My brain hurts.
What the fuck is Andrea trying to get me to do. I don’t understand. This is all Andrea’s idea, by the way. She decided that it would be a good idea for me to write whatever comes to mind. Boy oh boy, are you going to be sorry…
What’s the meaning of life? I haven’t read the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy in a long time so I don’t really remember the meaning of life. I want to say it’s 47. But I can’t remember. This is when Google would come in handy. But, I’m supposed to be “free writing” so I guess I can’t go to Google.
Rockstar energy drinks are terrible for you. They’re full of sugar and sugar and more sugar. And, of course, it keeps you awake and powering through the wee hours of the night and early morning. But just think of all of that gunk rushing through your body, building up on your teeth and in your arteries. You’re becoming diabetic, man!
I’m really easily distracted.
I want to order a pizza. It’s too bad I’m broke or I would totally order one right now. Unless Domino’s isn’t open. Which I’m pretty sure it isn’t. Damn. I could really go for some cheesy bread.
Anyway, Christmas is just around the corner and I still haven’t finished coming up with the perfect gift for JD. I actually feel really lame this year. I haven’t gotten him anything really amazing. I want this Christmas to be amazing. Especially because the 29th is our three-year anniversary. It’s so crazy to think about. I’ve been with the same person for three whole years. I feel like… old, but not in a bad way. I feel like I’m a lot wiser and smarter because of JD. I’ve learned so much in the past three years that I can’t imagine not having him by my side through it all. I’m getting really mushy and stuff. Time to stop.
I’m supposed to be writing about the proof of God’s existence. Well, in my case, it’s more about how we can’t prove God’s existence. I’m supposed to talk about Occam’s razor, which says that if there are two possible explanations for something and you have to choose between them, you’re supposed to go with solution that is simplest and doesn’t require the postulation of supernatural things.
I can’t even remember what postulation means right now. Wait, yes I can. Never mind.
What am I supposed to talk about after that? Oh yeah, the problem of evil. Or the problem of suffering. They’re pretty much the same thing. It’s basically about why God, if he exists/existed, created a being capable of doing evil, or causing suffering. As a passive atheist, this is one of my key points in explaining my atheism. It just doesn’t make sense to me why some perfect, omniscient, omnipresent, all-powerful being with the capability of doing whatever the fuck he wants would choose to create an imperfect being capable of evil deeds. I mean, I guess the whole “Well, he had to give us free will” thing is a good argument. I wouldn’t want to have some predetermined fate, even at the price of being perfectly content and devoid of suffering. But, c’mon. It’s GOD we’re talking about here. Y’know, the guy with the white beard and the toga and the lightning bolts – wait, wrong god. But still! The God everybody is praying to is the guy that doesn’t want us to be evil! He says, “Thou shalt not kill,” and then allows us to kill each other? No make-y sense-y.
Well, it’s official. School has killed my brain. I honestly have no idea what I’m going to say next. I could start talking about unicorns. Russian unicorns, and Michael Bublé.
Dear lord, I’ve gone mad. I’ve gone absolutely bonkers.
Speaking of foreign slang, I’ve been teaching myself Russian in order to scare a freshie friend of mine, Mason. For whatever reason the other day, I decided to greet Mason in Russian. Granted, I said “Goodbye, Mason,” instead of “Hello, Mason,” but that’s really beside the point. The point is that I am going to take this from just a single instance of insanity to a complete series. Gift box set. Like Friends, or Seinfeld, or Gilmore Girls. Except not Gilmore Girls, at all.
I miss my friends. Not my Portland friends; they haven’t gone anywhere. Honestly, my P-Town friends have been the ones to keep me insane these past couple months. But, I’m talking about my Utah friends. The ones who said they’d never forget me and always stick by me. Those friends. I miss talking to them all the time. I miss planning all the random things we’re going to do the next time we see each other. Now, I’ll be lucky if I hear from one of them in a Facebook status comment once every two weeks. It’s probably really pathetic that I look forward to being acknowledged on Facebook. But, I guess I just don’t like being the one who gets forgotten. Meh, that’s life for you.
