if this past week and i were in a fight, i'd have a black eye, a broken rib, and a damaged uvula. the week, on the other hand, would be standing victorious in its corner of the boxing ring of life.

i'm lonely.
i caught a nasty cold.
i'm getting my ass kicked academically.
i got turned down for a scholarship.
and i got a leg cramp in the middle of the night that left me limping for the majority of wednesday. (i must be the only person in the world to get the equivalent of a sport's injury while sleeping. it's just one of my many special skills.)

for all intents and purposes, i've come undone.

after 24.77 years of being the best at coloring, the best at multiplication, the best at beowolf, and the best at abnormal psychology -- not to mention the best at sexual innuendos, the best at sexual tension, and the best at sexual provocation -- i'm trying to come to terms with mediocrity.

and i don't mean that in a snobby and superficial way. i mean that it is completely emotionally and physically exhausting to be playing catch up every moment i'm awake. those to whom i admit my weakness (which is a strategic move at harvard since admitting weakness is like admitting you went to a state school) assure me that everyone feels this way.

... maybe. but i'm pretty sure that i'm stupider than everyone else.

because if i'm going to be dumb, i'm going to at least strive to be the best at being dumb. whoever said that being dumb and being competitive were mutually exclusive? hey -- you can take the girl out of the competition but you can't take the competition out of the girl.

it reminds me of a conversation i had when i finally got the courage to stand up to a former boss at some point: i told him "you make me feel stupid and incompetent everyday and those are two things that i know i'm not." "i don't tell you you're stupid everyday," he said. "well, you make me feel stupid everyday," i replied.

he grinned. "it's a special talent of mine," he said.

well harvard -- you and my former boss have a lot in common.

i am terrified of spreadsheets. i am terrified of operational flow charts. i am terrified of tables and exhibits. and i am absolutely, positively terrified of numbers. with the exception of 86, 69, and 12.

so i've recruited an aussie and his posse (shout out) to teach me everything i need to know about business. and free cash flows. and eating oreos. but they can't touch my self-deprecation.

afterall, certain things are non-negotiable.

the way i see it, business school and i are in a relationship. things between us are great when i wake up. we derive mutual benefits from each other -- i get an unparalleled network of peers, a personal sushi chef for lunch, and a meaningful academic environment that challenges me to become more than i ever thought i was capable of becoming. in return, harvard gets me ... to, well, drink its free beer, eat its free food, and take naps on its free leather couches.

i'd say it's a fair-ish trade.

but as the hours of each day pass, business school and i break up. (which i seem to be doing a lot of these days.) and i suppose that my daily divorce from business school is indicative of that which i should expect for the course of my other separation: frustration. anger. crying. kicking. and that all happens just between lunch and dinner.

this whole experience makes me miss my friends. and making out. and making out with my friends.

i guess that in the face of being on one's own -- in every sense of being alone -- it's sink or swim. right now, i'm hoping to tread water one day. in the meantime, i've got scuba gear.