Stages of Panic–Wisdom Teeth Out

So… I’m getting my wisdom teeth out.

In… 8 hours.

Yup.

All four of them.

Freaking me out.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

1011

12

AAAAAAAAGH.

————-

Edit: 7:40am. The worst thing, right now, is I can’t freaking anxiety eat.I have to have 8 hours of empty stomach.

FAHK.

EDIT: 7:21pm

I would love to now give you a picture of me chubby cheeked, as now the operation is over, but I don’t even remember how I got home.

My dad drove me, btw, I didn’t just hobble and stumble my way home with my mouth bleeding and probably asking about the random shit that comes to mind.

But I don’t remember the ride home (Yay drugs! Huzzah for the good stuff!), I don’t remember falling onto the couch nicely made up for me, I don’t remember then snoozing for a couple of hours…

But the snoozing was apparently long enough to get rid of the chubby cheeks.

My mouth still hurts.

Here’s a pic anyway.

No chubby cheeks here. Just the residual effects of drugs in my system

No chubby cheeks here. Just the residual effects of drugs in my system

I am too tired to smile, and besides that, my mouth hurts.

Smile on your own time. Or, you know, check out my Other Friday Post for a laugh.

Happy Friday!

Happy Survival Day!

Last Edit: Thank god my interview was YESTERDAY. I feel like I would have been sullen and uncooperative and generally unpleasant if it was even a week from today.

*Actual last edit. Thanks Lexy, for leaving when I was too drugged to say anything. Same to you, Mom, Emma… and you took the dog! I need me some Gwynn lovin’!

Hiccup! Another Thought.

Hiccups are irritating for a number of reasons.

You can’t ignore them. You just can’t.

They interrupt you. Constantly.

Sometimes it hurts.

It’s very hard to do anything when you have them.

They are worse than sneezing.

You sound ridiculous if you are caught hiccuping with your mouth open.

The thing that bugs me the most about hiccups though, is that they are useless. Unlike a sneeze, or shivering, or a cough, or pretty much anything else that your body can force you to do without your consent, hiccups do NOTHING. Yawns are more useful than Hiccups.

A hiccup is your Diaphragm convulsing. That is all.

It doesn’t help you stay awake, it doesn’t remove an irritant, it doesn’t regulate your temperature, it isn’t even an indicator of anything wrong with your body, like a sickness or something.

Hiccups are USELESS!

And I have them.

They suck.

Hiccup doesn't suck, no, but having Hiccups does.

Achoo!!! A Thought.

I hate it when you sneeze and aren’t prepared for it. Or you ARE prepared for it in the last second, and still turn away from sneezing on anyone/thing you shouldn’t. It’s good you don’t sneeze on a friend/stranger or your computer screen, but you always end up sneezing on yourself.

Mostly I just hate sneezing down my shirt.

I don’t know if guys have this issue, but I know that most don’t know the ick-inducing sensation of sneeze wetness on your sternum and between your boobs.

More girls have boobs than guys, right? Right.

And there’s no delicate way to wipe that, and I always end up looking down like it may have shown up on my chest like silly string or something else equally appealing. No way to hide that.

I also hate it when I sneeze, and tears leak from my eyes.

Guaranteed, one of two things will happen.

1. It will land on the lens of my glasses.

2. It will make me look like I’m starting to cry.

Sometimes both happen.

Then I look like I should be pitied as I clean my glasses, leaving me blind to the number of people looking at me and feeling pity for the poor girl with dirty glasses.

Just my thoughts on something my body occasionally forces me to do.

Bless you

Revenge via Pink Foam

So, for those who have patiently (or not, you could have just been laughing at my poor luck in roommates) read through my roommate complaints (HERE Read from bottom up to get the by-date of things), you will know that they eat my food, are generally untidy, and I share a bathroom with The Sasquatch, who, to my disgust, leaves hair behind in the shower and in the sink instead of footprints and blurry photos.

But, just now, I believe I have given my own revenge..

Before you get grossed out, please read the title of this post and then see just how creatively gross you could get with pink foam.

I don’t want to do it myself, so I’m just going to say that I am going for confused more than grossed out.

Yeah, see, NOW it’s much easier to imagine doing something confusing with pink foam…

But this requires me to mention something that I am certain I have not gone onto before…

Myself.

