt;23) not having a tub&lt;br /&gt;24) not having a grocery store nearby&lt;br /&gt;25) the prices at the c store&lt;br /&gt;26) meal times (not convenient)&lt;br /&gt;27) tiny closets&lt;br /&gt;28) ugly carpeting, wall and window treatments&lt;br /&gt;29) nowhere to keep a car&lt;br /&gt;30) no reception&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ok, i think that's about it for now.  i'll probably be adding to this periodically.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107877496618778651?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107877496618778651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107877496618778651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107877496618778651' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107838176211229793</id><published>2004-03-04T00:28:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-03-04T00:32:21.640-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>sigh.......&lt;br /&gt;so tired.&lt;br /&gt;so annoyed.&lt;br /&gt;want my own room.&lt;br /&gt;sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107838176211229793?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107838176211229793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107838176211229793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107838176211229793' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107836285128605588</id><published>2004-03-03T19:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-03-03T19:17:10.763-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>have you even asked me about my grandma?  no, not once, since saturday when i told you about it.  this is the kind of thing i'm talking about.  you just get so wrapped up in being mad that you don't think about the midterm i just took, or whatever else could be happening in someone else's life.  grr.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107836285128605588?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107836285128605588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107836285128605588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107836285128605588' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107836245566350276</id><published>2004-03-03T19:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-03-03T19:13:59.840-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>argh-where is my vogue????? it's march 3rd and still no march issue of vogue?  i'm beginning to wonder if someone stole it...maybe the mail delivery person.  &lt;br /&gt;adri is driving me up the wall....all we do is piss each other off or mess around cuz one of us is in the mood to.  it's not romantic anymore.  and all the niceities are gone.  there's no courtesy or politeness.  there's no love letters or sweetness.  it sucks.  we don't even work as friends anymore.   we just don't get along.  i don't like myself or him when we're together.  it's just bad and it's gotta change.  i think we should just work on being friends.  once we can start getting along again, the physical stuff could come back, and it would be better.  anyway, what do you think, adri?  (since you're reading this.)  you probably won't say anything.  you won't email me.  you won't send me a letter.  you'll never make me a mixed tape.  you'll never do any of that.  pooh.  see, i don't want anything that costs money.  i don't want you to buy me stuff.  i want you to care about me, to make me feel like i'm special to you and i'm worth it.  i want you to show that you're thinking of me.  let me reiterate: i don't want you to buy stuff.  i just want to feel like you truly care.  not this stuff where you do it just because you feel obligated or cuz you want to appease me or whatever, i don't know.  just true giving.  peaceful stuff.  like getting along.  like not getting irritated at every little thing.  make me feel like you don't need to get upset about stuff, because i'm there and all the other crap shouldn't matter.  i try to do that with you.  i confide in you but i don't dump stuff on you that has nothing to do with you.  &lt;br /&gt;sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107836245566350276?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107836245566350276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107836245566350276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107836245566350276' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107820517498985931</id><published>2004-03-01T23:24:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-03-01T23:32:12.170-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>OK, so i know i'm stalling.  I have a midterm tomorrow and a little talk to give about my topic for my paper in sociology (single sex education).  i just am so sick of thinking about it that i just want to get it over with.  i wish i could just take it all now.  i'm not really prepared for my picasso midterm, but argh i'm just so tiiiiiiired of all of it.  i haven't even done that much studying, i just, i don't know.  i'm just so sick of school!  i have no motivation.  sigh.  spring break can't be here fast enough if you ask me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107820517498985931?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107820517498985931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107820517498985931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107820517498985931' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107801340351787934</id><published>2004-02-28T18:01:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-28T18:12:57.450-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I wish i could be going to Arizona with my dad.  I would, but I really can't miss any more school.  I feel really bad about it.  &lt;br /&gt;I wish Adri had a blog.  I feel like he's just privvy to all these thoughts I write down and I don't get any feedback.  I know he reads them, but there's never any response, you know?  It's like this one-sided conversation.  I never know what he's feeling.  &lt;br /&gt;I just can't make myself study.  I wanted to go over to Adri's and talk about my grandma and maybe play their keyboards for awhile, but Adri just made me feel stupid for even calling.  He didn't really say anything about my grandma other than something to the effect of "that stuff happens".  He asked if he could do anything, and I don't know what he could've done, except say something to make me feel comforted.  He didn't invite me over and when I asked if I could come see him, he acted like he couldn't understand why I would want to.  He's my best friend, and of course if my heart hurts I'm going to want to be with him.  I just feel really upset and sad and I feel like I have no one to go to.  