That's not 'gay'.

Some people lately have asked me how it was that I became so liberal. I grew up in an extremely conservative community, but have ended up so far left socially I wind up off the chart.

I know what it's like to have a gay best friend. To watch him get called 'faggot' day after day, and to feel how capable he is of love. I've seen how capable Ryan is of having a good relationship, of giving back to the community and his zest for life. To think that Ryan would ever want to take his own life because of the threats and misgivings of others, is the most horrendous and terrifying feeling. This is in light of the tragedies as of late within the  LGBTQ community.

I don't know what it's like to be teased because of my sexual orientation. I'm open enough with what I like and who I like and I have never had to defend myself against some of the things Ryan has had to. I cannot imagine losing him.

Ryan isn't just my gay friend. He's my best friend. I'd die for him.

Don't walk away with her

Oh, if I never had to fight for what I wanted; what if I never had to work to get to where I want to be;
I am sick of defending myself; sick of defining what it's like to be like this
love's such a personal, private emotion; sick of bearing it all in hopes to make it alright
but here I am again somehow, avoiding laughter, hiding from smiles
Why don't they just get someone else to pick on, and avoid the irony
of you, and me.
What if we never got along like this, or what if we weren't alike in every way.
What if I never thought about it at night
realizing you're never far away
Oh, if I never had to run away from what I loved; what if I never had to be ashamed of myself
What if you all just left us alone
standing forever, wondering if you could pick up on my clues
those lingering questions keep me up, 2am who do you love?
I wonder, until I float away; I just wanted to see you behind that door
asking what if our love is worth fighting for
This silence, just wanting to let it go; let go of everything that made me feel insignificant, inadequate.
I'm better than fucking adequate.
All we ever wanted was a place to live, a warm bed to lie in, and a roof over our heads.
No one ever thought it would be like this; God knows it can't end like this.

Let’s not become Last Chance U.

Wilfrid Laurier University’s reputation has been debatable for some time now. Last Friday at the Faculty of Arts Council meeting, the thunder was brought down upon this entire debate. The proposition? Raise the admissions average for incoming arts majors. The reputation of the school was undoubtedly on the brink of becoming “Last Chance U” or worse than “If you can walk and talk you can go to Brock”. While my friends at Brock could immediately disagree with their reputation, there’s little to argue against what the harm a bad rep can make on a school and its admissions.

As a university, Laurier wants to attract top students; the brains and innovators, the leaders and creators; but without a great reputation for Canadian ‘excellence’ Laurier simply would become as a school a `B-‘. This is due to the admissions average of 2011 hanging out at a meagre 73 per cent. While high school grades are arguably already well-inflated, a 73 per cent in high school is considered well below what other schools demand. McGill University requires an 86.8 per cent for admission to Arts programs, which while Western, considered a good comparison to Laurier, requires low 80s.

All of these figures inherently say something about a school’s reputation. While the best and brightest among us may not have received these outstanding 90+ per cent grades in high school, and extra-curriculars in high school should be considered, these standards are primarily indicative of a school’s prestige. Schools in the United States rely on the Standardized Admissions Test (SAT) to determine a student’s capabilities and is weighted heavily in admissions considerations.

The obvious problem with talking about admissions averages restoring the reputation of Laurier is that faculty budgets and funding are based largely in part upon the number of students we admit. While a couple of weeks ago it was reported in The Cord, and confirmed at the council meeting that Arts admissions have gone down about 10 per cent, leaving already starving departments meagre amounts of funding. We need to admit more students, but we need to do it without lowering our admissions average to the point where Laurier is considered the last choice. We also can’t lose any more funding.

So then, my proposition, although laughed at by many a faculty member and worried staff, is to raise the admissions average to 78 per cent. Because the amount of students with an 80 dramatically increases before tailing off at 90, according to a report by Alan Slavin, and the amount of Ontario Scholars (students with an 80 per cent or higher upon graduation) increases every year, Laurier could benefit from ‘jacking’ the average up. By raising the admissions average we would be picking from an entirely different pool of students, snatching up those who would otherwise have chosen Western or Queens.

It would lower the stress on administrators and advisors who are responsible for assisting the students, who once admitted, fail out or scrape by in first year. Drop-outs would likely tailor off, creating stable funding and budgeting, and ideally a school more students would transfer to instead of from.

While funding is always a concern, the amount of students declining offers from Laurier would likely decrease as our reputation albeit slowly returns to being a quality school. More students would want to come here because as a school we no longer ‘fill space’. Professors would have fewer masses of students who require extra help on the material; TAs would enjoy marking papers that aren’t flooded with spelling and grammar errors. 

There are really many pros to raising the minimum entrance admission average. It would even help current students out, by providing some kick to the devalued arts degree, or giving that extra underline on a grad school application. We can promote Laurier all we want, and provide some of the best programs and professors in the country, but with a crap reputation we might as well be handing out degrees and become a revolving door of half-wits. But whatever students come in with, that doesn’t mean they’ll fail or that they’re incapable; I was one such student who didn’t get 90s in high school. The day I got into Laurier I thought it was a joke, because I didn’t think my grades were good enough. Point being: we need to be back at that point again. This was almost four years ago, and although there are always great bright students who turn on all the engines and graduate successfully, there are too many who are not on track to do so. 

