Story #1

I keep putting off writing entries until I have more time... which probably won't be for a while. So I have decided to write more frequent mini entries, so writing about what happened to me wouldn't be such a colossal task.

So the most obvious question: How did I get my hands on a gun?

No, I didn't go buy it. No, I didn't steal it. Here is what happened.

When my brother died last year, I went to his apartment before my parents got there. I went through his stuff, mostly to clear his drug paraphenalia(because as upset as my parents were over his death, to have to get rid of drugs and various related accoutrements would have been just shitty for my parents). I flushed all the weed down the toilet, threw away all the bongs and rolling papers. And then I came across his handgun under his bed, with a case of bullets and adjacent to a box of condoms.

I don't know what possessed me to do what I did next: I packed it in a box and shipped it back to Boston for myself. Why the fuck I would do that, I still do not understand fully. It was just instinctive, because I knew I didn't want my parents to see it, but I didn't want to throw it away, either. I wanted to keep it, because something inside me told me that I would never have this easy access to a gun ever again. So I went to Kinko's, bought a box and some bubble paper, and packed it and shipped it overnight to my apartment. So those of you wondering if you can ship a gun and some bullets via FedEx: why, yes. you can.

And that's how I got my hands on a gun.

Quick update

I've been putting off writing an entry so that I could write one that properly reflects the changes I think I've made in my life. I think about it when I'm running, when I'm studying, when I lie awake at night.

I'm leaving my PhD program. I haven't officially told my department yet, but considering that I've not lifted a finger in doing anything department-related-- I think they have a clue. I'm taking my MCAT(medical college admissions test)and I'm sending in applications soon thereafter. I'm up to my ears in organic chemistry and physics.

Another change: I'm talking to my parents again. I have to tell that story when I have more time-- but suffice it to say that when shit hits the fan, the only ones you can really count on are your family. Forget apparent friends and affectionate acquaintances-- they don't really count. I found out when I had another breakdown last week.

I turned down a proposal from a guy I would have given my right boob for even just a few months ago. It wasn't as exceedingly hard as I thought it would be. I still haven't told anyone about my lame suicide episode. I'll also need more time to tell THAT story soon.

I was dragged to the stupid Sex and the City movie-- and I hated every.damn.minute. of it. OMG. It was torture for my brain. And the fact that it was 2.5 hours long--!! I spotted a few pussy-whipped dudes in the audience, but I think I was the only female not squealing and yelling when Carrie was abandoned. I have so many bones to pick with this show... but how stupid, STUPID is it that she keeps calling him "Big"? Ugh. I fucking hated the show, hate the characters, and very much hated the movie.

Oh, and someone got me a dog. I named her Mischa and just the thought of no one else being able to take care of her-- it keeps me from shooting my brains out. Haha. Just kidding. Well, sort of. I don't have that gun anymore anyway. '

I'll write more when I have more time. But it's not all bad now. Things are slowly looking up.