I tell him I can't really tell what he's thinking and he just kinda laughs...i mean, if you don't want me to come over, say so, but don't let me come over if you don't want me.  That'll just make me feel worse.  Man, if his grandma were dying I would not act like this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107801340351787934?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107801340351787934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107801340351787934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107801340351787934' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107801138474180039</id><published>2004-02-28T17:30:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-28T17:39:18.403-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>sigh...well i went home today, and i had been home for hardly an hour when my aunt calls and says that my grandma (on my dad's side) isn't doing very well...various phone calls ensue and my mom says that she probably won't make it.  i ask how long they expect and she says 24 hours...my dad is up north at this point, by himself since tommy's at spanish camp and my mom asks if he wants her to book him a flight.  he does, and she books him one for tonight.  he packs up his stuff, drives three hours back home, has a cigar on the way, and now, he's about to leave for the airport.  his sister and her daughter, my only cousin on that side, are flying at 5:30 tomorrow morning.  my dad will probably stay there a few days, probably until the funeral's over.  it's all so sudden.  i feel overwhelmed, alone, sad, regretful, upset...i wish i had known her better, but doesn't everyone say that?  i always wished i had known more about her.  she came from czechloslovakia when she was three.  i'd like to have known more about that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107801138474180039?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107801138474180039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107801138474180039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107801138474180039' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107798714314852360</id><published>2004-02-28T10:51:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-28T10:55:16.840-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>what kind of "friend" leaves another friend to sit alone and cry by themselves while they go read the newspaper in another room?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107798714314852360?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107798714314852360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107798714314852360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107798714314852360' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107773192987422843</id><published>2004-02-25T11:49:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-25T12:02:17.093-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh&lt;br /&gt;this does not feel like a fun journal today.&lt;br /&gt;sigh.&lt;br /&gt;i broke up with adri last night.  it was weird.  no one cried.  there was no pleading (at least in the usual sense).  no grabbing my arm and refusing to let go.  no insisting on sleeping on my floor and following me to class.&lt;br /&gt;which didn't make it any less hard, unfortunately.&lt;br /&gt;cuz when he reacts all psycho like that it reinforces the sentiment that i'm doing the right thing.&lt;br /&gt;now, i know i'm doing the right thing but it's just so painful.  god, i want it to work, so badly.  but it just doesn't.  i don't know why, but it just does not improve.  sometimes i think, maybe it has, but then i force myself to take an honest look at it, at our fights, my tears, the things i have sacrificed, and i think, this is unneccessarily bad.  &lt;br /&gt;of course i'll miss being romantic with him.  but those things aren't enough to cover up the times when i feel unsupported and uncared for.  it may temporarily make things better, but it isn't going to hide the fact that i get yelled at if i want to hang out with someone else, if even for a few hours.  even if he's at work. (!)&lt;br /&gt;also, i need to find my own friends, and it has to be done without him.  i'm not strong enough to fight against him and find friends at the same time.  and i don't want to be in a relationship where i'm afraid to leave because i have nothing else.  that was my mistake.  before i can date him, i need to have friends to feel solid enough.  he has an established community, i do not.  &lt;br /&gt;sigh.&lt;br /&gt;i want to cry.  i care about him so much.  i want to go back to him but i know i know i know i have to be strong and not.  i know this is right but it's so hard.  so hard.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107773192987422843?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107773192987422843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107773192987422843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107773192987422843' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107756103565517247</id><published>2004-02-23T12:23:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-23T12:34:32.326-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ay, I have a big sociology midterm tomorrow and my professor is SUPER vague about it.  He's like, well, look over the bold words...and it'll be an essay test...probably writing on one thing...i'm not really sure how i'm supposed to organize the bold words into themes of sociology to write on...i mean, i can memorize terms but i don't feel like that's effective for essays, which is more about ideas and theories.  i suppose it's also helpful to have the right vocabulary to write the thing, but i don't know, i just feel sort of lost with it...&lt;br /&gt;I'm still pretty upset with Adri.  I don't know why he can't just mellow out.  It's not fair that he has this huge thing every time I want to do something, but it's all cool if he goes and plays guitar for a couple hours a few floors up and waltzes in at 1:20 in the morning before he goes home.  And it's all cool if he hangs out with freshman girls in their rooms and talks to them about sex and they call him after midnight.  But heaven forbid I should do anything without a) telling him in advance, b)reminding him periodically so he doesn't forget, c)reassure him that I'm not trying to meet guys or get drunk or avoid him or ditch him and that I'll d)hang out with him before and afterward.  &lt;em&gt;Man&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107756103565517247?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107756103565517247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107756103565517247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107756103565517247' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107751760984933869</id><published>2004-02-23T00:21:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-23T00:29:35.653-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>it's not that i miss being single, because i like having a boyfriend.  