Perfect love story

It's time to find solace after all this pain, as the lights go out
and butterflies begin to wilt in the evening cold, as the cold seeps in
we start our drifting, to this lullaby

Life is chaos, embrace it. These things will haunt you forever
and when winter lights your house with numb calm
as you fall away to the grip of cold dawn
I start my thinking, all day and all night

Absorbed the inventions, the toxins, the informations
just when I thought my heart was free at last
you pin it down like a broken wing, and as we tumble
further and closer to the ground
My heart starts beating louder

I have never felt so cold and alive, so loud and so clear
secrets, promises, and left out addictions
I never knew how to feel like this
silence and solace in the smoke of the night
I've been on the brink, so
just come and save me now

Haunted

I watch in horror, as I anticipate; the falling, the fleeting
the breaking of hearts as they slip and fall to the floor
crashing in a circular motion, casting shards everywhere
Nothing feels quite as bad, as good as this
Lean closer, breathe in this cold air
paralyse me, and I'll take it all in

Now I'm crumbling, cascading into a fog
can you hear me screaming? crying for attention
because it's all I have, to identify with life
Nothing feels quite as good as you

Speak the truth or lie and cheat

My eyes follow you, and yours mine. I race them across the room, to the exact spot where we meet. I hastily look away, and you do the same to me. Is it because I feel you, feeling me, through those eyes?

It is because we both know exactly what's going on here, is it? It's nothing to be upset about, the only thing that we should be upset about is that our beds share a wall and someone we're pretending to act like brother and sister. We're not. We're two adults, and I know deep inside of you there's an understanding. An understanding of what we both want, and we both want it more than anything.

I'm such a very 'complex' person in that I'm not complex at all. I'm predictable. I have my issues, and I don't pretend to hide them. I'm up front about this. I think about you all the time.

It's kinda awful when I think about it. What if this is all a figment of my imagination, that you just have some issues with respecting women so you can't look me in the eyes. I just know some moment we'll linger and things will just happen. But if it's not how you feel, then I'm caught up in a blissful state of contentment, so don't ruin it. Just don't let it get harboured into an evil craze that eventually results in attempted suicide or unipolar depression.

Not that I'd ever do that.

I time my nights around you now, from eating dinner to having unlimited free time from 8:30pm-1am. I would never normally do something like that, but I guess your novelty hasn't worn off. But it's hard to, because you're too much like my father. Someone, who I haven't seen in 2 years and was always the apple of my eye. But not in a sick way, oh no. I'm not Electra. I'm just a kid who idealized her dad, to the point where his alcoholism and commitment issues just faded away. Which is great, as a coping mechanism, but now I'm getting off track. You're like my Dad, and not only that, but a guy my dad would approve of. You have similar ideals and intelligence to him, and you're sure as hell not bad looking. It's haunting me even now.

So as I type away on this sort-of loud keyboard, blasting Space Dementia and pulling tight poppers, I'll think of what I might never have. What I should never have, but somehow in all the chaos, got.

Save me.

Distinctions

It's a hard distinction to make between what you want and what you have. It's a harder distinction to make when your heart yearns for one and not the other. Your heart is the most fickle thing in your life, that's the unfortunate truth. It's hard to believe that you can love someone one day and ten years hate them, but we're never the same people. Like heraclitus' river, we're all a little different every time.

So are you, and so am I, and that's why this concerns me. That's why I'm working on distinctions, pro/con charts and chats with semi-close friends who don't know me well enough to know better and don't know you well enough to say something. These are the friends whom I rely on for my emotional granite. I'm otherwise a weak, pathetic being that needs constant reassurance.

I hope for your sake you may never have to find that out. But then again, I'm staying up late, thinking and worrying about that last interview I need to get done tomorrow. Worried about how I'm going to afford my hot yoga pass this fall. First world bullshit. Stupid forehead acne caused by excessive drinking. Lack of sleep caused by increased caffeine intake. Increased caffeine intake caused by lack of appetite.. and vice versa.

So once you pull the thorns out it's not so bad, and it's always worth it to not let that fucker fester. So pull the thorn out, and tell them how you feel. Because you're always a ctrl-alt-del away.

Have you ever been afraid?

It's natural to be afraid. It's a human instinct to fear things that might hurt us. Things like falling from great heights, or falling in general.

I'm one of those latter kind of people.

Fear has a grip that won't let go, it's pulling and pushing and searing through your skin all at the same time. It's that rock in the back of your throat that won't go away. Fear takes hold of you and begins to consume the very life of you, if you're not careful, it will take everything you could ever hold dear.

To despair is to lose all hope, and be unable to even take your own life. Despair occurs after all has faded and fear has completely paralyzed you.

I'm also unfortunately a victim of despair.