Specifically, what I look like, and narrowing that down to my hair.

BTW to those who will not give up on me getting my revenge by doing something gross, no, this is not about shaving either.

I don’t usually dye my hair, and what I have done has been pretty tame considering the ideas most people have about artists.

I have made the tips of my hair darker, I have gotten blonde streaks, I have gotten ‘peek-a-boo’ purple streaks, and, more recently, i have had more noticeable pink streaks (still of the ‘peek-a-boo’ nature).

The dark tips weren’t that noticeable, as that was what I wanted, the blonde-er streaks were noticeable with my hair being much longer, and, though not as immediately noticed (in an “she’s streaked her hair” noticeable way), the two peek-a-boo streaks have been pretty cool.

They would probably be much more noticeable if they were normal streaks (on the top layer), rather than streaks applied to a ear-level layer of hair. They ‘peek’ through.

Peek-a-boo.

When I was little I was a big fan of Ed, Edd, and Eddy.

This has relevance.

If you are familiar with the old show, you will get references to a plank, and you will also remember that there were three older girls called the Kankers who each had a crush on one of the three Eds.

Lee likes Eddy, Marie likes Edd, May likes Ed, and I freely admit that I had a cartoon crush on Edd (the middle from the picture above)

left to right: Marie, Lee, May

left to right: Marie (Edd), Lee (Eddy), May (Ed). Guess how my young little brain translated my cartoon crush?

I desperately wanted to have blue hair.

I would only stop asking after Mom finally told me that since I was Blonde (ie. yellow hair) if I dyed my hair blue, it would turn Green.

But peek-a-boo streaks are a far cry from full our blue hair, but at some point I may decide I want to, you know, see what my parents reaction to electric blue hair would be.

Maybe have an ambulance on speed dial, in case they take it rougher than I thought.

But back to pink foam.

For those who don’t dye their hair (often, or at all), you can either go for a normal dye or you can go for something that’s more of a stain.

The stain, from what I can tell, is a more vibrant colour, but doesn’t stay as long as a normal dye.

I wanted something a bit more funky, interesting, and hey, the purple had faded enough since I had it done that I decided that, when I was having my hair appointment this family day weekend/reading week, if I was going to have my streaks redone, bright pink wouldn’t look out of place.

So I got the stain.

Wow, that sounds a bit like an omen of doom, similar to the dreaded Black Spot, but maybe less pirate-ey and more…

House wife-ishly?

Not the stain! Not the pink stain!

Who knows, maybe it was the result of that stray red sock in a wash of whites.

But one thing I noticed the second time I was in the shower after having the stain done is that it came out a bit when you were shampooing.

I’m sure it happened the first time I was showering after I had it done, but I only noticed it this time.

It was rather strange seeing the usually white froth of shampoo this odd pink…

But it was only today, when I guess after a more vigorous scrub of my hair that I noticed the pink foam on the walls of the shower did I think of revenge.

I’m going to stop here a moment, and tell you that I’m laughing to myself at the idea of looking at pink foam on shower walls and thinking “Revenge! Bwahaha!”… but I’m also kind of smiling to myself because I wonder at how many people thought of something a bit more gross than… well… this.

Once again I ask that you look at the title of this post, and if you were hoping at the beginning of his post for some vindictive bit of nastyness from a 19-year-old with roommate problems, well, you will have to wait for one of them to push me past my boundaries a fair bit farther to get me to make a mess that I may have to clean up.

Or try to outlast one of my less than clean roommates in NOT cleaning up.

But oh! When I noticed the pink foam lasting on the walls of the shower, Insanity perked up and loved the idea of The Sasquatch’s confusion.

Revelled in the idea of him being so confused as to what, exactly, it could be, this pink foamy stuff on the wall of the shower, cackled in delight when even Sanity couldn’t give an explanation that would make sense without hair dye knowledge, because that would mean that thought could go to one conclusion…

That it must be something gross.

Gross, and girly.

It doesn’t matter that it’s foamy like soap (exactly like soap), it was pink and strange… and foreign.

What could I have possibly done with this strange pink foam in the shower?

Bwahahahaahaha!