but i do miss being able to do what i want without having someone tell me that it's wrong...i don't feel like i can eat the way i want or talk to certain people or go certain places without getting the third degree.  it's really frustrating.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107751760984933869?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107751760984933869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107751760984933869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107751760984933869' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107748407165529807</id><published>2004-02-22T14:59:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-22T15:10:37.186-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>man, it feels like forever since i've written in this.  let's see, what's new?  i saw the vagina monologues last night at mac with adri.  it was so good!  i would recommend it to anyone.  things with adri are going considerably better...he still drives me nuts sometimes cuz i feel like i'm always suggesting things and he just like slams my ideas.  and i still have this problem with the balance between him and friends.  it's not so much that he doesn't want me to have friends...the problem is that he likes doing things that don't include other people...hmm.  and while i could go to these things to meet people without him, i would rather not, since i'm kinda shy in situations like that and it would be nice to have someone i know to talk to every so often.  also, parties and stuff where there's a lot of people i don't know are kind of taxing, mentally, for me, and take a lot of energy, and most of the time i feel like wimping out and doing something with adri instead.  not that doing stuff with adri isn't fun, cuz it is, but you know what i mean.  i feel like i should be pressuring myself to get out and meet people more instead of relying on him for my fun.  sigh, it's so hard.  cuz i want to meet people but it's so haaaard...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;man, these next two weeks are going to be hell.  i have soooo many tests/midterms.  plus i have to give a 10 minute speech, which makes me sick to even think about.  sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i do not feel like doing homework right now.  i want to hang out with adri.  bad.  bad.  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107748407165529807?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107748407165529807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107748407165529807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107748407165529807' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107712714371086862</id><published>2004-02-18T11:57:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-18T12:09:24.483-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>how i wish i looked (if i were a man):&lt;a href="http://www.mndance.org/gallery/image_1-2004.php"&gt;click here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107712714371086862?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107712714371086862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107712714371086862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107712714371086862' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107712686802706126</id><published>2004-02-18T11:53:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-18T11:58:15.390-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>well, i didn't go to my appointment with "Matt" this morning.  why?  i was tired, i was afraid, i was nervous, i didn't know if i should still go, etc etc.  i know i should have called to say i wasn't coming, but i was afraid.  i don't know why.  i called adri cuz i guess i thought that he didn't want me to go and so i called him to tell him i wasn't going, maybe so he'd talk me into going, or something, i don't know.   i just felt really confused.  and still do i guess.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107712686802706126?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107712686802706126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107712686802706126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107712686802706126' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107706643128784682</id><published>2004-02-17T18:56:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-17T19:09:50.200-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So I have this appointment with this guy Matt tomorrow morning.  I made the appointment last week cuz I was feeling scared because Adri and I talked about breaking up so he proceeded to sleep on my floor (cuz he refused to leave) and then followed me to american studies, sat with me, followed me to ballet, and came over after ballet.  i didn't want it to end up like the way it was when i got back from mexico, so i made an appointment in hopes that someone could tell me what to do and how to avoid this stuff.  now, adri's acting normal.  so i'm wondering, do i need to go to this thing?  adri says things are different, but how do i know that?  does he even know that?  maybe i should go (adri concurs), if not to see what this guy thinks about the whole thing.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107706643128784682?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107706643128784682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107706643128784682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107706643128784682' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-10768990436540486</id><published>2004-02-15T20:26:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-15T20:39:59.640-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Well, it's the day after Valentine's Day, and it was actually a pretty good day.  I woke early (for a Saturday), went to class, went shopping with my mom, stopped by Ana's to deliver a Valentine and say hi, and then I went to Romeo and Juliet with Adri.  He gave me a dozen roses, which was sweet :) .  I bought him a little book of Shakespeare passages on love, appropriate, now that I think of it, since we saw Romeo and Juliet.  Although we saw the ballet, not the play, but it was based on the play...anyway, it was nice.  We went to Annie's afterward and I had a really yummy BLT (it's hard to get a BLT just the way I like it) and Adri got his regular veggie burger.  And we split an oreo malt...mmm.  It ended on a good note (for once!) so I felt good going home.  &lt;br /&gt;Today I woke up and went to class again...it was kind of a bad class.  