shall i be honest? i shall. nearly bawled my eyes out during cri. tearingly exhausted. flawed scheme and knowing it. the bigs one probably thinking i was shallow and stupid with one aspect of my idea. she looked like a fool with her silence and intense unresponsive looks - you can't comprehend what we are saying? says them. she was just tired, and afraid, and overwhelmed and knew she had to reevaluate her scheme from the base and she knew it was all crap. being seen as a shallow fool is a hundred times worse than having people hate you. to cry during crit? what a loser. but of cos i had to just let it out a bit - the tears were already up to my neck what could i do? so i went to get coffee from the canteen and sob a little, which always feels good after. after the nightmarish fifteen minutes she came back and sat down scribbling and sketching; the other crits were beneficial. i could move on, thinks she. there is a lot of fear it's almost physical. hardwork and passion must be there. i want F's praises and i have to work doubly hard because i'm not a genius. i don't like literal passages. this has been quite confessional. what a grotesqueness. why am i even writing this? grotesqueness to the core. i hate the periods when i hate myself. these bouts can kill.

late night dinner and talk with the grouplet was good; never have i had such fun with a grouplet. why do i always have the nagging doubt that fun can only be justified with good grades?

will be writing my assignment on e. panofsky's iconology text, submitting it in school then meeting the trumpeter. i look foward to that - i think you are what get me up from my downs; after all i need someone to chastise me at times and someone to just be there to hug me. there is a lot one can get from just one hug.

woke up too late to go running (the eight o clock poisonous sun) and swimming, which i might do tomorrow at dawn. not getting physical is detrimental to the mind.