It matters not that he wouldn’t be able to figure out anything specific…

The horror of an unknown gross an girly thing will haunt him every time he even thinks of having a shower!

Bwahaha!

So I flicked more soap onto the shower wall, finished my shower while taking the unusual care not to wash off the foam from the wall, and got myself ready for class.

Later, when I noticed something amiss, I was given another delight, though a rather bittersweet one.

One of my earrings, in my second set of ear piercings, had fallen off.

It was cheap, with a plastic cap acting as a ‘pearl’ and I knew it would eventually break or get lost, but still, I was walking around with only three earrings in, and even if no one else noticed, I knew.

And Sanity said that I must’ve lost it in the bathroom.

Maybe in the shower. Maybe outside of the shower.

But likely the bathroom.

And Insanity reared up with manic delight and said

“He’ll likely step on it! The FOOL! Bwahahahahahahahahaaaa!”

If you do not know the pain of stepping on an earring with a bare foot, you are more likely to know how painful it is to find a Lego piece in the dark, and it is a similar pain.

Except that with an earring there’s a possibility that you’ll poke a hole into your foot, like I did when I was 15.

I have no clue if he found/stepped on the earring, I have no clue if he was weirded out or confused by the foam, I don’t know if either the foam or the earring (or both) were washed down the drain before he even noticed anything…

But it’s my revenge for millions of tiny hairs and other nastyness around the apartment res, and I still imagine Insanity cackling gleefully next to Sanity.

And I know that even Sanity has a smile.

And that is Revenge via Pink Foam.

EDIT: As a bonus, I found this video. It’s things you wouldn’t want to hear from a roommate.

EDIT 2 : For an update on what has happened with my revenge, look HERE and be prepared for childishness.

Sometimes You Need a Break. Dealing with Stress.

Slightly more serious post than my other ones, but this one is something I think a good number of students (at least university/college students) may find important.

I am going to get this out of the way and say I don’t do stress well.

Or rather, I stress well, I don’t DEAL with stress well. Here’s how I think of my stress dealings:

I bottle it up, store it away since its so unpleasant to deal with. Later, when I once again get stressed, I bottle that up too, even as the aftershocks of the feeling shake up the last bottle of stress.

Unlike real life, the tremors of stress stay with me, though I ignore it, and so it slowly shakes the second, and eventually third, fourth, fifth bottles up as well, building up pressure that I also ignore (as I am so very good at it) until the bottles I use start having trouble containing it.

I feel like, at least right now, the bottles I use are plastic. Later, if I keep doing this, the bottles may be made of glass. I don’t know.

When, eventually, the bottles fizz and explode so that I have stress colouring everything, making everything sticky and gross and makes me feel like doing nothing else but clean up and throw away the stress, I do so. It is, after all, hard to focus on anything else when you have sticky, gross stress all over you.

I ignore everything else, I have trouble concentrating, I have this overwhelming urge to do nothing, to go do something else that will make me feel better, like maybe watch comedy skits, or watch shows I know I like and episodes I know are funny, or read something totally random, or something else entirely.

I’ve been working on this example and been trying to self-analyze in a realistic, objective way, and I know that I need to work on a better way of dealing with stress than bottling it up and storing it away.

The reason I say I believe my bottles to be plastic right now, is because when the bottles explode from stress overload, broken plastic doesn’t hurt or cut nearly as deeply as glass.

Wow, that sounded a bit dark, huh?

I’m just trying to say that this tendency of mine to put away stress could develop into a worse problem, or could cause me to ignore something important because it happens to be stressful.

To help counteract that, I’m doing a number of things.

I don’t quite bend over backwards to do it, but close enough

I’m trying to schedule myself better (made a schedule for the week, having classes, study times, break times, etc…). Hopefully by having something steady and schedule like in my life, I’ll have something to hold ono.

Yoga, once a week. Similar to the schedule, by having yoga, it’s consistent and, unlike the schedule, something physical. If I need to do something more exerting, I can get onto one of the exercise machines and go on for an hour.