Pointe was ok, except I reopened my blister on my third toe, and got a new one, and ruptured it, on my fourth.  Bad.  So I'm not sure how that's going to be for the audition tomorrow but we'll see. &lt;br /&gt;I also saw The Company with my mom.  I was actually impressed by Neve Campbell.  I didn't know if she'd be able to hold her own.  It was utterly plotless, though.  I mean, I knew it would be, but I guess i didn't think it would be sooo much.  Anyhow, it was alright.  &lt;br /&gt;Ahhh the audition is tomorrow!  I look like a cow in my photograph that I have to bring.  I can't believe I'm actually so fat.  Sigh.  Well I'll give it a shot and it's no big deal if I don't get in.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-10768990436540486?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/10768990436540486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/10768990436540486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#10768990436540486' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107673541245073557</id><published>2004-02-13T23:05:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-13T23:12:46.043-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Sigh...I'm tired.  I need to make valentines before tomorrow, for my mom, dad, two brothers, and adri.  i was going to buy construction paper at target today but they were out!!!  so i don't know what i'm going to do now...i don't know why i do this with adri.  every time we hang out, i end up spending way longer than i intend to, and then i don't get stuff done.  and it's not like i'm spending quality time with him, cuz we're either arguing or trying to decide what to do.  i can never have normal conversations with him, except online.  even on the phone doesn't work.  i'm just really tired of trying to make it work.  especially when it seems so hopeless.  i just want to go to bed.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107673541245073557?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107673541245073557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107673541245073557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107673541245073557' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107645075891237947</id><published>2004-02-10T16:05:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-10T16:08:27.983-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>grr...i'm so annoyed.  why is everyone so annoying?  why is everyone so wishywashy?  ARGH&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107645075891237947?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107645075891237947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107645075891237947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107645075891237947' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107637950039542601</id><published>2004-02-09T20:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-09T20:20:48.153-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>another thing-&lt;br /&gt;I'm thinking of auditioning for the American Ballet Theatre Summer Intensive next Monday.  I don't have a shot really, and I'm too old, but god it'd be so great to get in.  I'm not really ready though-I haven't done pointe in awhile and that's part of the audition.  I'm going to kill myself.  Also-I'm supposed to bring a photo of myself in first arabesque and a teacher recommendation.  I don't have such a photo or recommendation.  Sigh...Maybe I should just skip it.  Why do I indulge in these fantasies?  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107637950039542601?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107637950039542601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107637950039542601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107637950039542601' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107637188018546392</id><published>2004-02-09T18:09:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-09T18:13:47.920-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>why am i so tired all the time?  man i really wish someone would buy my graduation dress cuz i really need the money...if i can just make it till march, then i can work for beth at twiggs and make some money.  i really wanna live with amanda this summer and next year, but how am i going to have enough money?  i neeeeeed monnneeyyyyy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107637188018546392?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107637188018546392'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107637188018546392'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107637188018546392' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107619127315009398</id><published>2004-02-07T15:58:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-07T16:05:34.653-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm really sick of all this waiting crap.  I'm tired of sitting at parties, waiting to go home.  I'm tired of waiting for mail to come.  I'm tired of waiting for people to return calls.  I'm tired of waiting for people who said they were coming right over.  Hours ago.  I'm tired of waiting for people to call.  I'm so tired.  Of all of it.  It's shitty and I hate it.  My life is wasting away, waiting for shit to happen.  And there's nothing I can do.  I'm stuck, cuz I don't have a &lt;A TITLE="Click for more information about car" STYLE="text-decoration: none; border-bottom: medium solid green;" HREF="http://search.targetwords.com/u.search?x=5977|1||||cars|AA1VDw"&gt;car&lt;/A&gt; and I don't have a cell phone.  This sucks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107619127315009398?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107619127315009398'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107619127315009398'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107619127315009398' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107602795652882170</id><published>2004-02-05T18:34:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-05T18:41:38.373-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>sigh...i really don't like the feeling that i'm living in terms of someone else.  of course i love adri, but i don't like being thought of as just "adri's girfriend" and hanging out only when he's not doing something and feels like coming by, whenever that might be.  it's embarassing running into people all the time, and i'm always with him.  i never run into these people alone, although he does.  so i feel like they think all i do is just hang around him.  i don't know if this is making sense.   i just feel like i'm not projecting a very strong sense of being an individual to the world.  and partly it's because i don't have friends here at the U.  which i also don't like because it makes me depend on him, which is yucky.  