over and over and over again

oops i fell.

I've reverted back to the melodramatic mood swings of high school. How lame. I blame it on being at home, where I don't really do anything besides go to church on the weekend, shop a lot, watch t.v., and do a million family activities. Not that it's bad, it just causes my mindset to become static. And once I'm feeling static, I think too much and it's pretty ridiculous what I can come up with. Maybe it's PMS. Sorry was that gross?

A really terrible thing about this weird restless mood is that I'm getting mad at people about nothing. Literally- nothing. And I don't tell them. Well there's nothing to say if there's nothing to be mad at. I also feel pretty unhappy- even though I'm not. How can you feel an emotion when you're really not? Maybe I'm bored. I'm just in a pissy mood. Horrible. I really think and hope this is PMS, even though it's no real justification for being stupid and pissy.

I went to New York yesterday and finally got back to reading "The Screwtape Letters" by C.S. Lewis on the train ride back home. It's written as a series of letters sent by an official of hell, Screwtape, addressed to his nephew Wormwood of how to fight the 'Enemy' in attaining the souls of people on Earth. This chapter was .. good. Here are some chunks:

'My dear Wormwood,
...
Men are not angered by mere misfortune but by misfortune conceived as injury. And the sense of injury depends on the feeling that a legitimate claim has been denied. The more claims on life, therefore, that your patient can be induced to make, the more often he will feel injured and, as a result, ill-tempered. Now you will have noticed that nothing throws him into a passion so easily as to find a tract of time which he reckoned on having at his own disposal unexpectedly taken from him. It is the unexpected visitor (when he looked forward to a quiet evening), or the friend's talkative wife (turning up when he looked forward to a tete-a-tete with the friend), that throw him out of gear. Now he is not yet so uncharitable or slothful that these small demands on his courtesy are in themselves too much for it. They anger him because he regards his time as his own and feels that it is being stolen. You must therefore zealously guard in his mind the curious assumption 'My time is my own'. Let him have the feeling that he starts each day as the lawful possessor of twenty-four hours... But what he must never be permitted to doubt is that the total from which these deductions have been made was, in some mysterious sense, his own personal birthright.

You have here a delicate task. The assumption which you want him to go on making is so absurd that, if once it is questioned, even we cannot find a shred of argument in tis defence. The man can neither make, nor retain, one moment of time; it all comes to him by pure gift; he might as well regard the sun and moon as his chattels. He is also, in theory, committed to a total service of the Enemy; and if the Enemy appeared to him in bodily form and demanded that total service for even a day, he would not refuse. He would be greatly relieved if that one day involved nothing harder than listening to the conversation of a foolish woman; and he would be relieved almost to the pitch of disappointment if for one half-hour in that day the Enemy said 'Now you may go and amuse yourself'. Now if he thinks about his assumption for a moment, even he is bound to realise that he is actually in this situation every day. When I speak of preserving this assumption in his mind, therefore, the last thing I mean you to do is furnish him with arguments in its defence. There aren't any. Your task is purely negative. Don't let his thoughts come anywhere near it. Wrap a darkness about it, and in the center of that darkness let his sense of ownership-in-Time lie silent, uninspected, and operative.'

What I desire to do and be are so vastly different from what I do and am now. I can't wait to get things rolling. But I don't know what those things are. Wow I'm really emotional. It must be PMS.