Phone conversation with Mom at least once a week. I am used to having a support system on hand. I don’t like talking about stress to friends, because I don’t like making my friends

My family has more personality than this and my three roommates combined

feel uncomfortable. It isn’t like I’m going to be able to talk to my roommates after all. I hardly ever see them, and even if I did, I don’t particularly like them. As such, my support system is my family. I need to be able to talk with them. So I’m making sure that at least once a week, there will be a conversation. To just talk. About nothing in particular. About things happening at home, things happening in Ottawa, allowing Mom to complain about her school while I can talk about how wonderful it is to be skating. I think it’s helping. No guarantee though. Midterms are stressful.

Writing. I know it isn’t the best thing, but writing here, on a blog, is almost surprisingly stress-releasing. Even if I don’t talk about stress. To be able to put my thoughts out to an invisible crowd, it’s nice. I also still write fiction for my own, and fanfiction because I enjoy getting reviews. It helps that most reviews are positive and are very encouraging and you can’t feel useless when you get an enthusiastic review for one of your ideas. Hell, I have a number of people who review regularly for my story ‘It’s Green‘ (Harry Potter Fanfiction and yes I linked to my own story) and I can go on for endless replies in conversation with these people who I only know because they like something I’ve written enough to contact me. How awesome is that?

By the way, Mom doesn’t like that I write fanfiction, but it’s a stress reliever for me. I enjoy writing. I didn’t do NaNoWriMo this year because I promised I wouldn’t, but writing is one of my hobbies. I’m not giving it up. I’m glad my Mom understands that. Or at least I believe she does.

Aaah, stress, you give me such issues!

Boy do I need to work on this, and I believe that this IS helping, but i’s hard to be objective in things such as these. I’ve been thinking on this for so long that I could be imagining everything, and I’m sure that some invisible person out there reading this is thinking I am imagining everything, or explaining it unrealistically, or SOMETHING, but this is as close to the ‘truth’ of the matter as I can get to.

It’s very hard being objective when dealing with yourself.

I think that’s one reason why self-portraits are so hard to do. You try to make it better because you’re vain (don’t try to deny it) and want to look pretty.

Or cool, if you aren’t quite ready to admit that you think you’re pretty.

But, as I said before, I don’t do (dealing with) stress well.

But, because I’ve been able to recognize it well enough… I am also going to recognize that I need a break.

Not a full one, more like slowing down to a jog from a sprint, but a break none the less.

Next semester, my hesitant plan is to take a break from school, move back to Toronto, and (with the permission of uOttawa) take a course while in Toronto so that I’m not totally removed from doing class work.

It will be one semester, and a break from full-time class. This will be me working to get used to stress of university, while having my support system with me.

I don’t know if I would have done better having taken the first year off, but this is what I’m doing now.

I wish I had  my own time machine, to go back to the beginning of the school year, maybe then I could have done a better job, but since I don’t, I’m giving myself a chance to breathe.

 

Bloody Mary: The weirdest massage ever

I’ve heard of a number of massages, and the weirder ones are usually the ones that sound the most painful.

The idea that people pay to have someone slap them around and thump them to get knots out of their muscles is weird to me, as is the idea of placing hot stones over your joints, but obviously it works, otherwise it wouldn’t be popular.

Acupuncture as a form of massage (or other relief, I don’t know what you would call it) makes me curious even as it makes me shiver.

As a side note, why is it, in cartoons, acupuncturists always seem to have poison needles as well as normal needles? And why must they place the two boxes side by side?

Moving on.

Through reading manga (Lexy, Mom, I’m taking a BREAK from studying, sheesh…) (a yaoi romance HERE if you’re curious, explicit just to warn you) I saw mention of a weird massage.

I thought that Bloody Mary was only a drink, but apparently not.

Someone somewhere decided that it was a good idea to make it into a massage as well. Or a wrap. It involves doing both as far as I understand

Yes, it has vodka involved.

And many tomatoes.

I’m not going to go too much into it, as I am still mostly baffled as to why someone would decide to make this into a massage (though, like acupuncture, I am fascinated and curious and kind of maybe want to try it)

You can read another blog HERE about more details. Apparently it makes your skin really smooth as well, and gets the blood pumping (due to vodka, and you don’t even drink it!)

I just thought it was weird.

I didn’t really think that people used so much food in such ways outside of that one episode from The Weekenders (cartoon I loved watching) where the ever-changing Pizza Place was a spa, and they had Cheese wraps (actually wrap them up) and pepperoni slices to place over their eyes.

