"Who are you?!"

That's what I feel like asking myself tonight. Instead I asked the bus driver that played a trick on me that drove me to tears. Wanna hear it? Here it goes...

Laura & I went to see 12th Night. It was good times, and I have seriously found the British equivalent to Tim Jones. He was the cutest thing ever (though Tim Jones is, of course, cuter by all accounts). But that's not the story at all. The story is that we were waiting out in the frickin' cold for a bus. When the right one finally comes, I step on, the first person, ready to hand over my pass and take my seat peacefully and efficiently (my only available service to the people behind me). I was already a little anxious because a bus driver wouldn't let me use my return pass this past Saturday because it was past midnight (it didn't matter that that's never been a problem for me before, of course). When I hand over my fare, the bus driver says, "The bus is full." The bus was not full... it only had 3 people in it. I looked at those three people, looked back at Laura who is giving me a completely blank stare, look back at the driver and say, "What?" To which he again states with total deadpan, "The bus is full." Eventually I get to sit in my seat, and that's only where the psychosis begins.

Somehow this prick bus driver who thought he was being funny had so shaken my fragile emotional state that I felt the need to cry. So I'm sitting there blubbering, and Spence is giving me no recompense. I think the words "Get over it" were used. Dash that, I know they were used -- "Get over it." Well, I wasn't about to get over it, and I leaned on Spencey tears streaming, at which point she wants to know what's wrong with me. The problem? I have no idea.

As anyone who knows me understands, I am staunchly anti-crying. I don't cry, and I don't get sick. Well, I've gotten sick 3 times in the last year and a half (and if the ache in my throat means anything, it might soon be 4). And I had a serious crying bout right before I left for England thanks to Kelly on American Idol.

I don't like crying because I can't "cry pretty". There isn't a single tear streaming down my cheek. I instantly transform into an unkempt, red-faced, green-eye basketcase. Then if I try to laugh it off or talk it out, I just sound like I'm wailing, which makes people more concerned. I don't like being the center of attention, and suddenly I am it in my most vulnerable state. There is nothing quite like crying to make you (or me, as it were) feel out of control.

I have no idea where it came from, but suddenly I seem to be out of control all over the charts. Stress is written across my face in the form of about 4 or 5 ostentatious pimples. I have 2 papers due in just over a week that I know will be for shit. I'm not going to be in a "settled" situation until February, and even then I'll be back at Middlebury where suicidal thoughts and a soul-less sensation are handed out with every purchase of $50 of books or more.

Nothin' like a good cry to slap you back into reality off of a high, eh? Right now I'm cowering in front of a flashing neon that says, "Your life is not falling into place. Get over yourself. You are not on top of it. Don't expect to be."

I'm sure I'll be happier tomorrow. Don't call me or e-mail me about my problems because I won't have any answers for you. I still don't know why I cried tonight... but thanks for "listening".