These are perhaps my favorite lyrics of all time.  They're nonsensical because they were written by a man at the brink of insanity, a man by the name of Syd Barrett.  This is the last line of the last song on the last album that he served as the frontman for Pink Floyd, the track being "Jugband Blues" on the album "A Saucerful of Secrets."  I usually reflect upon this line every time I find myself becoming overly stressed with my own life.  I figure that if I think about these lyrics and believe that I understand their meaning, then I must have gone insane too.

These lyrics mean nothing.  I must be okay for now.

It's hard to reconcile oneself to remaining calm when so much disturbs the peace and sanctity of one's mind in one fell swoop.  You see, my grandfather was recently rushed to the hospital.  He is already suffering from advanced stages of Alzheimer's Disease, but now he has fallen and broken his hip.  They're keeping him in a state of sedation, but they cannot perform surgery due to various health risks given his already weak condition.  That hospital bed may possible turn out to be his death bed, yet I cannot visit him until Saturday.  In seven hours, I have a phone interview, followed by an in person interview at 11:15.  Then I have a midterm at 1:30, two, hours of work, and then another midterm at 5:30.  Tomorrow, I have a midterm at 10:00, and then I have to rush to put together a few written assignments that count as a fourth midterm by 2:30.  In the meanwhile, I also have to send in a few more job applications for postings that are coming due, and I need to send a few e-mails to people that are simply more important than I am that require acknowledgment for random things.  Friday, I have work 8:30 - 5:30.

None of this is more important than my grandfather.  Yet, it scares the heck out of me that his untimely passing could actually negatively impact my academics and job search.  I hate being admittedly selfish, but it's the sad truth.  So I sit here, loathing myself as I shove half a box of cereal down my throat and force myself through endless pages of a book on a topic I could care less about.  A million thoughts cross paths, each reflecting on something I despise.  I hate that my college education requires me to study courses that I'm uninterested in.  I hate that I'm over-eating.  I hate that I have no time to sleep anymore.  I hate my internship.  I hate the fact that I'm a senior in college and have less time for fun than others.  I hate that I don't have a lot of money.  I hate that I'm selfish and materialistic.  I hate that I can not be with my grandfather in the hospital right now.  I hate the terrifyingly-real possibility that I will not have the chance to tell him goodbye.

I hate that everything I'm thinking about requires attention, yet completely distracts me from the task at hand. 

A friend of mine left me an instant message before she went to sleep.  It said, "Hi.  i love you <3.  just wanted to say goodnight. :D"  This girl is a good friend, and she is currently having intimate relations with my housemate.  I've always thought that they were going to end up together, as they do make quite a nice couple.  This leads me to believe that this was either spurred because of either alcohol or boredom.  Either way, it was obviously a statement coming from a girl that is a friend, with no real emotion attached.  It was sweet to see, and that made me happy.  Then, I remembered how long it has been since a girl expressed that sentiment towards me in an emotional way.  Hell, it's been awhile since my parents even called just to say hi, more so because there's usually an issue necessary for conveyance with each phone call.  Either way, I didn't answer my friend, and my disdain towards my lack of a love interest got thrown in with the rest of my petty concerns.

The startling thing, though, is that all of the less meaningful problems will be passed in 48 hours.  Then a new set of problems will arise and disappear in a flurry of time until I find myself on my own hospital bed.  I wonder what my grandfather is thinking about right now.  Does he dream in his induced sleep?  Can he remember who I am despite the disease that infiltrates his memory?

This entire entry has been disjointed rambling, and I am thoroughly unsatisfied with it.  On that note, I am giving up on this lost cause of studying.  Perhaps I will discover a dream in my sleep, because surely the ensuing day will be a joke in retrospect.

It's a question we all ask ourselves at some point.  The proud say yes, the self-conscious say no, but that question always finds a way of sneaking into the forefront of our minds when we take that split-second glance into a mirror.

The back story reads as follows: Today, a girl that I have never met before left a comment on a Facebook picture containing myself, my roommate, and a mutual female friend (whose photo it was).  The girl simply said, "The stud to the left? ;)" which was in reference to my roommate.  This same roommate is also hooking up with a girl that I've had a silent crush on for awhile.  He's taller than me, more athletic, and in tremendous shape.  I'm shorter, fatter (though by no means fat), and generally less preppy than my roommate (and all of the other guys in my school for that matter).  Yet, the sad truth is that a simple, harmless, flirtatious statement left by a stranger whose eye was caught by someone other than myself in a picture that I was contained in spurred a flurry of angry, self-doubting thoughts.

This entire situation has compounded itself on recent events, specifically, including the pairing off of my roommates and friends from home.  In this crucial final year of college, it seems that everyone I know has found, at the very least, a sex partner.  I have not had such luck.  Now, I am well aware of the stereotype that the "smart, nice guy" isn't appealing until he:
1) Meets that "rare special someone" that values personality over appearance
2) Gets older, when women are more concerned with financial stability and starting a family
3) Finds an equally desperate person on the Internet.

Sadly, I think that I may have fallen into this category.  I know I'm smart, funny, kind, and destined for success because other people have openly shared the sentiment.  Yet, I have never been described as "hot," or "sexy."  In contrast, I have many friends that I consider equally average looking in comparison to myself that have embarked on beautiful relationships with attractive girls.  Maybe I'm just unlucky.  Maybe the girls here are a product of the generally priviledged environment that seems to embody my preppy, wealthy university.

Maybe I'm just plain ugly.