In the span of three days, my gentleman caller has called — twice — and has sent three emails. Three of these correspondences came after I sent an email saying that I was trying to get through the end of the semester, and that I would call as soon as the madness was over. He sent an email acknowledging this.

Ten minutes later, he sent another email, followed by a phone call the next day.

Needless to say, I am no longer interested.

In my younger years, I would have seen this eagerness as sweet, cute, or some other innocuous gesture. Now I see it as a nuisance. This is a very stressful time for me, and I need to dedicate all of my energy to completing this task — a task that has already dragged on far too long.

I don't know if he was just overly excited, or if he just doesn't care about what I am trying to do — I really hate to think this is the case. Fact of the matter is, I see his behavior as a bit on the insecure side, and I am not attracted to that.

I am not quite sure how I am going to handle this. Exams will be over in a few days, so maybe I will check it out then. Problem is, after graduation, I will have a whole new set of priorities — job search and the like. If he doesn't understand that I need time right now, what will happen later?

I am excited by the thought of life on the other side: 9-5 jobs, no homework, time for a social life.

A social life? Really? The horror...

This unnerves me more than just a little, for it has been a long time since I have had one of these — a real one. For the last four years, my life has revolved around school. My friends were people I met through school, and most of what I talked about — you guessed it — school.

I find myself thinking about the time immediately after leaving the military - another large part of my life, which, much like college, has a way of defining who you think you are. When it's all said and done, and you have to assimilate back into mainstream culture, it is quite possible to feel a bit gun-shy.

Already being a bit socially awkward (I'm a geek, what can I say? We're all awkward), this is something that I am more than a bit concerned with. Will I be able to become a social chameleon, rolling with the punches and make the transition with ease?

Or will I live in a tiny universe, filled with books, empty Cheetos bags, and overgrown houseplants? Okay, so that may be overstating things a bit, but the fear — and the possibility is still there. I can't say for sure what things are going to look like, but I am sure it will make for some interesting times.

Funny thing about not having time to think about the rest of your life: that's usually when you can't keep those thoughts from invading your brain.

I am sitting in my peapod of an apartment, trying feverishly to finish all of my assignments, and feeling quite giddy about the fact that next weekend seems rather non-committal. By the end of the week, the thesis will be no more, and there will be just one more paper and two finals to go.

For the most part, this week is all that stands between me and guilt-free napping and cable television. Problem is, my ADD won't let me focus on getting my work done.

My mind is plagued with thoughts of life on the other side. What does one do with gratuitous amount of free time? I know for a fact that I don't handle copious amounts of unscheduled time well. Most of the silly things I have done in life have come because I had more free time than I knew what to do with.

Ironically, I can't wait to see what kind of trouble I can get myself into. Humans make mistakes, after all, and this school business has left me with very little time to be human. I am ready for a change of pace...

The week has flown by, and I feel as though I have very little to show for it. Coursework keeps piling up, no matter how much I try to get through. Life demands that I try to have one, and all the while, there's always that "one more thing" that I am supposed to have done before the end of the day.

Ain't life grand?

Mostly, I just want to crawl into a hole and wait for the madness to pass. Knowing that this is not an option, I just have to keep going — though sometimes it seems to be at a snail's pace, while other times, I don't seem to be moving forward at all. Fatigue, insanity, grief, and fear wreak havoc on my senses on a regular basis, while I plow through life like the hard-charging hellion everyone knows me to be.

Sometimes I wish there were more people who actually knew more about me — they would know that I barely have time for my own bullshit, let alone theirs and mine too. They would know that while I do believe that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that this does not mean I will allow them to submit my work as theirs. They would know that my saying "no" does not mean "maybe."

These are the days where I just need to excommunicate myself from the masses, but the masses won't let me.

I swear when this is all over, I am going to sleep for a week — with the ringer off.

As Chastity prepares herself for another go at the mercy of Mother Nature, Kyle tells her that he has decided to go with her to see the play. Mind you, at this point the woman, clad in a sweater and jeans, had one foot out the door. Before anyone could bat an eye, she was back in the bathroom, changing into a skin-tight denim dress. Really? This is the behavior real women engage in? I thought that this act — one that I'd only seen before in television and movies — was very predictable and rather sad. Did she really think this was necessary? Apparently, she did, or he wouldn't have bothered changing.

More than anything, it makes me sad — and a little bit embarrassed — to see a woman put herself so shamelessly and desperately out there. I have to wonder what Kyle was thinking.

I know that we all commit the equivalent of this action from time to time — wearing that perfect outfit when we know we might see someone that has caught our attention, but subtlety is the key here. You don't make an obvious change in front of their face, and you don't go to such the extreme that it looks posed. I know this was a one-shot deal for Chastity, as we were in a hostel in Ireland, and this gent was currently residing in Spain. But that begs the question: Why bother at all?

Now, I am not one to begrudge another woman for going after what she wants, but to do it in a manner that is so outwardly cutthroat and desperate is just something I cannot abide by.