I know, it seems a little bit ridiculous. I have spent 17 years of my life in a full-day education setting, and I will spend at least two more. I will have probably spent close to 60,000 of debt by the end of my entire education. I may never repay this in my lifetime. I may never be able to even graduate because I'm already that far in debt, and I am struggling to pay my bills. I'm afraid I may someday not have any money at all, and that fear makes me feel as though a day of financial security will never come.

I'm a rational person, and I keep thinking to myself that debt is a natural part of a middle-class life. I just never wanted to be so in debt that I live paycheque to paycheque. Like right now.

When you have this much debt assigned to your name, it's something that gets 'passed down' should something 'happen' to you. Such a horrible tragedy, after losing a family member... to get a bill of such a substantial nature. Who has that kind of money laying around?

I could whine about how it's the people making the decisions who have the money to lose.
I could totally do that.

But right now, I'm so afraid. Consumed by fear of so many things, and above all,
myself.

I cried like a child when Jack Layton died.

And we all should have. Jack is the metaphor Canada needed, and still needs. His words, more than sixty years of them to be sure, will live on in us and in his work: to this day I am amazed at how far Toronto and Canada have moved forward in a pursuit towards gay rights, women's rights, and rights to healthcare, fair trial and other now-conventional luxuries enjoyed by many who now mourn Jack and his legacy.

But is his legacy really over? Many, including the general youth population, seem to disagree- in fact the aim is to challenge everything that is, in order to improve to what will be. The future seems our gaze fixed; his legacy is our motivation towards a better and more generous tomorrow.

Stephen Lewis' eulogy moved me, deeply and emotionally. After I stopped crying, I realized that the reason why we mourn Jack is because he was the person we wanted to be, but never had the 'gusto' to become. Jack was the 'us' we should have been, and now should become. The generous, kind, honest man who everyone had dreamed to be our next PM.

We mourn not just Jack, a life well lived, but the entire idea of democracy and the ability to change Canada in favour of its people. We mourn the loss of a brother, a friend, an MP, a leader. He wore many hats, but his mustache and rise to fame were all because of his drive and his ability to be generous with his heart. Jack put his heart into everything he did, and not simply inspired by Lewis' eulogy, but moved--I too wish I could be 'a little more like Jack'.

Jack's passing should awake the slow rumbles of revolution in those who truly believe-- in the generosity of Canadians to help eachother and to care for our fellow human beings, not simply for corporations or for the money.

There's nothing like a postmortem letter and a well written eulogy to change the world.

And we will

How

How did I know I had to let go of you?

It was the same exact moment you cried to me, on the telephone, about how much you hated your life and wanted to end it.

It was that night I never picked up my phone

and you turned out alright. She's still with you.

And I look back, through all our photographs, and you were never, ever sober.

Places and faces changed, but you were always drunk. The pictures are probably the only memories you have now, and they best be something.

I wonder what kind of memory I left for you, the same kind of thing that you keep asking me over and over again. You keep trying, and it's so beautiful and so painful.

I let go of you, but you keep coming back. And back, and back.

Quit hurting her, and quit hurting me. Quit hurting yourself. How?

Just love.

3am

I just wanted to write you a letter. I know it's too late to call.

I was going to sit outside your house, and sing, just like you did to me. I wanted you to hear the pain in my voice, and to know how my life has changed completely since we met. I'm no longer complete; you got away with a piece of me that I doubt I'll ever get back. But enough of what's now and what's lost.

I want to tell you something.

You're a beautiful person with a beautiful soul. You have so much to look forward to, and so much to give. You never should ever feel as though you are worthless, or that the things you have done make you a bad person. I will never ever let someone bring you down. Your love can change the world, and it will someday. You love with all your heart, and you will someday. Just not now, and that's okay. We don't get to where we are going by sitting around working a mind-numbing entry-level position. We get educated, and follow our passions. We stumble along the way, with issues that we all resolve with the strength we find in ourselves. Someday you'll find that strength to let go just enough to realize how much damage you did.

I loved you with everything I had, and I know you were scared. I know you wanted to run away, and you did. I'm only sorry I never followed you. Together we could have built something beautiful. But, as we all do, I was caught up in the pain of being imperfect, of being human. I still am. I'm caught up in the incompleteness of my daily life, the dissatisfaction of having no money and almost a university degree. Nobody knows what's next. That's supposed to be one of the fun parts of life.

Now, I need to let go. I want to let you go. You need to move on, just like I am trying to. Realize that completeness. Feel the rain after a long humid day. Let it sear your skin, and breathe it in. Know that what's good in life is not what's good in death. Love doesn't heal everything, you need to solve your own problems. It's about time you started solving them. Take this as a push in the right direction, take this as the confidence to realize we all deserve more than we give ourselves. Take this, and remember our moment.

With love, always.

Searching for Life

We've come full circle now, as I finish the end of the movie that started it all

my obsession with life, my lucid affair with love

caught between dreams and reality

As the harshness of a lonely life set in, the smell of lilac and fresh cut grass, Home

Wading through puddles of mud and motor oil

the sound of my own childish voice,

Please, please don't cry

It's all alright.

We're standing here, and I can't be a part of this anymore.

I want out.

