fatfatfatfatfatfatugly.

Oh, stuff.

Things have been pretty shit-tastic lately. And it seems as though a stiff breeze can knock me from being content to depressed, and vice-versa.
The big things are pretty good:
-I have a wonderful man in my life.
-I'm healthy (despite the ouchy finger).
-My mom is amazing.
-I'm going to graduate early.
-I'm going to France next semester.
-My grades aren't what I'd like them to be (but to be fair, are they ever?) but I'm still doing pretty well and passing.
-I'm looking out for my health and trying to eliminate huge stresses.
-I'm all over everything at SU, which is a nice affirmation that at least someone here values me.
-Did I mention Cody? :)

So despite being publicly humiliated by two people I considered to be mentors, ending up with an extraordinarily disappointing fellowship, having to leave behind that wonderful man and amazing mom for a few months, losing most of my friends, and dealing with some pretty intense depression/anxiety/trich, I'm trying to keep my chin up. I've been told that this kind of crap is what defines character, and considering I'll have to be a real person this time next year, I need to start building a stockpile of it. I know that in the long run, things will be ok. But it's so hard to focus on that when all I want to do is lock myself in the basement and sleep or move to Scranton and play House for a few months. I'm trying to focus on self-improvement and growth of the real me, not the me that I wish I was (see: previous posts, haha).
I'm just need to be ok with being ok.
And also some sort of snack from Sheetz.

There's no point to my life...

...because I'll never be as cool as Alison Mosshart.

 Lady Lazarus
 
  I have done it again.
  One year in every ten
  I manage it----
 
  A sort of walking miracle, my skin
  Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
  My right foot
 
  A paperweight,
  My face a featureless, fine
  Jew linen.
 
  Peel off the napkin
  0 my enemy.
  Do I terrify?----
 
  The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
  The sour breath
  Will vanish in a day.
 
  Soon, soon the flesh
  The grave cave ate will be
  At home on me
 
  And I a smiling woman.
  I am only thirty.
  And like the cat I have nine times to die.
 
  This is Number Three.
  What a trash
  To annihilate each decade.
 
  What a million filaments.
  The peanut-crunching crowd
  Shoves in to see
 
  Them unwrap me hand and foot
  The big strip tease.
  Gentlemen, ladies
 
  These are my hands
  My knees.
  I may be skin and bone,
 
  Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
  The first time it happened I was ten.
  It was an accident.
 
  The second time I meant
  To last it out and not come back at all.
  I rocked shut
 
  As a seashell.
  They had to call and call
  And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
 
  Dying
  Is an art, like everything else,
  I do it exceptionally well.
 
  I do it so it feels like hell.
  I do it so it feels real.
  I guess you could say I've a call.
 
  It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
  It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
  It's the theatrical
 
  Comeback in broad day
  To the same place, the same face, the same brute
  Amused shout:
 
  'A miracle!'
  That knocks me out.
  There is a charge
 
  For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
  For the hearing of my heart----
  It really goes.
 
  And there is a charge, a very large charge
  For a word or a touch
  Or a bit of blood
 
  Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
  So, so, Herr Doktor.
  So, Herr Enemy.
 
  I am your opus,
  I am your valuable,
  The pure gold baby
 
  That melts to a shriek.
  I turn and burn.
  Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
 
  Ash, ash ---
  You poke and stir.
  Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----
 
  A cake of soap,
  A wedding ring,
  A gold filling.
 
  Herr God, Herr Lucifer
  Beware
  Beware.
 
  Out of the ash
  I rise with my red hair
  And I eat men like air.

What I Wish I Was

A bit self indulgent perhaps, but it's nice to not have to think about myself for a while.

I'm Your Third Man, Girl.

The momentum I had for this thing has slowly died. I'm a little too self-conscious for this type of thing...I need to focus on doing things for my benefit, not solely to please/impress some random person surfing the internet.
This semester has been mostly shitty. I'm not doing as well as I could in my classes, I had a huge falling-out with two people I considered to be mentors, my fellowship is disappointing, and I'm quickly falling out of love with most of my extracurriculars.
On the flip side, I'm mostly healthy (swine flu has made me a bit of a hypochondriac), Admissions just told me I'm the best Fall Open House speaker SU has ever had, I'm going to France in the Spring, my mom is healthy and happy, and I have the most wonderful boy.
I'm trying to maintain a level head and focus on the good. Which is hard, because I still love that comfort found in being sad. Well, love is a bit of a misnomer...I think it's more of a familiar warmth. I'm trying to take things as they come, and take my feelings and well-being into consideration first, which is something I usually never do. I could have a huge gaping wound in my stomach, but if I also had a paper to write, the wound would have to take a backseat. That's only slightly fucked up, right? My instinct to punish myself is finally starting to wear off, which is relieving. I think that since I'm so well-suited to being in a relationship that once that situation is taken care of, everything else kind of just falls in place. And my oh my is this one special. :)

Dumb.

I keep having these moments of off-and-on sadness.
I just feel so hopelessly blue for no reason at all.

I think I'd trade anything in my life to be pretty. Isn't that sad?
I have such strongly held feminist ideals, but the fact that I don't look like the girls I see in magazines makes me want to crawl into a ball and die.

Nothing I do is good enough for myself.
I don't know if I'll ever be the person I want to be.

I need to do homework.