I’m going to be really sore in the morning. I woke up this morning at around 9:30 and decided it would be a good idea to do power squats, and leg lifts, and wall sits, and sit ups, and run up 7 flights of stairs. My butt and thighs hurt.
I honestly don’t know what else I’m supposed to be writing about. If only I could write like this when it came to my paper. I can’t write anything on the proof of God’s existence. I can’t.
I’m very ready for this semester to be over. I’m hoping that once everything’s all done, I can go back home and just relax. But, I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. Why? Well, because as soon as my parents see how much weight I haven’t lost, they’ll be waking me up at 5 in the morning and hauling my ass to the gym. I’ve honestly been trying really hard to lose weight. I actually count calories, though it doesn’t seem like I do. I have been for the past month or so. I only really eat about 800-900 calories a day. And for the most part, it’s all vegetables. I’ll indulge now and again when I’m out with friends, but if I’m by myself (which is a lot of the time), I don’t actually eat. The only time I eat is when I’m with my friends. I feel guilty for eating. My parents are always on my ass saying that I’ll never get anywhere in business if I don’t look good. And I get that. I know that it’s a dog eat dog world and the sexiest girls are always going to be the ones to get the job. I know that I’m gonna have to work my ass off to get where I want to be. I know that I’m going to have to be twice as smart as anybody in the market, and I’m going to have to look twice as good, too. And that really sucks. It’s actually really heartbreaking to think about. I don’t understand why I can’t just be better for the job. I know I’m smart. I know I can do any job an employer puts in front of me. I either have all the answers, or I know a way to find them. And that’s all that a job is, really. You’d think that’d be enough for everybody. But it’s not. It’s not enough just to be the best. You have to look like the best too. And it’s that stupid, superficial fact that makes me sick to my stomach every time I eat and every time I look in the mirror. And it doesn’t help that my parents are pushing it all in my face. I don’t want to lose everything I’ve worked so hard for just because my dad says I don’t look the part. I’ve worked my ass off to get to where I am. And I’m working twice as hard now. I’m working hard in school. I’m working a job that I really could care less about, but I’m giving 110% because I know that’s what it’s going to take to get ahead. And I’m working to look like everyone’s idea of the perfect businesswoman. But it’s that last one that I feel like I’m failing at. Unless I starve myself and spend more time at the gym than I do asleep, I’m not going to get that perfect figure that my dad is saying is absolutely necessary for my success.
I’m getting really emotional and stressed out over this, as is probably apparent, given the last paragraph/novel. I wish I had an outlet for all my anxiety. But I don’t even have time for an outlet. People say, “Hey! Do yoga! Yoga is a great stress reliever!” But do I have time to take a yoga class? No. “What about kickboxing?” No time for that either. I only sleep like four hours a night as it is.
I miss my boyfriend. He’s kept me from literally throwing myself off a bridge a couple times this year. I don’t know how he deals with my random episodes of crazy. I get so insanely emotional sometimes; I don’t know how anybody stands me, him especially. He’s the one that gets to hear all of my rants and he’s the one that hears it when I want to yell at somebody. But he puts up with me, because he loves me. I know he does, because he wouldn’t have stuck around this long if he didn’t, especially with how I behave most days. I’m up one second, then in a boundless pit of depression the next. If I were anybody else, I wouldn’t stand me. I’d punch me in the face. I’d hate me. Well, I do kind of hate me…
I’m not writing this to complain. I know my life is great. I have a roof over my head, parents that love me, an amazing education, food whenever I want/need it, healthcare, basic civil rights, and all that jazz. I’m not saying that I’m underprivileged, because I know that I’m not. I’m spoiled. I have everything a girl like me could ever want. The problem is not the world I live in, nor my circumstances. The problem is me. The problem is that I don’t deserve any of it. I don’t work hard enough. I don’t try hard enough. I try and try and work and work, but it’s not enough to pay for all the things I have. It’s not enough just to work hard. I have to work hard, AND I have to succeed at everything I do. But, I don’t always succeed. Like the weight thing. I’m failing at the weight thing. I’m trying my hardest without resorting to bulimia or anorexia. But the scale doesn’t seem to budge quite the way I want it to.
I just wish I was good enough for all of this.