It's spring break.

Yes.

I'm spending the week with my friend down in Myrtle Beach. It's nice down here. I spend most of the day inside because she's a senior and they don't have the same break as us, but it's pretty relaxing. It doesnt matter how much sleep I get at school, I'm still never rested fully. Here I can engage in uninhibited slumber and play dance dance revolution at the arcade while high. I wonder if I can talk about smoking weed online and get in trouble for it. I can vaguely remember someone telling me that I was never going to amount to anything and that I would spend the rest of my life working in Walmart scrounging enough money to feed my addiction. You know what my GPA was last semester? A 3.9. Go fuck yourself.

I'm also going to declare a major: psychology with a minor in neuroscience. I'm really excited to know what I want to do with my life even though I still really have no idea. I just know I'm interested in something and that I want to spend my life devoting myself to it. I realize it might change, that kids change their majors every three minutes, but after considering all other majors none has intrigued me such as this one has. When I tell people sometimes they're like, "Why?" like I'm too stupid or something to handle it. I can handle it. I was reluctant for awhile about this neuroscience because I thought maybe I wasn't smart enough for it. But I love it. This field is the only one that really strikes my fancy. I want to learn all there is to know about it, and if I love it then I can never be too stupid for it. I considered the play it safe English major, or a criminal justice major, but no, everytime I thought of pursuing those things my heart sank. When I think of psychology and neuroscience I get excited, so I'm going to do it.

My friend has a one year old nephew who makes me want to have kids but then never have them at all. Kids are so demanding. So needy. Always touching something they're not supposed to or walking around with snot dribbling out of their nose. Last night we went out to dinner and there was a family next to us. They were the kind of family who secretly all hate one another but put on this facade that they're all overjoyed and perfect and wonderful, but this couple was doing a bad acting job. They had this pudgy kid who kept telling his parents some useless story of what he did today in school while the parents lifelessly picked at their seafood. They looked absolutely miserable. If I had a grubby annoying kid I'd probably be miserable too. I never want some little rat for a child. I think I am too much of a selfish person for kids. I'm in a stage of my life where everything is about me. In a good way. I need to keep my grades up so I can get into this neuroscience program. I need to go to the gym so I look good in time for bathing suit season. Everyday I think about myself and sometimes other people. Not that I don't like people, because I love my friends and I love the prospect of making more. But people sometimes get in the way and you can't be nice to everyone. Sometimes you gotta be mean and you have to put yourself in front of others to keep yourself from getting hurt. I'm alluding to something here but I'm not going into it.

The last thing I've decided is that I'm never going to read Cosmopolitan again. I loathe this magazine. Always boasting some new way to know what your man is thinking and how you can have any man you want with three simple moves. Bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. Yet I read it like it's going out of style. I can't help myself, even though I realize each issue is going to contain some unrealistic method for becoming a steamy sultry goddess. I hate how they act like guys are this stupid, slovenly subhuman life form which women must tame and need respectable literature like Cosmopolitan to understand the secret language of men to avoid committing a social blunder. I read the articles about how to make your man happy, and if that's what it takes to have a boyfriend, I'm getting a dog. All this stuff you have to remember like to cook him breakfast in the morning after a night of hardcore sex, applying shimmery substances at just the right times, sending him steamy text messages, sporting scantily clad outfits but not too slutty because guys like mystery but just slutty enough to get his mind going, making the first move because a woman in control is hot but don't do it too much because that's intimidating, knowing which body parts to touch at the right time, knowing what his body language REALLY means and how the shape of his mouth determines the length of your relationship and how the tone of his voice dictates whether or not he's going to cheat. How am I supposed to remember all this shit? I think neuroscience is easier than this.