I want to feel whole again, and it's not worth it

Life is so beautiful and so tragic

how even the strongest fall.

That which we are, we are

How hard it was to believe, how far gone you were

how I can't stand seeing that in my mirror

a drunken loneliness that won't subside

No more, no more.

I won't be a part of you anymore, and I won't let you

be a part of me; my heart is nothing left for taking

and my soul has nothing left

I never had to ask anyone. I just knew

and that decision is as easy as this one

Parc and contemplation

here i am, again i stay

on my hospital bed

of grass, and sunlight

all i can say, is how nice it

used to be, to see you smile,

to see you alive.

nothing is like the night, sparkling, don't ever let this go

all those walks home, all those painful cries out into the dark-- 2am who do you love?

she sings it all so right, it was a life that i could not have imagined better than it is, not have a care in the world, except for everything to do with you.

spinning forever, just wondering when you'll know. lying ere, waiting for the pain to subside, waiting

to feel alive.

This is how it ends

There's a reason

for what we do, what we say and how we feel

I don't know why I used to long for you

maybe, somehow it had something to do with saving you

because you are one jump from falling off a cliff

There's a reason we don't love each other.

It's because she loves you, and you don't love anyone.

There's a reason today happened

You're destructive, and I'm strong enough to not let you in

not let you break me down, and bring me down with you

with all the pain and addiction you have caught up in you

there's a reason you are the way you are, and a reason

why you don't get help.

There's a reason I wanted nothing to do with you

it's because you have nothing to do with me. Or yourself.

You're selfish, and you don't deserve what's happening to you

but it's happening to you, and we're trying to help.

I stopped trying

and look at what happened.

You called me

I never answered. My phone was dead, I wasn't in a good place.

I won't let you go

Awake my soul, and let those raindrops fall

like the tears that stream down my face, I won't let you show

I won't let you know, anything

build up those walls again, only to drop them like a curtain

but what no longer feels real to me, might seem real to you

so quit persisting, quite insistent on how things should be, or faltering

on those things that never seemed real to me

I'll awake, and now I'll fall all over again

this time, not for you, not for you

it'll be for me

You never should have sung to me

Caught up in you, all caught up in me

I'm tired of pretending, that these fantasies were real;

coming close, and even closer

Separate what happened, and what was just a dream

later on, it'll turn to chaos;

and pain and pain, come away from the window

Stay here, my hands will comfort you

Caught up in all of this, all caught up in pretending to be okay

caught trying to fake it

Leave behind what never happened, and this was just a bad reality

Lost and broken, coming to I'll slowly wake

We still haven't spoken

Say When.

Now I'm here, and it's a blindside, a windstorm and it's all around me

it all began with those eyes, that just cut right through me,

maybe it'll all come true after all

Give in, give in;

Tears, and more tears, more pain, and more longing. It's just repetitive

Feels like falling

Looks like love.

Breakable

It's not like I can't get over you.

I just miss your voice.

and the ache of your absence

it lingers here still

I just miss your eyes

and the way they looked upon me

they lingered just a little too long

I don't have a regret

just regrets themselves

and the way they seem to haunt me

every minute, of every day

I will leave this mess, and hide away

just to pass on, and get over this silence

just to stay

a part of you,

because you are still

a part of me

(untitled)

Lately I've been wondering if when you're moping around the house due to over-thought about a certain someone, if they're doing the same about you. Spelling errors lurk and stare with ashy and irritating eyes: I hate retyping things. Backspace, backspace, backspace.

The rhythm on the keys reminds me of transcribing. Why can't I leave work at work?

Probably because you're the reason I still show up.

Look after you

Wow, it's been a really long work week. In fact, shhhh I'm still at work. We're just testing a new project and I've had very little luck--if you can call it that.

It's been a long week for three reasons:

1. I drink too much which makes work the time in between drunk

2. You're on my mind 9/10ths of the time which makes work hard

3. I don't get paid nearly enough for the hell I endure.

The thought of you wanting to quit makes me hurt. I don't know, I've never felt this kind of pain in a long time, not since I was around 16 and I didn't want someone else to leave. It's hard to believe I'm this attached, it's even harder to believe there's any chance between us.

You may have alluded to it before once or twice, and definitely when you literally told me when we were all drunk/high but does it even mean the same thing? Does it even mean what I want it to mean?

Your anger scares some of the other girls at work. It only makes me worry and fear what I wouldn't know how to deal with. You remind me so much of someone in a lot of ways, and it's so problematic, it was so hard to deal with them and it's not going to be any easier now.

I'd like to think I'd be the one to save you, but in the end, it's always you to be saving me.

Morenighttimepoetry.

