I don't remember whether I'm wearing a tampon or not. I really hope I am.

I decided that I'm sick of only blogging when something is really bothering me. Um. Yeah. I've had coffee today. It's easy to think but difficult to write, as it is when caffeinated, at least for me. I officially have a guilty pleasure, something that I don't particularly think is bad but other people might. Nothing dirty. I don't know why having things like that brings me some sort of joy, it doesn't make any sense. Like I get happy when I do things everyone else does, but. I don't know. Now that I'm here and trying to write about happy things instead of just think about them, the urge is to bring everything back to something sad, or weird, or whatever.

So I change the subject.

I had my admission interview at Marylhurst this morning on two hours of sleep, one cup of coffee, and two pieces of toast. I was doing okay until the scenic part of the bus ride came along, and then part of me tried to panic about it. But then I reminded myself that if what the admissions advisor said was true, this was nothing more than a formality and I really didn't have anything to worry about. Also, I'm getting used to the idea that I'm likable and well-spoken, and as long as I don't give into the urge to panic, I can pretty much accomplish anything I want. It's hard not to feel like I'm being arrogant when I say nice things about myself, but that's slowly fading away as well. I dressed well for the occasion, meaning of course that I looked like a total tool. I'm not used to owning suits made for my gender and jackets that I'm not supposed to sew things on to. It's uncomfortable. I started my period yesterday and was unknowingly very bloated when I tried on the pants I got, so they're a little big. The jacket I wore, a lovely shade of green, is a little too small. One of the slip-on brown leather shoes, while nice, gave me a limp in my left foot because the way the leather bends digs into the joint of my big toe. So yeah. I changed into jeans and my beat up sneakers the moment I returned to my room.

Anyway, the interview. One of the women seemed a little nervous, but she was also nice. (It strikes me as odd that everyone I've spoken to on that campus has been nothing but polite and helpful. I'm used to at least one life-hating grumpy butthook getting in the way, and it's almost creepy how there doesn't seem to be any.) On the way up the stairs to the conference room where the interview would take place, she asked me if Redge was short for Regina. I said no, it was for Reginald, and assured her that LOTS of people thought my name was Regina. We then spent a few minutes discussing what other names Redge could stand for. We agreed that Registration McGee is an awesome name. So they asked me questions, I answered honestly. Cramps had me bent at the waist, but the moment I noticed my shoulders slouching, I straightened my back as secretly as I could. (Old job interview paranoia. I doubt they noticed or would have cared.) At the end, they assured me that besides formalities, I was pretty much in. One more signature and a phone call and it will be complete. There are two classes I already have in mind for summer term: An intro to astronomy class, focusing primarily on red dwarfs, white dwarfs, and cannibal galaxies. The other is a screenwriting class, though I'm not entirely sure on that one. I'd like to give screenwriting more of a try before I let someone show me how to do it.

It all started with an acid trip. But more on that later.