Speaking of cheese, For those who have read about my complaints about my Roommates (here here and here), an update. They ate all of my cheese. It was a big block of it. They ate it all.

This is unacceptable.

I just want them to stop eating my stuff... Is that too much to ask for?

So yeah, weird massage/wrap sharing and profound sadness over cheese thieves.

My life.

😀

Sleepy Ponderings

Today I was woken up at about 5 am because of a wrong number.

The guy called again at around 5:30am.

I couldn’t get back to sleep. It is now 8:43pm and I haven’t had a nap, because otherwise my carefully cultivated sleeping schedule will go out of whack even before I get it entirely in line.

Something I’ve noticed the past hour or so is that when you’re tired you breath much more heavily. Like you’re sighing every other breath. After like 3 seconds.

But not.

And you breath very evenly as well.

I don’t understand this.

This is weird.

I want to call the guy who called me at 5am and ask him, in as angry a voice as I can get to, why he was calling anyone at 5am.

Why?

WHY?

And why did he call again at 5:30?

Why did he do this, and have me drowsy hardly a few hours into the afternoon? Why am I still thinking about my hard, even breathing? Am I trying to simulate sleep?

Breath.

Sigh.

With closed mouth.

I wish he could get eaten by a tree or something.

Nom Nom Nom... I Shall EAT You 5am Man! Blargh! Fear My Nom-ing Capabilities!

Oh, and you are now manually breathing. Just thought you should know.

So there’s a post on tiredness. It’s now 8:52, and I have less than an hour left before I feel safe going to bed and not waking up at 6.

Also, that’s a kickass picture of a tree. Your welcome for putting effort into finding that.

Someone answer why I breath like this while sleepy. I feel like I’m pausing 3 seconds between every breath because it needs to be so.

Sleep.

P.S. points to anyone who noticed the artistic balance in the pictures I used, and comments about it. Will draw a picture for you and post it on here if you do. post request with guess

That is all.

Oh, you should know, I Got an Abortion 2 Weeks Ago.

I have had a total of 2 roommates before coming to university and gaining 3, and it was a mix.

Signs of crazyness are fairly obvious... My last roommate was obviously crazy.

I don’t know much about my 3 roommates right now, other than the excessive shedding-and-not-caring-ness of one, and knowing what their majors are (business, law, and science, and me, in fine arts :|), so this post will be about my first roommate, who wasn’t crazy, and my second roommate, who was.

It would be fair to say that actually, my first roommate was Emma, but she’s my sister. And it happened when I was younger, so…

Yeah.

N was my first roommate, in Rangers. The rooms were small, didn’t have a door because it would be a fire hazard, and was set up with a bed, shelf, and hanging closet bit on either side of the room. N was great, though in the way that everyone seemed to get roomed, she and I weren’t very similar, were in fact very different, and the only real complaint I ever really had about her was that she would come into the room and immediately take off her shirt and strut around in her sports bra. Lexy once told me of her friend no-pants Alex, who was called that because as soon as he got home he would take off his pants, regardless of who was over, and strut similarly around in his boxers. N was like that too, but I feel that there is a difference. N had gigantic boobs, and complained about them often.

Hm.

But I mainly want to talk about my roommate from this summer, the one who shared a room with me for the two months I worked at Grundy Lake.

She was insane.

Insane in a fairly quiet way, but made her insaneness known within the first ten minutes of knowing her, before I had even finished unpacking. She’s insane in a way that makes you go “Whyyyy?!?”

Ten minutes in to unpacking, while my parents have gone to grab another box from the van, and she looks up from her own organizing, and mentions, in a casual voice “Oh, you should know, I got an abortion about 2 weeks ago.”

Me and sanity: What?

"Me NOT Want to Know!" "I'se just telling you--" "NOT WANT" "Youse should KNOW--" "NOT WANT!"

Insanity: *laughing* I don’t have anything to add.

On the outside though, I look at her and say “Um, okay? Good for you…?” What else am I going to say? WHAT would you say to someone who tells you this? I’ve known her name for less than an hour! Then, she ups the crazy.

“Oh, I didn’t want to have the abortion, but the babies were already dead inside of me.”