The morning after we arrived in Dublin, Kyle, Chasitity, and I went out to breakfast. It was a pleasant enough morning, save for the fact that someone kept trying to one-up my portion of the conversation with clever anecdotes of her life — where she'd been, where she was going, how cool she was, how much she thought she knew, etc.

Whatever. We all do what we think is necessary when faced with new scenarios. Kyle was polite to both of us during the course of the morning, so I was fine with that.

Fast forward to the afternoon. This is where things get mildly interesting. It was a rainy day in Dublin, and I opted to go back to the room to try to get work done. Spring "break" is a serious misnomer, I might add. Having brought all of my books with me, and having barely survived the killer flu strain going around, I decided to spend the afternoon in.

Kyle went to meet up with some of his friends, and Chastity had gone to an afternoon show. She came back, completely drenched from a day out, with Kyle about 30 minutes behind her.

We all sit around for a while catching up on our days, and Chastity announces that she's going to brave the weather for another show. I applaud her spunk — and euphoric insanity — as she prepares for another intrepid journey into the elements...

About three and a half hours before we were supposed to leave for the airport, I found myself doing all the things midterms wouldn't allow me to do before then: cleaning my apartment, doing my laundry, packing for my trip.

Never before had I left everything to the last minute. Already out of my element, there was no way to deal with what was to come.

My phone rang at approximately 12:30 pm. Chastity called to inform me that she hadn't made reservations for our stay in Dublin. Now, the last thing I wanted to do after being awake for 24 hours is look for a place to lay my head — in a foreign country.

I was livid. But instead of exploding all over the phone, I got super quiet. After a few moments, I was able to communicate that I did not think this was wise, and after a few more minutes of explaining that it's not a given that we will have time to research things on the Internet while at JFK (getting through that airport is no picnic, and it's even worse when you're trying to leave the country).

She finally listened to reason and took some time before our departure to look for accommodations. Honestly, she hadn't been to class since 10:25 the morning prior to departure, I couldn't understand what she had done with her time up to that point, nor could I understand what kind of person would think it's okay not to make reservations prior to arriving a foreign country.

I am super choosy in terms of selecting a partner for a romantic relationship. Why doesn't the same logic apply when I am faced with a travel partner?

For event #612 in my book of random feats, I booked a flight to Dublin for spring break. I also happened to find a classmate who was up for the journey. We'll call her Chastity, for the sake of argument. At first take, she seemed like a cool enough frau, in that she was mellow and slightly aloof, like me and the rest of my friends.

As the break came closer, and midterms had their way with the both of us, we shared in the excitement of our pending get-away.

While rejoicing, she told me that she "checked out," that she lost the ability to concentrate — or go to class. Part of me thought how natural this was, given the institution and the fact that it has a tendency to browbeat a student until they fall to their knees begging for mercy.

The other part of me thought about the fact that this is potentially dangerous. "Checking out" does not discriminate what a person is able — or willing to — pay attention to.

I was right in being concerned, as she dropped a bomb on me that left me wanting to inflict bodily harm on someone like I never have before.

This is the worst I've felt in years.

This past Thursday, I was hit with the meanest case of the flu I've ever had in my adult life, complete with fever-induced chills and a chest-rattling cough. Even my abs hurt from all the convulsing brought on by this illness. Insult to injury, as was discussed in a previous post, my "friends" — save for one, were nowhere to be found. If any of these other "friends" had been ill, they would be begging for me to make some of my kick-ass chicken soup. And I would have, because that's what friends do.

But I've already discussed the need to divorce my friends, so I will move on.

Friday was the absolute worst of the whole ordeal. I awoke suddenly in the middle of the night unable to breathe. My air passage had all but closed, and the portion that was still open was blocked by all that fun stuff that comes with being congested. I was frightened, and rightfully so. Single, isolated and on a fifth floor walk-up: Does it really get any worse than that? If I couldn't have cleared my air passages that night, there is no guarantee that I would be telling this story today.

These are the things that keep a single person awake at night - they also manage to consume the greater part of one's days. I am sure my thought process will return to normal once I've recovered, but for now...

Ah, the spring formal — otherwise known to the best of cynics as "the Prom" — has come and gone. After a last-minute dash to find a new dress (I had the great misfortune of finding out that Sweeney Todd works at my friendly neighborhood dry cleaners and my dress was butchered), I am happy to report that I have survived the blessed event.

While this year's formal was less than noteworthy, I still managed to have a good time. Note to the readers: Bring the fun with you, and you will never have to worry about how lame an event is. It will merely serve as background chatter.

My decision to fly solo was indeed a good one, as I was able to come and go as I pleased, talk to whomever without feeling as if I was neglecting someone else, and just really kick back and enjoy myself.

A few friends were not as fortunate, for they succumbed to the pressures of bringing a date. During the course of the evening, when they were able to steal away, a couple of them mentioned feeling a bit burdened with their newfound responsibilities.

When you're the only person in the room your date knows, it tends to add an unnecessary amount of strain to an evening that is supposed to be enjoyable.

As I see it, going stag is really the only way to go.