Have you ever met those people who are under the assumption that just because they've read a psychology book or two, gone to a few psychology classes, and never traveled farther than a seventy-mile radius of their hometown THINK they possess a knowledge much higher than anyone else's? Let's all take a moment and scratch our butts for these people. *scratches butt* Amen.
Here's what I don't tell the people I care about often enough: First of all, I care about them. Secondly, I will miss them, terribly. I'm not leaving for ASU for awhile, but I miss them already.
I'm going to miss the stupid, sappy things, too, like the way sunlight in the morning filters through the leaves on Division Street , or skipping up the steps to the music building at Northwest every day - the steps I've been skipping up for almost eighteen years.
Ew. Now I'm getting all emotional.
I figured out what my problem is: I'm lazy. I know that there are some people out there who actually want to know what's been going on (if you're scoffing, why the crap are you still here? I KNOW WHO YOU ARE! *points*). Sure, people ask how I'm doing, but, honestly. The only answers I usually give are: a) "Good!", b) "I'm tired." or c) "It was a bad day." and I leave it at that. Who REALLY knows what's going on? No one, which is why I should write more often, which is why I just realized I should probably get some sleep. Hmm . . . one of these options sounds more enticing that the other. I'll let you guess which one I'm going to choose.
While I like visiting relatives and whatnot, it's always good to be back home. Of course, I end up tossing my suitcase in my room and living out of it for awhile anyway.
Even though I haven't really been gone that long, my house acts like it. For example, upon inspecting my bathtub and it's varying collection of dead spiders and lint (and what I suspect to be mildew), I decided I might catch some uncurable disease if I set a foot in it. Rather than not take a shower, I wore watersocks as Kryptonite against any strange substances inhabiting my bathtub. ...I pity the next person who waltzes into my bathroom and wonders what on earth a pair of purple watersocks is doing there. In fact, not only do I pity that poor sap, but I pity the foo' who is reading this tripe right now. Go on, go! Buy some bread or some socks or something! I said, GOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
I'm supposed to be asleep right now, but we all know the chances of THAT happening. Besides, I just counted six clocks in this room ALONE. SIX CLOCKS! Who on EARTH needs to be reminded of the time in such a way as placing SIX CLOCKS around a living room? Espeically if you're retired? (I'm visiting relatives, by the way). All I have to do is slowly turn my head around and I catch a glimpse of every clock in the vicinity of the living room. SIX CLOCKS. It sounds like a god-awful title worthy of slapping on a cheap mystery novel by an author who is surviving off of bread crumbs and fingernails.
I'm hungry.
Suprisingly, I have a few coherent thoughts right now.
I shall go about it in the most boring way so I can finish packing.
One of my dreams came true last Saturday. *I* actually had the opportunity to see Our Lady Peace in concert. Yes, yes, Raine is even more gorgeous in person. And the way he performed was so adorable. I definitely preferred OLP over Seether, Shinedown, and 3 Doors Down. It's fairly amusing, even though I had a floor ticket, I mainly leaned against a railing secluded from everyone else the entire time (making certain that I had a clear view of the stage). I'd gladly reliquinsh my place at the front of the mosh pit than deal with a rancid bunch of drunks (some people were so trashed that they attempted to beam Raine with ice cubes and beer. I nearly punched them).
The cool part about everything was while Seether played, Shinedown crouched behind some speakers by the stage, enjoying the music. A few minutes went by, and I noticed someone standing roughly two inches away from me. I turned, and BAM! There way the guitarist from Shinedown, calmly sipping a beer, glancing at me occsaionally. (If it had been Raine, I probably would have jumped into his arms and demanded that we elope on the spot.) I didn't bother to say anything (What WOULD I have said? "Uhh. . .I've never heard of your band in my life before, but . . ." all the while attempting to speak above Seether's exceptionally loud music?? No way), but I still felt special nonetheless.
