The ultimate question

This blog may go no further than a simple question. I require feedback.
Do I have to choose between love and a relationship and school?
Here is the background information you need to know to answer properly this stupid question.
I am a difficult person to live with and be with, I'd say at times, but realistically, most of the time I am difficult. I am moody, and excitable, and sometimes loud. I am creative, and I don't sleep a lot, and I tend to come and go as I please. Having said that, the coming and going is mostly because there is no one to keep me in bed.
I am a creative person, and sometimes this means questionable behaviour. I make no appologies, and I like to experiment with various organic substances. I have weird thought patterns, and do not understand people.
I may never have children of my own. I want children someday. I want to adopt. Thus, in my 29 years of wisdom, I am not averse, or opposed to the idea of raising someone else's children or child as my own. I know even saying that is out there, but I do believe that children should have love and support. I have that to give, even in a 'non-traditional' situation. I have a huge heart.
Sometimes, I require protection from myself. My good friends know this. I have close friendships that mirror relationships without sex. They mean a lot to me, and I will always have them. This does not mean that I am incapable of having a relationship with someone else. Those people are protective of me, and they will always be wary of new 'men' in my life.

Enough about me personally.

Academically, I am smart, I know I am good enough to do grad school and get a PhD. I am transient by nature, and like to travel. I do not put down roots, and I get very wrapped up in learning and studying. So wrapped up that the entire rest of the world does not matter at times.

So given all that; Is it possible to have both? Do I have to choose?

If ever I did stand up comedy

If ever I do stand up comedy, this is what the first bit will sound like...its a drive-by shooting of my life. (I also plan to turn this into a song.)

Band camp boy meets band camp girl, well not really, it was creative writing camp, but the band kids were cooler. Girl pre-pubescent, guy not really interested, go home for summer.
Band camp girl and band camp boy meet next summer at drama camp again. Wait, creative writing, yeah, that's it. Band camp girl clearly hit puberty, has large breasts, band camp boy wants to get on that. First sexual experience, he gets poison ivy, she does not.
Girl goes home, first relationship a long distance one, goes to his grad (she's only six years younger than him) Five days of bliss and drugs and rock and roll (and part of every day). He slips her acid, she would have said yes anyways, wakes up on dead author's grave, runs down hill in bare feet, steps on nesting live duck. Ducks have teeth, duck chases band camp girl, no where to go but water, water pacifies duck. QUACK.
Girl discovers band camp guy sociopath, when he phones from the 'hospital' and she wonders why there are people screaming in the background. Girl meets guy at Halloween party, dumps crazy sociopath, and gets married years later. Has many missed opportunities in university, and regrets not taking them at the time.
Girl leaves guy years later by taking his advice 'the only way I'll never take you back is if you sleep with someone else.' So she does, it was someone she worked with, at an undisclosed location.
Band camp girl wants to move on, leaves guy from work, moves in with new roommate who conveniently has the same name as ex-husband. Girl learns at summer job that ex-husband and band camp guy 'hooked' up and certain things make much more sense now.
Band camp girl takes job at local newspaper, working with roommate, and meets people who used to work there too. Has party one night, discovers band camp guy lived in newspaper office after getting kicked out of residence for stalking someone. . . GUESS WHOOOOO!!!!
Girl driving around downtown, past cemetery with creepy security guy with large flashlight, and wonders who the fuck does that job?
Turns out it's Band camp guy. And so the story goes, that if one day you decide to let someone on an acid trip end up on a grave, years later you will end up as a guard at the local cemetery. On her end, you end up sleeping at the newspaper office yourself in the same room as he did years later, and wonder if his spirit is still in the building.

Slow

Blowing Kisses down the jet stream
Loveless nights and lonely moats
Phallic exploits and streaming polariods

Blankets woe and ceiling dreams
All woken down and plywood teams

That is the beginning of another strange yet wonderful song. Has an intrinsically folk feel to it, and probably just a guitar.

Other random thoughts and reminders.
- must write review for Georddie...failing on this one
- must finish essay, however, might want extension
- i am slow, and require blunt force trauma to make me clue into things sometimes

pod cast of beer/wings night out. good idea. someone do this.

Not good with, for, or by the people

I had an epiphany.

I am not good with people. I should be locked in a room only allowed to have books, and in true medieval style, someone should shove me food through a hole in the wall. I do, however, require modern plumbing.

So, I've figured out that I am not mildly intellectual, but I am so aggressively intellectual that I am not good with people. I am that person who other people look and and think "wow, she's really weird, and kinda strange." I'm okay with this, but I'm still human. I like the occasional contact with humans, and unfortunately I have not given up on the idea of meeting someone just as off-kilter as I am to share my life with.

Part of my life. No one will ever get it all. While at times I am social and out-going, much more I am the recluse and anti-social maniac in their room writing. So, as a result, I'm a disaster at inter-personal relationships, taking hints, and knowing when to shut up. I do things out of character, and appear to be fucking crazy most of the time.

So I did this facebook quiz... I know kinda lame. "Are you a playah or a lovah." Turns out I sit on the fence. Sounds a lot like me. I would also admit to being willing to jump to either side as long as I can get back on as soon as I want.

So, after a string of strange experiences, and the odd realization that it doesn't matter what you say when you're an intellectual, you can get away with it. I have decided that I should come with a roll of masking tape. Masking tape and condoms. The masking tape is for my mouth.