  Forever revising. But I think that's the good, solid feeling that comes from the writing process. Maybe the thing I want most now isn't company, and it takes something jarring to realize that. I can't explain my quiet moods, but they come. And all I want to do is sit up in my room and listen to music and do homework or write or something, at least. Or I will keep mental journals in my head as I go along, like thinking of things while brushing my teeth, walking the halls at Los Robles. It's always noise. I've stopped using it as an apostrophe, thank goodness. And the paradox is that whenever I'm physically alone, it's not an acute sensation because I'm always doing something else, something comforting or at least analytical (like sitting on the Yolobus to Davis, watching the black guy use my cell phone).
And when I'm with people, I start to feel empty. Maybe that's the joy of instant messaging. You can shut people off whenever you want. You don't have to be there physically to see facial expressions, to read body language. And everything's malleable, and written out. Planned, if you want it to be. Spontaneous if you're in a chatty mood. So after little thought and even less experience, it probably wasn't the best night for a study session. That's another thing: it's hard to isolate what exactly it is that I want when everything else is also going on inside my head. But maybe I'm also elevating this thinking, this confusion, to a higher level--somewhere it's not supposed to be.
It could be very possible that everyone else just goes through the same experiences, the same thought processes, and it just happens that I dwell too much on them. So where is all this introspective going to take me? No doubt, it's just copious observations. I've never thought much about harnessing all this strange energy, and I can rarely write well on command. Watching people coming and going. Wondering, and knowing that some things are just not for me.
Funny enough, you just learn to let that go. And it's not even like it requires some intense meditation or resignation or self-deprecation, either. I almost like it. It's that fly-on-the-wall feeling, and even better since you know more context than if you were stuffed in a random room with random people. I like hearing people just talk and not knowing that I'm there. Hm, all the locks got cut off at school. And one of the first things I think of after Nige tells me is ah, that'd make a good story for the paper. I am warped. Send in the clowns. 