Excuse me?

“Um…”

Insanity, by this point, is on the floor laughing, and can’t get the breath to say anything, and me and Sanity are looking at each other and at this girl and thinking about how this girl will be sleeping in the same room as me for the next 60-odd days… oh boy…

But then my parents come in, and so the crazy is hidden away again, or at least she doesn’t really speak after that.

When walking down to the main gate to fill out some paperwork with a couple of my co-workers, one asks who has gotten the abortion story so far.

At least she isn’t restricting all of her crazy to me then…

She also, by tat point, had been talking about how her phone could go up to 50 feet under water, and how it could also then be shot ot of a cannon and still be usable. The girl at the store showed it to her, by putting it in a bucket of water and by throwing it on the ground. Bull.

I now have the same phone as she has, an Android Smartphone, and no, it will still be unhappy and broken under water, and I have a case around it because I’m not going to throw it on the ground. My phone will take enough abuse from me with out me testing for its aquatic abilities and shooting it from a cannon.

So I have a crazy, story-telling roomie… huh…

Later on in the summer, she tells me more about the abortion (I did not bring it up, and was in fact in the middle of reading). She admits that she was more than a couple of months along, and that she would have had twins, if she hadn’t had the procedure.

No really.

“By the way the doctor said that if I have a nosebleed, call the ambulance because I could die.” More crazyness O_O

She then goes on to talk about how it was her fault for getting the abortion, and her boyfriend has just texted her saying he wished she hadn’t. This boyfriend, by the way, is not the guy who knocked her up. She is now feeling guilty, but the babies were dead already with holes in their lungs. She says she thinks it’s because she was smoking.

Smoking while pregnant.

Holy Jeeze, she thinks that it’s because she was smoking while drinking.

Really.

It’s been a couple of weeks since I last saw her, and thinking back, I still have No Idea how I could have responded any better than the “Really”, “Uh huh”, and “Hmm” responses that I ended up giving when she decided to share.

I sometimes think that perhaps if I had stayed silent, MAYBE she would have dropped the idea of telling me of her crazyness. Maybe.

Occasionally we would have normal conversations, talking about what kind of work we did (Thank God we had different jobs– me in Maintenance and her as a Naturalist), and she took a lot of trips, either to her house which was like 20-30 minutes away, or she would go with her boyfriend, or she would go on an out trip with the other Naturalists… Entire nights without the worry that I will hear aout boyfriend troubles, about her worries about her post-abortion figure, about how she didn’t fucking swear….

Yeah… Normal roommate, and then the crazy roommate, and now I have three…. one of which is hairy and shedding.

But at least they all seem normal. And I haven’t heard any I-Don’t-Need-To-Know stories.

Yet.

Anyone else have crazy roommate stories?

Freshman 15? More like 50 I hear…

One of the funny things I heard about Freshman year is the Freshman 15.

Your average goes down 15%.

You gain 15 pounds.

A not-quite equal trade-off I think.

But it seems that people focus more on the 15 pounds than the marks. My sister bought me some stuff from the Lindt store , one of those large freezer Ziploc baggies with a bunch of the wonderful stuff. She warned me as she handed over the clear bag of wonder, that Freshman 15 is more like Freshman 50, and I should be careful.

I am generally careful, and most of the bag is still sitting beside me.

Waiting.

Tempting.

In general, I worry about my health, but it’s mainly the idea of whether or not I’m getting enough iron, enough of whatever vitamins I need, and in general if I’m healthy. I have a high metabolism, and playing hockey ups that as well. I eat a lot of meat (Im the carnivore of the family), and I worry about if I’m eating enough greens, if I perhaps should have had another apple, and If I should perhaps take one of those Vitamin C pills–just in case.

I don’t actually worry much about my weight. I once tried keeping track of my weight, but it depends on what I do over the summer that shows what me normal weight is. Hockey season it’s pretty constant (NO, I’m not going to say what it is), and it’s only been the past two summers while I’ve been working that my weight stays about the same. Muscle adds weight. I like muscle, even if it makes the sleeves on some of my shirts tight as they were after this past summers experience.

