About Me

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I'm in a perpetual phase of transition which doesn't seem to be phasing out.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Making "pathetic" the new awesome, one glass of Rex-Goliath and epsom salt bath at a time.

Recently, after reading several of my blog posts, someone made the comment that they “liked some of it, hated some of it, and didn’t learn a damn thing about me, oddly enough.” I’ve thought about this before; I tend to be really fucking honest yet I paradoxically don’t reveal anything at all about my life or “who I am”. I do this for a very conscious reason. Because my life is boring. Very, very boring. But here it goes, here’s some shit about my life:

I value sleep over having an active social life. 

In those fleeting moments when it’s not entirely non-existent, my love life is a complete jokeI often find myself sending neurotic text messages in chaotic, stream-of-conscious novella form to people I have superficial, semi-requited crushes on when I’m bored and there’s nothing on television, or I’m watching the Kardashians and it’s not keeping my attention long enough not to text. Sometimes these texts are returned, because, let’s face it, the whole rest of the world is pretty fucking bored too. When the messages aren't returned, I assume the other person is a lot cooler than me. That makes me like them more, and text them more garbage, which shockingly changes the “semi” in semi-requited to “un”.

  • I sadly spend the vast majority of my time thinking about my disconnection from the world, but in the shallowest way possible: aka my lack of boyfriend. And then I daydream about what it would be like to be in a committed, exclusive relationship, and then I get really grossed out, then my feelings of fierce pseudo-feministic independence are rejuvenated, then I watch a Rom-Com and cry and feel really sorry for my single little self all over again. What a vicious cycle. When I try to be honest with myself and analyze the failure (due almost always in part to my own neuroticism) of all of my past relations (not relationships, because let's face it, a lot of the "hips" in my relations, were just hips), I just don't want to deal with it. I try to convince myself that the diagnosis so many people have given me is true: I'm crazy. I'm totally not crazy though, and as a fairly sane person I am 100% responsible for my actions. Which is the worst. 

Okay, I definitely don't want to write about that crap anymore. Moving on:

I’m generally too tired from work to read, and when I do read it’s about three pages at a time of some high-falutin philosophy that doesn't get along well with my self-diagnosed dyslexia. I tend to be really worried that I’m reading philosophy backwards and not just missing the point, but absorbing the information like it’s opposite day and believing it to be the best shit ever.  

I don’t retain information well. This makes me very insecure about how much I know about anything. If I read an entire book about air-conditioners and even paid attention to what I was reading, I still could probably only tell you that they keep you cool when they’re not broken. Consequently, I avoid intellectual conversations at all costs. I always sound really silly and use the word “like” more than usual out of nervousness. And I also sweat a lot.

That reminds me of something else about myself: I have to bathe after talking on the phone to anyone because it makes me sweat so much.

I am completely obsessed with my weight. Which is stupid because I’m a skinny bitch. And even if I wasn't utterly consumed by what I consume, I’d probably still be a skinny bitch.

Speaking of food: My dinner time occurs right around the rush hour at K&W. Sometimes I’m in bed by 6:30(pm). I almost have a panic attack every time someone asks me to hang out later than 8 pm.

I’m also completely obsessed with my heating pad, even when nothing aches.

I trim my toe nails too short when I’m nervous about something. My toe nails look like shit. I have absolutely nothing going on in my life worth being nervous about.

I can do 5 push-ups. I do this set of 5 once, 2 to 3 days a week along with squats which always remind me of a birthing scene in a book I read in anthropology class about some African tribe. And then I feel racist, and then I feel bad for thinking my racism is funny. And then I feel bad for not really feeling bad. 

Maybe at one point my life was cool. The past always appears way more awesome than whatever is currently happening. But that’s always been the case, so I’m not sure at what point (assuming life has points) I’ve been happy or interesting or cool or fun. I know I’ve been these things before, at times. Anyway, I hope you feel like you know me now! Ask me anything, and I will give you some sort of response, maybe not an answer. Who has any real answers when asked about their own nature anyway?