Today was my first day of class. I had one class today — Studio and Set, which is really just a lighting class. I forgot how exhausted I feel after being in class for five hours. I come back, plop in my chair, and binge eat.

I saw a lot of people today. And by a lot, I mean, like, four. The first: Vincent, who ambushed me. Talked at me for a literal hour. I went to school early — around noon — both to poop and to look at some of the artwork. Unfortunately, I did not get a chance to look at the gallery in the main lobby, because just as I was reading the gallery's didactic (or is it just a general description if it's for an entire gallery?) Vincent, who was sitting on the far end of the staircase, a few feet above me, spotted me from across the room and called me over, excitedly. Too excitedly. And he talked my ear off for the better part of an hour. About California, his future, his summer, internships, jealousy, toxic competitiveness, self-interest, etc. etc. I stood there willingly because I didn't have the heart to tell him to bugger off. But, more twistedly, it's almost fascinating how long he can blabber on without response from the (un)willing conversant. I swear to god, if I had an aneurysm right in the middle of a conversation with him, it would take him at least ten minutes of me not saying my usual "yeah"s and "uh-huh"s before he'd notice I'd collapsed to the floor and started bleeding from my ears. Even more fascinating is the light that goes out of his eyes when I start talking about myself. His irises turn grey as he looks into the distance, away from my face, thinking of how he can best insert his own interest into a conversation about my life. He succeeds, always.

Then, he walked me to class, but not before asking about my schedule and casually mentioning that he and I should "get coffee sometime." What do people do over coffee? One-on-one conversastions over coffee are frequently disastrous. My limbs, pumped ecstatically with caffeine-laden blood, twitch uncontrollably, and I — partially unable, partially unwilling to pull back — joke about inappropriate things, like Hitler or pedophiles (what other humor is there in life?), and my consciousness is ripped in two, half of me regretting every single uttered syllable, and the other half egging on my brash filterlessness, as if it were a bystander to the catastrophic train wreck that is my remarkably quotidian life.

But after that was class. I like my teacher — he makes jokes and seems technically knowledgeable. I guess this semester I'll be doing a lot of photography.

We had a speaker during class who is a hotshot Hollywood editor and MCAD alum from '74. He talked about "the business" and almost shit-talked James Cameron. Jim, rather. There was one part of it, though, that made me deeply uncomfortable. He was talking about how it's important to work hard, etc., and he said that unlike those who failed, he was completely devoted to his work, utterly dedicated to the craft, and so much so that he mentioned missing birthdays, weddings, neices' and nephews' graduations...and on. That was sad.

But anyway. I saw Dylan and his ex-roommate (the cum blanket dude) before the lecture and chatted with them a bit. Same old, same old, which isn't bad, at all. I was so hungry I succumbed to consuming that foul temptress, cafeteria grilled cheese. I even got a side order of fries, because of chef-pressure (it's like peer pressure, but with a chef). I never get fries. I was planning on walking today — getting out and exercising a bit — but I can't find my headphones, couldn't find my phone charger, didn't want to, etc. I am hoping I will not be morbidly obese at the end of the semester, like I always am.

I also saw Bree, Tara, and Kelsey today. All pleasant conversations. I was telling Bree about my senior project, and how I want to make it a game, and she seemed very skeptical. Not impolitely, but I could tell she was wary, or at least worried for me. The only person I know who is excited at this prospect is Brian, who isn't really the obscenely supportive type but nevertheless seems to be quite gung-ho for this game that he knows nothing about apart from that fact that it's a game.

I, too, am worried. I spent a few hours last night (or this morning) drafting up a very rough outline for my game. There will really only be animation in two parts — beginning and end cutscenes — and the rest will be click-and-point, dialogue-driven adventuring. Kristen Solid is the animation teacher for my senior project class, which I'm super, super worried about, because she's much more practical and technical than artistic, and my game is very touchy-feely and experimental, and I'm worried she will try to push me to do something else. I hope, more than anything else, that I will be able to finish my project without too much input from confused bystanders. I want this to be my thing. My three-and-a-half-month-long opus, longer than anything I've ever made. It's a goodbye letter to college, a very personal thing.

After the lecture we watched part of an Orson Welles film. I really should watch "Citizen Kane," because from the little bits I saw today, Welles is OBVIOUSLY A GENIUS, and I sat immobile, rapt, for the entire opening sequence — a ten-minute longshot, diving up and down above buildings and cars, shifting focus between various characters, timing perfectly the arrival of the car and the walking couple — and feel so truly inspired by his camera movement, above anything else. Really, just astonishing. But I fell asleep, alas (went to bed at 4, woke up at 9:30, idk), drooling on my arm and hands, systematically losing sensation in each of my extremeties, struggling to maintain lucidity but seduced by sweet darkness.

Part of class today was a lecture on technical photography and lighting terms, like the law of reciprocity and depth of field and ISO, etc. I found it very difficult to hold in my head whatever fact or definition he listed. It's like there is a perpetual fog in my brain that I have to sift through to find a hard surface, lest I freely float in my uncontrolled id. But, seriously, I think I have a memory issue. I can't remember anything. I can remember small things, like what I did in a day, or what I ate or watched or read in a day, but I can't remember anything important, like what Gaston Bachelard is talking about in "Poetics of Space" or what "Bluets" was about or the definitions of any word. I don't remember names or facts, and I'm starting to lose track of memories — things that I did in high school that I have no recollection of. I hope I don't have early-onset Alzheimer's.

UPDATE: Ok. I just went and googled "memory problems." Most likely, I have ADHD or depression. Maybe both. This can account for all my problems in life. In fact, excepting these two issues (which I likely do not have but that is currently BESIDES THE POINT), I'm actually a consummate genius, a wunderkind, with a unique artistic voice and stunning storytelling ability and a very bright future.

After class I came back and haven't done anything since. The Internet is so slow, fuck everything. I'm trying to do research for my game — not sure what style to go with visually — but I'm struggling with the prospect of learning Unity, or some other program, and coding everything.

My goal is to complete. And if I've the time, finish Hubert Milford, that discarded magnum opus. It's raining now, I think, but it could also be the rustling of the trees. I'm sweating BUCKETS right now, DO YOU HEAR ME? BUCKETS!!!

I'm still going to try to finish a book a week this semester. It's fine. Everything's great.