But it seems as though the rest of the female population in my year focus a lot more on the number than what the weight is from. It’s just AMAZING how much people focus on their weight. Yes you should be a healthy weight for your size, but everywhere I look as I head to my classes I’m seeing the uuber skinny legs and the jutting collar bones of people who just Don’t Eat.

I kind of wish that the mentality was a bit more like in the olden days, where if a woman had wide hips and some meat on her she was a much more desirable wife/person/whatever than the petit, breakable looking girls.

I would much rather hear about how worried one of my friends is about keeping her scholarship up (NOOOO! DO NOT LOSE 15%!!!), even as tedious as that can be, rather than hear about how they wanted to get themselves a yogourt but had to get a salad instead–have to watch their weight after all.

EAT! I don’t want you looking over my MEAL with envy as you pick at your rabbit-food! You got a freaking meal plan because it’s required of first years, USE IT! It’s TAX FREE for students!

WHAT can I say to make you realize that weight is good for you?

It’s okay to be ‘FAT’. Overweight is bad, but you won’t get overweight by eating a HEALTHY amount of food!

Losing weight makes your boobs smaller.

Gymnasts sometimes have trouble getting pregnant because they’re too skinny and their body wouldn’t be able to support the baby.

Sometimes during a hockey season I would get too skinny, and (guys skip ahead) I would skip my period for a while. Yay for losing it, but as soon as I got it again I GOT HORRIBLE CRAMPS! A blender in my stomach was set to PUREE and then bleach was poured over it!

The Boney look will NEVER be in style.

If I can count your ribs without you sucking in a breath, you look like a skeleton, not a model. (Yes, that was a bit harsh)

Modelling in Europe changed so that if you were below what was a healthy body weight for your height, you were fired from the agency. Many agencies lost more than half of their models.

All I’m trying to say is that not being a stick is more than okay.

Also, there’s only so many times that you can reassure someone that they’re not fat before you turn around ad call them pudgy to spite.

Don’t be that person.

A HEALTHY weight is a SEXY weight.

Gone, Gone, Going…? Now? No. … Now?

I am currently waiting for laundry to be done, and feeling alternating feelings (no duh) of chest constricting stress and  fluttery anxiety, and chest constricting anticipation and fluttery excitement.

I leave for Grundy Park tomorrow, probably at the crack of dawn should I ask Dad now, and I am starting and finishing my packing today.

Yes I’m late, but I’m a procrastinator almost by nature. I’m procrastinating waiting for laundry to be done, because a while ago, I had my laundry waiting for me to bring it upstairs, and it was sitting in front of our freezer, which was left open, and it leaked.

I moved my stuff after it got wet, and left it down there to be done again when the washer was next free.

Mold grew.

I washed it twice.

I am washing it again, to get the sour-ish smell from it before I go.

I am not packing my stuff into a suitcase, because my Mom says that it’d be easier to pack in the car if it were in these huge, 3fx1fx2f ish plastic bins, so I have a plastic bin in my room, in the hall outside of my room, one downstairs by my nearly-done laundry, and one in the front room of my house.

Scratch that, I have TWO (Three) in the front room, because I need one separate for sleeping things such as sheets and pj’s.

It feels very much so as if I should be going right now, but then the chest crushing gets tighter with the feeling of Holy-I’m-Not-DONE-PACKING! untill I reassure myself and my insane part that no, we aren’t leaving right yet.

And then the sane part of me thinks of something.

What if I forget something!!!

Insane hears this as well, and slaps Sane on the head.

It’s because we’re not done PACKING! Get to work we’ve got like an hour to get everything together and in the car!

 Sane runs into a wall.

DOOM!

No, we aren’t leaving untill tomorrow, I reassure myself. And Laundry cannot be rushed.

And so I stand in front of the Door of Panic with my trusty Gandalf Wizard Staff solidly blocking the way.

From myself.

*sigh* Am I sure that there is actually an insane side, and it’s not just me?

Yes. I just happen to be strongly influenced by myInsane side when writing. Every writer has this part of them, it just so happens that mine feels the need to talk to me occassionally.

Insane people are in Sane people, and neither part are going past me to the Panic Room, because a)nothing gets done there, and b) NONE SHALL PASS!