I return, once more, to Michelle's Crap. The only thing that changed (and in such a disturbing way) was the increased amount of hits my counter received...When I completely renovated Michelle's Crap a few months ago, I started with a fresh counter. Considering roughly two people know of this website's existence, this leaves me to wonder that someone has way too much time on their hands. So for those of you who think that I'll actually make the time to update this website frequently, I laugh at you. A deep bellowing type laugh...like a French chef. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! And you can finally be satisfied for another three months, when all you have to stare at is Oolong, the Pancake Rabbit.
I don't like psychologists. Their offices smell of butt. Besides, I don't need someone with a nice, big Ph. D. attempting to sugarcoat my existence and make my problems fade away into a land of fancy. It doesn't work that way, my friends. If you can't fix your own darn problems, then you'll always have problems. But, on a more positive note, I've recently purchased Zwan's new album (hey Billy CORGAN, what's up with Billy Burke? YOU'RE NOT FOOLIN' ANYONE!!!). Aah, something to listen to during the boring occurences of school. Sometimes I'd like to wear headphones all day just to mute out the illogical snippets of conversation I all to often overhear, such as, "and I bought a PINK ONE and a SPARKLEY ONE, oooh! AND a CHEETAH ONE! My overabundance of material pleasures provides me with an adequate sense of self therefore I can rely on anyone but myself to do everything for me - like think!" ...well, perhaps that last bit was a tad bit over the top, but sometimes I have to wonder what honestly goes through their minds.
Wow. People with eating disorders are obnoxiously vexing. Thank GOD I'm over that whole, "OhmyGAWDBeckyifIeatthatI'mgonnagetSOfat!" phase, oh, SIX YEARS AGO. Why can't people just ENJOY food for its nutritional value and overall good taste insetad of griping every two seconds about how they're going to expand to MAMMOTH proportions? I shall give you an example of a certain yuppie I have encountered in a certain class at a certain school.
Yuppie says, "I just get SO DARN MAD when my friends try to MAKE me eat. I mean, sometimes I'm just NOT HUNGRY, and then I don't eat breakfast, or I don't eat lunch because I'm just NOT HUNGRY, and maybe I will be just NOT BE HUNGRY at dinnertime . . . so I won't eat!"
Another genius brilliantly exclaims, "Oh, I KNOW, and people just can't understand that you're just NOT HUNGRY?"
"Yeah, I KNOW!"
"I know!"
"No, I know!"
Their beady little eyes dart furtive glances about the room, hoping that no one noticed their conversation as a neon sign proclaiming, "PLEASE HELP ME NOT BE SO STUPID AND ASSURE ME THAT I'M FINE THE WAY I AM AND LET THAT BE OKAY", but at the same time reveling in their dirty secret. I don't think people will ever learn that you don't have to be looking at them to overhear their conversation.
"And no one can MAKE us be hungry."
"Yeah, because we're just NOT HUNGRY!"
How sweet. Two wannabe anorexics have bonded together and from then on will TAKE THE WORLD BY THE TAIL and PUT IT IN THEIR POCKET. "No, no, ladies and gents, who needs FOOD when you're full of EXCUSES topped with a moldy crust of DENIAL, with extra RETARD CRUMBUMS on the side?"
At this point I'm rather tempted to say something, but I instead think of their crueler fate, which I don't bother mentioning to them. "You're going to feel empowered by the measely ability to deny food whenever other people are present. But until you're alone with it, you have the lovely path of least resistance to rely on - meaning, finding yourself in a staring contest with a pantry full of sustenance and ooooh, the sugar-injected food stuffs. Then you proceed to cram your face to compensate for not eating earlier (because you were just NOT HUNGRY!), and you feel a smidgen of regret. But, you'll forget about it when you assure yourself that you'll eat healthier tomorrow. No wait, better yet, you'll eat NOTHING! WAHAY! Oh, and don't forget to make it obvious to the people that give a crap about you that you're not 'starving' yourself. You're just NOT HUNGRY!"
I do muster one intelligent phrase, which was all they would get out of me. "Well, if I come across your malnutritioned still-twitching corpse in the middle of a hallway, I'll get a stick and poke you for awhile. Don't worry, once I tire of that, I'll make certain to move you out of the way of other people."
Eating disorders make as much sense as quadriplegic skydiving.
