Welp, my Thanksgiving was nothing worth mentioning. I had to make a list of things I'm thankful for in my Genre Studies class, which is a rather basic, childish assignment, but it did me some good to think about what I normally take for granted. I'm thankful that I've never experienced true hunger in my life, more than anything else. I always try really hard not to be materialistic. I succeed most of the time.
Not much to report here. My first appointment with my therapist since June is four days away and I couldn't be more excited. Can't wait to ramble incessantly.
Oh! I got my acceptance letter from my top college. They're giving me 13,000 dollars a year in scholarships. My mom is disappointed about that number. She thought I would get more. I think it's pretty good, but we have nothing to compare it to. My parents are so worried about the expense, but I couldn't care less. They're not going to help very much at all, I'll have to pay a lot of student loans, but I'm certain it'll all be worth it. I know I'll thrive at this college. It was practically established for me.
I am so stoked about Soundgarden's first album in fifteen years. They're a 90's grunge band, in case you didn't know. You've probably never heard of them (hipster Jenna is hipster). They're one of my top five favorite bands. I'm trying to convince my dad to take me to see them in Chicago in January.
I think I have antisocial personality disorder. Every time I go out in public everyone just irritates the shit out of me. I really don't like people. At all. I have no desire to be around them. At least most of them.
This four-day Thanksgiving weekend has been a total waste of time. I haven't seen any of my friends or accomplished anything I said I was going to accomplish. I was going to get a shit load of reading done, get back on track with my poetry, and catch up on my AP Lit book, Jane Eyre. I've just been watching Pawn Stars and eating chocolate and peanut butter ice cream. I only watch Pawn Stars to learn historical trivia. Can't stand anything else about it.
By the way, Jane Eyre is an atrocious book. I hate post-romantic, Gothic literature. The Bronte sisters are awful. I love classics. I eat Vonnegut, Bradbury, and Orwell for breakfast. Just not the Bronte sisters. Wuthering Heights was whiny, melodramatic garbage. So is Jane Eyre. I'm one hundred pages into it and I just wanna give up on it. Kate Chopin's The Awakening was good though. Because the main character wasn't a whiny, woe-is-me bitch.
This rant on feminist literature reminds me: for our feminism unit in AP Lit, we had to write an essay on feminism. The topic was so broad that I really struggled with it. Feminism is a pretty expansive topic. But I dished out something I think I'll post on here tomorrow.