when he calls me up to hang out, i want to have something that i'm busy with, but i don't.  it's so pathetic.  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107602795652882170?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107602795652882170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107602795652882170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107602795652882170' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107602367794402850</id><published>2004-02-05T16:44:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-05T17:30:19.890-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>another thing.  i dislike freshmen.  i know i was one once.  but i am just continually surprised by how obnoxious they can be.  that's all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107602367794402850?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107602367794402850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107602367794402850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107602367794402850' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107602099923453422</id><published>2004-02-05T16:41:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-05T16:45:40.936-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ugh...You know what I hate?  When you suggest something to someone, and you get a really ambiguous response.  Like, will you do this?  oh, i don't know.... or do you want to do this?  umm, maybe...  I HATE THAT.  I'm trying to plan out my time for this person, trying to accommodate them and see what works best for them and when, and I just get no response.  ARGH&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107602099923453422?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107602099923453422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107602099923453422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107602099923453422' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107595851543496841</id><published>2004-02-04T21:55:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-04T23:24:16.513-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So...I haven't really been very good about keeping up with this whole web journal log thing...but I'm going to from now on.  But then again, who's going to read this anyhow...?  Let's see...today I woke up, hit the snooze button once, twice, three times, and then I crawled out of my bunk and checked my mail.  I check it compulsively, I'm afraid.  Ask anyone.  So I get online, and the Star Tribune says it's 8 below, and I say, it's too cold to go to school :)  so i went back to sleep for a little while before getting back up an hour later for ballet.  &lt;br /&gt;why is this interesting to anyone?  sigh...&lt;br /&gt;so anyway, ballet was good.  tina gave me a correction last week about my tendus and it was one of those things that is really obvious once you get it, but really hard to get...if you know what i mean.  so i tried to incorporate her correction as much as possible but it's kinda hard to break those habits.  there was a guest in the class today, a young Czech guy named Stan.  He had a great body, perfectly muscled, and he had beautiful ballon.  very lovely.  he also had purple/lavendar ish tights...not so sure about those.  maybe it's a czech thing.  i couldn't do any kind of extensions in the center today.  i don't know what it was, i just couldn't get my legs up.  i think it's something about bonnie's class.  maybe cuz she doesn't do any developpes at the barre.  it's weird, cuz i feel like i get really warmed up in her classes, but i can't get my extensions going.  but it's better than in lirena's class, where i can't get any part of my body to move at all!  &lt;br /&gt;taylor's talking about filming our class...i've always wanted to photograph dancers, you know, go to a professional company and shoot some stuff, but our class isn't really professional level quite...i don't know that we'd be so great to film.  i don't think i'd care if someone were taping me, but other people might get nervous.  but i mean, it's a performing art, and you're performing in a way, during every class.  people are always watching you, so it doesn't make much difference to me.  and i've had people, like my high school teachers and my boyfriend, come and watch me take class before, and i think in the end, it's a good thing.  it makes you try harder :)&lt;br /&gt;this is so dumb.  what is the point of a web log?  who cares about this stream of consciousness stuff that i'm thinking?  sigh...&lt;br /&gt;well here's something interesting-&lt;br /&gt;i have no friends at the U (except Adri, of course ;) ), girls i mean, and it's really sad and depressing.  i'm not going to feel sorry for myself, cuz i know it's my fault, and i understand that.  it's just sort of pathetic.  man, it wouldn't be so bad, except that i feel like the only one of my friends that really hasn't been able to adjust, you know?  i feel like an immigrant or something who just can't seem to fully integrate into the new culture...ok that's a dumb analogy, but it worked for me.  i just don't really feel like a part of anything, like anything i did would mean anything to anyone.  i don't really feel a community here, it's just a bunch (well a lot more than that) of people, coming and going, doing their own thing and going their own ways.  no common threads, you know?  i don't feel like i share anything with anyone.  i have so much i want to give.  but i have no friends to give to.  and as much as i'm dying to make connections with people, it sort of terrifies me...&lt;br /&gt;but i guess that's how it is.  hmm.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107595851543496841?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107595851543496841'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107595851543496841'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107595851543496841' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6418315.post-107570155027010261</id><published>2004-02-01T23:58:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-02T00:01:27.483-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>this is my first ever online journal entry...yay!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6418315-107570155027010261?l=raspberre.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107570155027010261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6418315/posts/default/107570155027010261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://raspberre.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107570155027010261' title=''/><author><name>Laura</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10297130966936978931</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
