Go red go red, laugh white.

Points if you know where that quote is from. Triple points if you can tell me why I should care.

And now I'm going to spoil the game. Wait. No I'm not. I'll wait for tomorrow, after I've sat through yet another discussion that leaves me clenching my teeth, and then present my tirade in all its rabid glory. It's fun to be passionate.

That set aside, what to write about tonight? I just spent the evening in the most decadent fashion: watching Twelfth Night with a handful of people whose company I actually enjoy. Granted, some did feel the need to speak over the best lines, but this is to be expected of eccentric intellectuals, or whatever they preferred to be called. I think the strongest aspect of this interpretation of the play is the sympathy shown in the portrayal of the low-brow comedic portion. You feel, or at least I feel, so much more for Malvolio and poor poor Sir Andrew. I tend to get frustrated with Viola/Cesario, Olivia, and Orsino. But the key to all things wonderful is Feste. . . Ben Kingsley is brilliant and he does the songs brilliantly.

And after spending a graph on that, I realize I don't want to write about that. I want to write about my anti-therapy session today. Or at least part of it. But I must away to roommate prayer.

*break for roommate prayer*

So today was one of those days where I didn't think I had anything to say during my counseling session, but I started talking anyway and of course you find out that there are still things wrong with you, and today I found out that my way of coping with my current situation may not be healthy or the right perspective. Which I didn't have to be told and which I didn't want to be told today. I was saying that after surviving a run-in with the seven-year-crush, I realized that who I am comes before who I will marry, at least right now. And who I am is important enough to me that at this point I'm not going to change for any guy, seven year crush or not. I should have just stopped there, but I rambled my way into confessing one of my greatest fears. It's big enough that I'm not going to attempt to include it in this blog post, because it's too big and because I don't want to tell the world yet. Which is odd. I tell you, my reader, everything. Or at least a large, somewhat biased portion of everything. That fear, however, convoluted every healthy statement I'd made, every conclusion I'd come to, leaving me here, still alone and still scared. But wondering if there is a right answer.

Good night.