Lost in the light of the night, I'm brought back to life

Bring it back to me, this beautiful sight

of spinning and reeling, and crying and sleeping

I'm lost in the curve of your arms, the curve of your body

like hills and mountains, I climb and I fall

just to let you catch me

over and over again

You bring out the light in me, this beautiful lie

of tracing lines across the curve of your bed,

the lines of your face, they linger in my mind still

These are the moments that are keeping me alive

A little nighttime personal poetry

Something missing from this, all caught up in loneliness

Smells of old booze and cigarettes, empty bed and empty sex

I'm filled with boredom, tedium and repetition

Hard to concentrate on the mundane; It's hard to celebrate the lack

of fulfillment, of laughter and of letting go

Because in my mind, you're still around

Something was missing from me that day, and I found it

all caught up in a mess, a mess of you and me and mistakes

all the time, I fly around trying to find the you within everything

trying to find meaning, what can I do to create it

Create it in spirit of you, gone without ever to come back

Twisting, and twirling; Writing and calling out to the night

In spirit of you, all caught up in me.

Update 3!

So yes, it's a lovely golden colour now. In other news. SOUTH PARK IS AWESOME. Spoofing the Royal Wedding, while making fun of traditions? Yes.

Update: Orange and Brown

So the haircolour managed to lift to a delightful orange colour with some brown streaks left in it. Luckily that would look good, cept I needed ASH brown. I dont get it how there could be so much RED in my hair when I only ever dye it ASH and i have ASH freaking roots. Argh.

So, here I go, dying my hair today with a colour that may look terrible. if it does I guess I just have to tough it out (ponytail and cute headband) until I can a) afford to get it fixed or b) come up with an idea. (tone it out or just plain bleach [again])

Wish me luck!

Hair Dye party

So today my friends and I made a trip to the beauty supply store. I had been thinking for awhile of dying my hair a honey blonde colour, but I guess this time shit's got real.

This is the colour I wanted: http://www.sallybeauty.com/wella-haircolor/SBS-800438,default,pd.html

After manic panic flash lightning and a lot of anguish... Kaitlyn's hair looks soooo orange! Lucky because we're dyeing it red :)

Updates to follow

First true Moment of the summer

Walking in Waterloo Park, with an old friend. Not so much old, as just has been there through everything. She's been there, through thick and thin; she's been there through black and blue. But this isn't about her. It's about you.

I know you've been gone some time now, almost 9 months or so. But it really doesn't feel like that long. We talk all the time. And though those feelings have passed, you still retain a special place in my heart. That little bit of retainment has given me hope, especially in the long lonely nights that now seem to be commiserating against me, collaborating and multiplying in the early morning wake-ups, delivered with love by my cat George. (For the record he's not mine, I'm babysitting him for the summer and just am taking care of him for the time being)

Every single time you pull me back in, breathe it in like it's never been more than just a few days since we last ...met. Listening to indie music that somehow aims at what I feel, listening to some songbird swoon over how she was in love once, and then lost it, because of something or other.

It seems we've all been through something like that before. It seems like everyone has felt like this; why is it so unavoidable? Why is it so unbelievable that we never dated, never even talked about this, yet it felt more real than anything I've ever felt before..Why is it so damn hard to let go of that moment. Moments are eternal. They're everything.

And when you can't let go, you relive the moment in every passer-by, every gaze held just long-enough, and every sappy indie song that he sends you. It's all for you.

It's all for you

How I fell in love without ever being in a traditional relationship

http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/how-i-fell-in-love-without-ever-being-in-a-traditional-relationship/

By Sara David. (Props, because this is something I wish I had the guts to write. Love and light)

My parents divorced before I could remember—I only know of the aftermath. I remember the loneliness of diaspora, the accelerated rate of my emotional growth, my distrust of anyone trying to get close to me. My parents were young and forced to marry due to an unplanned pregnancy. I do think they were in love once, but it was the kind that involved falling head over heels, and then putting one foot in front of the other until one day, you are somewhere you don’t want to be with someone you don’t really know. I don’t think I believed in love in a tangible way—of course I understood it in theory, wanted it badly for myself—but I had never seen two people in love the way I wanted to be in love. (A combination of deep, tender love that managed to be light-hearted) I had never felt that kind of love close to me.

I lost my virginity when I was twenty years old, to a friend who lived across the hall from me. A little while later, we were being silly after sex and he said something about “all of our love-making.” My face turned bright red at the mention of love and he added quickly, “or whatever this is.”

A month later, he dumped me (it was awkward—was I even his girlfriend?) and I sort of just assumed, worried, dreaded that that’s how my life would be: devoid of “traditional,” long-term, committed love. I experienced an all-consuming depression/existential crisis and decided to drop everything to follow my bliss.

At twenty, I opted to take time off from school, move to Brooklyn on my own, and live a little. I worked hard (three jobs at a time hard) and played hard—met men in any and every way, accepted every date and set-up offer, and eased my problems with some good old-fashioned sleeping around—a la “looking for love in all the wrong places.” I concluded that the best way to avoid the pain of a broken heart was to never stand still long enough to feel it—so I moved, every chance I had. I thought that if life would only offer me sex instead of love, I would take what I could get and figure the rest out later.

And then, one night, I met a man who seemed to have it all figured out.

