Yuppers.

Under some kind of hope that changing the template would increase my interest in blogging, I changed the template.  Also, the other one made it harder to read (so now I'm sure I'll get lots of viewers).

Cleaning...an appropriate thing for an Untidy Corner

As one recently graduated from college and thus thrust back again into the lap of my parents, I have had call to do some cleaning.  I love a clean house and/or room.  I really do.  My work spaces have always been quiet tidy.  My bedrooms....never?  Unless we count mandatory room inspections in my high school dorm and childhood chores--I was very fearful respectful of adults that way.  Anyway, enough lame introductions.  The point is, while cleaning and sorting mine items, I realized just how many things I'd forgotten.  Nothing major, just little memories attached to small junk-worthy stuff.  I'm at a loss.  Should I throw the stuff out?  These aren't life-changing memories, and the actual stuff isn't anything I want to keep.  There's just some sad about throwing out memories.

Sexcapades

One shouldn't go to a conservative Christian medical center for check ups, I've decided.  The questions about sexual activity always seem to come with a bit of underlying judgment--that Christian judgment that suggests I have given into Moral Iniquity if I want to do more with my boyfriend of two years than hold his hand.  I can never assure them enough that 1) I cannot be pregnant 2) we are each others only partner.  Also, I wonder if married couples get this much pressure to use protection.  For oral. (Although, chlamydia of the throat does sounds like a b*tch.)  I bring this up because I just went on birth control.  Alas, not for anything so fun as that.  I remain my vaguely ignorant, moderately chaste self.  No sir--I am on birth control for endometriosis.  And yet, anytime I enter a medical facility, I will have to list birth control under my medications.  Judgment day is upon us.

Everyone gets angry, but that doesn't make them like you

It should come as no surprise that I did not post at all fall quarter...My blood is full and I need to vent.  Pardon.

I do not understand why I am such an angry person.  I can feel it my shoulders and back and lungs--I'm FURIOUS.  But I don't know what about.  I wonder if something happened to me that I repressed.  I don't know how much I believe in repressed memories, however.  I do know someone that I believe legitimately has one, but that's because they can remember corners of what happened and then they shut down.  I don't have that.  I'm just pissed.  Easily.  Often. 

I know part of this is that I just don't handle stress well, and life is stressful.  I get frustrated.  Who doesn't?  But not that many people get so frustrated they feel they have to injure themselves in order to release the anger.  They say that anger is a secondary emotion, that it stems from shame.  I wonder why I'm ashamed of myself. 

Could I be a woman if I didn't hate my weight?

I went dress shopping with my brother's girlfriend recently and had a bad experience.  Dresses that used to be in my size looked......bad.  Very bad.  I had an inkling I might have gained weight this summer, but it still came as a shock.  My job keeps quite active, and it's not like my eating habits have gotten particularly worse.  I've always eaten poorly, and this summer is about my most active one on record.  I went home and cried.  It's not the extra weight--which really isn't much--looked that awful.  I was mourning something else--the possibility of ever being as thin as I wish I was.  I can't imagine myself ever being able to maintain the sort of lifestyle I would need to have the body I long for.  I'm too picky of an eater and too lazy/busy to exercise that intensely or consistently. Still, I'm going to make an effort.  High fructose corn syrup will be reduced.  Less soda!  And I know I love snacking, so I'll eat baked chips instead of fried and try to start invest in apples and peanuts and other healthier, crunchier foods.

It's always been taboo for me to talk about my weight because I am built so thin.  I have ridiculously thin wrists and limbs, but I still have excess stomach fat.  I can tell people worry about me and think I'm anorexic (or, alternately, judge me and think I'm anorexic).  Okay, so I'm not obese and I have super thin limbs!  That does make me in shape, and I don't have to be happy about my weight if I don't want to!  >_<  I don't want to count calories and worry excessively about my food choices, but I do want to make intelligent and healthy eating decisions.  I also want to get my BMI to 22.  I don't know what it is now...last I checked it was 24.5, though.  I was thinner then, so I'm sure it's gone up (though I do have more leg muscle now.  Thank you, summer job).

In which not all that much is said

I really need to drink more water.  It's such a basic, easy way to improve health.  Also, what a boring thing to say!

A little about myself:  I am 20-something college student, majoring in English and minoring in Religion and Film Studies.  I should be graduating this year (hoooooorah and suchlike).  I consider myself a Christian mystic and a nerd of many varieties.  I enjoy sketching with charcoal and pencils, oil painting, braiding hemp, indie music, gaming (WoW in particular), anime, analyzing films, writing and reading poetry, and other little forms of snobbery. Things I don't like include: concerts (boring), talking to strangers (eek!), hot weather (I get sick when it's too warm), people talking to me in public restrooms (really?), and "mommy culture"  (your precious snuggy-woogums is drooling again).

Like most of the human population, I'm trying to figure who I am.  I want to know what defines me, and I want that definition to be interesting and unique and downright irresistible.   I have a problem with needing people to like me, and that's something I want to work.  I want to stop being threatened by other people's popularity, and I want to be less angry and more capable. 

I have a fantastic boyfriend, and I need to go back to work.  >_<

To the Marshall Islands, with love

Over the past couple of weeks, there has been a growing certainty in my mind: the US Postmaster General had a terrible vacation in the Marshall Islands.  I'm guessing the scope of the terribleness of said vacation can only be encompassed by such words as lost luggage, missing martinis, and mother-in-law.  How have I come to the knowledge of this god-awful vacation?  Let me tell you a story.

Once, there was a little mailroom worker named Saasan.  She worked hard everyday, sorting and metering mail, sending letters and packages all over the world.  One day, a flat came in to be sent to the Marshall Islands.  She weighed the flat, and asked the metering machine how much it would cost to send.  No flats could be sent to the Marshall Islands.  What?  asked Saasan.  It's okay, said her boss, sometimes you have to take foreign things to be weighed at the Post Office.  So Saasan set it aside, working instead on a large project of US packages.  The next day, she saw she had many foreign flats.  She started weighing them.  Okay!  said the machine.  Was only the Marshall Islands unloved?  She weighed it again.  Okay!  said the machine.  Saasan shrugged and took care of the flat.

The next week, another flat for the Marshall Islands arrived.  Saasan weighed it.  It's too heavy!  said the machine.  She tried it as a parcel.  No parcels! said the machine.  She tried it as a package.  OMG! said the machine, forcing the computer to reboot.  Saasan set the flat aside, and struggled with the machine for the remainder of the day.

Two days later, she got another flat for the Marshall Islands, but this time she new better.  She is going to take it straight to the Post Office.  Fool me twice, shame on you.