I should be studying, but I've got that black magical combination of stress and a hormonal surge that leaves me with the choice of either chewing my skin off or writing.
Which choice would be more satisfying? Sometimes it's a tossup. But my commitments oblige me to choose the latter. Lucky you.
Dammit. I had my feelings surgically removed when I was in college and they just keep growing back. They don't help at times like this. They tangle and I go tripping through them. I keep in mind that they arise from chemical reactions, atoms stealing electrons and taking up with the wrong sort of molecules. They are out of sync with reality, totally overblown. There is no greater reason or purpose. Everything boils down to chemicals following their fractal paths. If I just take a little more vitamin B and lie down in a dark room, all will be well.
And it is. I take my own advice for once and the impending migraine – heralded by that ridiculous sensory overload – is averted. I go to class migraine-free.
At the end of class, I stay after to ask my instructor a question about membrane regeneration in the rough endoplasmic reticulum of a cell. She says it's a matter of chemical reactions, lipids attracting lipids. I ask her if it is directed by an organelle, or if these lipids are free-floating, random. She tells me there is no 'cell brain' to direct it, that it is all chemical reactions, that you could go so far as to say that our emotions themselves are simply a sum of our cellular chemical reactions, that self-direction is possibly an illusion.
Then she almost apologizes, and wonders what took her in that direction.
I just smile and thank her, tell her she's clarified a few things.
I can't wait to take physics.