We met at a bar in Park Slope—he was a handsome, bearded stranger who bought me a gin and tonic. I admired his toothy smile and bright eyes as we talked about life and love for about two hours before I was drunk enough to say what I was really thinking. “Hey, I’ve had a lot to drink and I’m finding you really hard to read right now… are you flirting with me? Do you have any interest in having sex with me?” I asked loudly and unabashedly over the music. He laughed and said, “Yes, do you want to come over?” I declined because I had work the next day and the G train service was really spotty at that hour, but we exchanged numbers and I made him promise that we would see each other again.

A few days later, we ended up at his house after dinner. He convinced me to have sex with the light on, which I typically avoid, and he would do things like thank me between kisses and whisper compliments in my ear as we cuddled up during episodes of The Office. This confused me. I thought, why does he feel the need to play the seduction game with me? Doesn’t he know that he already has me? Don’t I know that he already has many women besides me? Once he called me “pretty” as he moved the hair out of my face and I pulled away. “Don’t play pretend…you don’t have to sweet talk me. I know what this is.” He looked me in the eye and said, “Who’s pretending?” And when we kissed I felt a smile on his mouth.

After everything, I tried to put my clothes on, but he snaked his limbs through mine and fell asleep. And it was there, in a brownstone in Park Slope, tangled up in a man’s sheets and limbs, that I breathed deeper than I had before. And I fell asleep with him—something I hadn’t done with any man since my first boyfriend. For some reason, this innocuous action felt more intimate than anything else we had done between the sheets.

At that point in my life, my states of being were always fleeting. I was very used to things that didn’t last. I didn’t even have dishes in my apartment. I threw everything out after a single use because I was just that kind of person.

I didn’t think things would be any different with him—but they really were. What ensued was a months-long affair with a self-proclaimed “free-spirited lover” who took orders from no one, had sex with many women, and defined his life by the love he made. I tried often to let him know that if he were willing to give me more than sex, I would take it with open arms. I would ask him on dates to movies, or on days when I felt daring, lunch in a public place. He declined all of my offers, but was always willing to make love to me and hold me all night. I would always accept. I just couldn’t get enough of him.

He gave me the kind of sex that one could only dream of—sweet and fun, yet heavy with tenderness. He affirmed me every chance he had, and gave me true affection at a very lonely period of transition in my life. He was this totally zen, crunchy-vegan sex god who spent hours a day hanging out in Prospect Park. It was so easy to love him. Once, during sex, I came everywhere. When we were done, he wrapped his arms around me and I buried my face into his skin, embarrassed as hell. “I’m so sorry,” I said, “I feel like I might have just peed all over your bed.” He asked, “Did it feel good?” I nodded and he added, “Then what does it even matter?”

As beautiful as I remember it, our relationship wasn’t all sweet and easy—I was often insecure about our relationship’s ambiguous nature. There were times when I didn’t feel satisfied with what he had to offer me—I would mention something I really wanted to do with him, maybe watch a movie or go to an event at work, but he would answer saying things like, “Well, good luck with that.” Or sometimes he would start talking about another girl while we were together and I would be left feeling wounded.

And then there were times when I was so happy that I couldn’t even enjoy it because I kept thinking about how sad I would be when it would end. I thought that I had to search for more—in retrospect, I think it’s true. I believe that I always need to keep reaching, stop worrying about the sustainability of my states of bliss, stop worrying about the potential pain I might experience in my pursuit of happiness. And I think I can live with that. All of my openness that leads to feeling foolish or embarrassed, rejected or discouraged: it’s such a small price to pay. At least I could rest easy knowing that I had told him my truths.

I never really knew if I was doing things right (is sending this text appropriate? do I call him my boyfriend when I talk about him to my coworkers?) but I felt sure that we were doing a pretty good job at being happy together, even if it was only for short bouts of time. When the year was up and it was time for me to return to New England for school, we didn’t make a big show of our goodbye. We held each other tenderly, said, “Thank you,” and walked away. I haven’t seen him since.

In ways that I don’t think I can ever explain, he made me feel… loved.

Somehow, in the murky, clouded world of “friends with benefits,” “hook-ups,” and “dating,” I was able to see very clearly. It is here, with the person that you care about, that you can create your own rules, expectations, and definitions, of love. Navigating the vast expanse of sort-of relationships is terrifying—there are no rules, and infinite chances to screw up. But it’s in that sometimes perfect, sometimes miserable, space that we can learn what our wants, needs, and expectations are through trial and error. We learn what it takes to make us happy.

I didn’t fall in love, I didn’t lose myself in someone else—I rose in love and found myself—I made an active decision to let him in despite my bitter nature. In return, he saved me from my jaded introversion by loving me deeply in the context of a non-traditional relationship. He showed me that the love I crave is possible, and that I must cultivate it myself. I know that I want to enter future relationships with an open heart—prepared for play and intimacy, ready to have fun and put in the work it takes to build this from the ground up. Our relationship. Our love. Or whatever this is.

Oh What a Day

So, as I was walking home from work today I had a little bit of a revelation. I haven't had a legitimate date or boyfriend since first year. I'm entering my fourth. Yikes?! Did my biological clock suddenly turn on, did I realize that I'm turning into a crazy cat lady with crazy cat lady friends--- or simply, did I realize that within a few days, it'll be exactly a year.