All LOTR Gandalf the Grey jokes and references aside, I shall finish the Laundry of Impending Doom, cut it down to be hidden away in the Boxes of Plastic Containment, sealed away untill they are needed to fight the foe called Nakedness.

Shoot I gotta find myself some nail clippers, and perhaps a few more pairs of wool work socks.

Did you know that Costco has awesome underwear on sale? You wouldn’t think so, but they are comfortable.

A while ago, how many days ago matters not, Mum brought me to Costco to stock up on food items that will help in my quest of survival for the coming 2 months.

Working at a park is different from working as a Ranger in many ways, and one of which is that we don’t have chefs to cook and buy our food.

 For the last couple of weeks Dad has been storing away chili and stew and hamburger patties in the freezer, either in sealed plastic bags or in Tupperware , so that for at least the first two weeks of no-trips-into-town-to-buy-food I might be able to survive. I am extremely thankful that we get a lot of freezer space at Grundy (everyone, not just me, though I’d like to believe I AM that special).

I will also be leaving with print out and digital recipes of such things as stew, easy stroganoff (which is not a loose, sexually active Swedish general), salsa-couscous chicken, and many-layered salads.

We bought juice, meat, some veggies, cookies (the important things), underwear (they’re nice 😀 Sane: Don’t SAY that! Insane: BWAHAHA!) , and a whole slew of bread for me to make my main source of sustenance for during the day: Sandwiches.

To the sound of Pocahontas’ “Savages”:

Sandwiches! Sandwiches! Hardly ever Eaten! Sandwiches! Sandwiches! Where is my Mayonnaise?!

Credited to my friends (from rangers) sister. Google Map Delta. It’s a place. They live there.      😀

WE ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!

No.

Food is packed away, and I think that I’ll go through the plastic bins tha I have already and sort out the mixes of shirts, sweaters, pants, and shorts from in them.

I will probably have way more than I need, but…

Rather have more than I need than not enough.

Right.

 BUT WHAT IF SOMETHING IS FORGOTTEN???!!!

No. Grundy is 4 hours or so away, and the Parents will be visiting fairly regularly! Back!!! Back from the gates of Panic!

YOU SHALL NOT PASS!

 So tomorrow I’m gone, or going, or whatever, and I’ll probably be freaking out.

By the end of the first week I’ll likely be fine, but then I’ll start being paranoid about what, exactly I’ll have forgotten.

Because I will have forgotten SOMETHING.

But that is edging around my Gandalf staff, (BWAHA!), so we shall move on.

I was procrastinating a bit earlier, reading one of the books I liberated from my Mom’s school (they have a better library, and because she’s a teacher there, she can take them out over the summer), called “The Book of Lost Things” by John Connolly. The link will bring you to his site on it.

It’s good.

Like, Really good.

Most times I can predict what will happen at the end of the book by the time I get through the first 3-5 chapters, and I had a bit of a feeling about what would happen, but so many things happened that promised a slightly different outcome, I couldn’t put it down.

Of course, since Lexy probably won’t be reading this untill I’m long gone, I can freely admit that instead of folding laundry a bit earlier, i was reading this. I put it away any time someone came down to the basement, and started fiddling with laundry.

I still got a lot done, even while reading it.

…Weird.

The dryer just made it’s “I’m-done” jingle noise (sounds a bit like a small part of an ice-cream truck’s jingle), and this is getting kind of long, so I’ll bid you all goodbye for now. Whether I post small segments about my work for the next 2 months depends on if the claim to internet access is true or not.

Ciao!

~Doodled93~

Insane: THERE’S NO MORE TIME!

P.S. Afterthought: It is now about 10:28 pm, and I pretty much have everything packed, but I look at my 2 bins of clothing, my 1/4 bin of work clothes, and my slightly bursting bin of sleeping stuff (it has a sleeping bag and pillow in it), and I feel I am missing a lot. Clothing-wise. I know I am not anywhere done my toiletries packing, as i currently have only JUST put the all-important nail clippers in my tinier toiletries bin, and I have no swim towel, no shower towel, and all of my electronics (including an EXTREMELY IMPORTANT digital alarm clock) are scattered around my house. Mostly uncharged too. Anyone else finish packing and look at your stuff and thing “nope. Not done.”? Also, pj’s is underlined in red, as well as bin. That is rediculous!