A year since it all 'went down'. Sure, it seems a little reflective for my liking, but it's been a year since I realized I didn't want to be who I was, and became instead who I am now. I had been a long time coming. All new clothes, unfortunately -- and new shoes. New choices. Am I back to where I was? Lonely and feeling fat?

Is it time again, for that change? Am I going through yet another remodel?

What will I become, if not an improvement upon what I am now.. There's just a lot running through my head. Running in general. I wish I could put foot to pavement instead of hand to keyboard/pen to paper. There's a lot I want to get out, and I don't want to say it.

OH well.

Why am I [so] alone?

Mohska and Timelapsing

Sometimes, usually around the same time as exams I lose my sense of time. I actually can literally spend 8 hours in front of my laptop kicking back and cruising the web. I can meditate for a few hours, I can bake....

This morning I convinced a friend to accompany me to my first Moksha class. I had done Bikram yoga before but the poses are different. Moksha is essentially the same as regular yoga only done in a 37 degree Celsius room. The moment you walk into the studio you know it's warmer than usual, and upon getting changed you head upstairs with your mat and towel and into the swelteringly hot room. I'm not sure if I'll continue this past the end of April/early May because by June my house will be 37 during the day and I can just do it there.

Anyway. Hot yoga was fun. sweated a lot, and I'd recommend it to anyone who wants to shed exam weight. We're going again tomorrow, and thank god because I just had swiss chalet for dinner. I'm still hungry too, in a ravenous way. Maybe I'm still super dehydrated?

Off ot eat pineapple. maybe I'll write more pointless diary-like crap later.

Bad decision Procrastisaur

I guess I should stop being so cutesy and lazy, spending all day in pastel pjs looking at pictures of lolcats and caturday. I should start writing like I said I would.

Haha. I lied.

In all seriousness, there'll be posts. Posts about hot yoga. Posts about walks in Waterloo park. Just maybe later. I'm busy procrastinating. POKEMON.

Top 5 Mustaches

What do women want?

I've got the answer. It's thick, and hairy. And only a few men who have them can work it. Here's 5 who do it best:

#1 Ron Swanson, Parks and Recreation

Wondrous in it's beauty, precision and thickness; Swanson, aka Nick Offerman, presents to us his beautiful mustache weekly on Parks and Rec. Probably one of my favorite shows, the mustache accompanies a delightfully sarcastic and arrogant persona. With great responsibility comes great mustache. Pyramid of Greatness. Also, that hair. Amazing

#2 Frederich Wilhelm Nietzsche

A much loved philosopher by all those who study him. Mustache, although much less studied, is as exuberant and pretentious. Nietzsche sets a high standard for fluff, shape and thickness in the "I'm also an asshole" category.

#3 Joseph Stalin

A not so loved historical mustache of grand proportions. Notice the side view here, and how the hair actually pr

otrudes from his face. Great thickness and well groomed. He'd probably look like a baby if it weren't for this bad-boy.

#4 Tom Selleck

The ol' and pretty: Magnum, PI. Many of you youngsters don't know about ol' Tom, but here's a lesson: if Chuck Norris had a lover, it would be Tom Selleck.

Look at that face, and its as though that beautiful mustache just adds so much drama to the look. Without it he might just look friendly. So badass.

#5 Burt Reynolds (Bandit era)

Oh Burt. You have made millions of women swoon over you in your T-roof Trans Am, whereas I just adore that beautifully groomed black beauty. Sure, the car is nice, but what good is a rear view mirror when every time you look back you see that glory.

Honorable Mentions:

Ron Burgundy

The legend wouldn't be complete without the coarse, shapely mustache of Ron Burgundy. Afternoon delight? How about anytime? Stay classy.

Randy Marsh

Although a fictional character, Randy's 'stache has clearly done great things for the role. It accompanies him through all of his intelligent musings. Excellence.

Polygamy and Love

Right now, I'm watching the TLC show Sister Wives. I used to not be sure how I felt about men with multiple wives, but now I know exactly what my feelings are.

There are probably, very likely, many polygamist families existing peacefully. But, conceptually and theoretically speaking, it is not possible to have an equal and loving relationship between a man and several women. There will always been needs not being met and jealousy between wives.

The basic human emotions of selfishness and possessiveness, are things that need to be stepped above. But the essentialism of a two-person loving relationship becomes skewed when more women become involved. It is impossible, and not only that but harmful to those involved, to have to literally 'share' your husband. The whole point of a relationship is mutuality and completeness--not being pulled each way.

Like I said. It's just my view. I would never ever pull myself in multiple directions. I am a commitment-phobe but I am still in hopes of finding someone to share my life with. It's really just not for me.

They're out to get us?

So it's final: this morning the writ was dropped. For those of you who aren't familiar with election speak it basically means we're having a late spring Federal election. May 2nd to be exact.

Why that date? Well there's a lot of choosing that goes into it, there has to be a minimum amount of campaign time and Elections Canada certainly has a lot to do to make sure everything is set up for then.

It's not the closeness of the election that worries me, however. It's the fact that on May 2nd, every student in Waterloo will either be here for the summer (Most summer leases start May 1st) or at home, where the influence of parents or general apathy will set in.

May 2nd will decide the future of a nation. It's not in our hands. Think about how much influence your fellow students could have on you should you decide to vote. With the uptake of the WLUSU election at an all time high, apathy may just be at its lowest here at Laurier. Could the election have a promising result should it have been held earlier? Considering it is essay and exam time, thateven less likely.

The real problem is that May 2nd will pretty much exclude all student participation. With most of our mail going to our student riding, registering to vote at home may be difficult, depending on your situation. Remember the 2008 Election? Remember how hard it was to vote here?

The process itself isn't student friendly. And now, the timing isn't either. Voting at home leaves student ridings at a loss of voice. I only hope whoever stays here this summer gets their ass to the polls. Otherwise, the permanent residents of this riding will again vote in the blue Tory who .....didn't do anything (what a surprise!).

Change is a futile exercise in management of peoples and their opinions.

The conservatives do it best by not doing anything at all. Appeal to the masses, but the doctrine doesn't change. They'll win, for sure, but nobody will be happy about it. I foresee another election in a couple of years.

They're out to get us! I swear!

Doing it for the butterflies.

This evening, I am swamped with work, battling a very sore throat, and best of all... I'm happy.

I'm listening to a lot of music I know makes me feel better, and between a bag of Ricola, Rawleigh's ointment and a call to Mom, I feel amazing....despite the circumstances.

I wonder if it's that, or the giddy feeling I get when I let love take over. It's a warm, fuzzy feeling, that is; and oh my, it's great.

Whoever said that crushes were never harmless was only right half the time. Here's to that.

Why NOONE actually respects Jersey Shore

(and consequently, New Jersey in general)

Jersey Shore is everyone's show they love to hate. They love to watch, poke fun, follow the drama and laugh at the fakeness of everyone on the MTV hit series. In all seriousness, it's not different than a more fabricated, pointless version of The Real World. But even The Real World was worth looking into: a Baudrillardian simulation. Wiki that if you don't see the link, I don't feel like explaining.

Jersey Shore has no 'real' or useful referent--it's useless garbage produced for laughs. It's racist, sexist, misogynist, and probably more inappropriate 'ist's I haven't thought of. There are no real characters, only persona: the 'Situation' is only an alter-ego created by a poor, pathetic Elmer Fud-ian who probably has penis envy.

Nothing ever really 'happens' on The Shore either-- people 'smush', they go out to drink, they tan.... All high-risk activities that we'd probably rather watch people do in combination than do them ourselves. We can live vicariously through the Shore-ians, but only to a point--then it gets boring.

Aside from melodrama, and breakups that seem to come full circle by the end of the episode, Jersey Shore is the epitome of awful TV. Yet, everyone watches it every Thursday night--to the point where people call it "Jersday". Phrases and mannerisms are copied from the show into real life, and tanning has once again started to re-gain its lost popularity.

Why? Why would we ever want to look like the oompa loompa Snooki, or have humungous breasts like Jwoww, be a pathetic sack of bones like Sammie, or whomever? All of the persona on the show are flawed and alcoholic, yet in an interview with Rolling Stone all reveal to have some form of post-secondary education.

If that doesn't make me lose faith in the natural selection of the world, nothing will. Noone respects JShore because it's the bottom-of-the-barrel that makes us feel better about how well off we are: when we drink every weekend it becomes 'okay' because they do it every night. Seemingly our vices become virtuous in light of The Shore.

Why I'd watch Jersey Shore over something like Storage Wars or Pawn Stars? Populous and popularity: its nice to have a common denominator with others on campus. Even if it's the lowest common denominator.

Laurier: Home for the Hardcore

With exams looming ominously, hanging like a black cloud over the essay-ridden heads of the Laurier student body, there’s another issue at hand: mental illness.

Mental illness, not simply depression, is a serious issue on campus. Prevalent, yet invisible, students are suffering in silence. One in ten Ontario students report experiencing three or more mental health issues, including depression and anxiety, according to the 2003 Mental Health and Well-Being of Ontario Students Report, published by the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH) in Toronto.

One in ten: a large portion of Laurier students and this is only the reported number in 2003. Now that it’s 2011, and with the burdened economy, job prospects looking slim, and recent grads skimming by on part-time positions and unpaid internships, it’s easy to see where a lot of the grounds for illness come from. Many of us may never experience these issues, many may never see the inside of a psychiatric ward or rely on medication to feel ‘normal’, but it is the unfortunate truth for an increasing number of students.

Not all who suffer seek help, and those who do are facing barriers that are building instead of breaking down. Laurier’s Counselling Services experiences peak periods during exams---a statement that would discourage some from even trying to see help. Emergency room wait times, 6 hours at best, discourage people from supervised inpatient treatment. And of course, the stigma that still surrounds mental illness as something to ‘suck up’, something to ‘get over’ or those suffering as ‘crazies’ or ‘loonies’ in addition to the lack of services.

These words may come as a surprise. Counselling services has offered help to an immense amount of the population at one point or another, and continues to book up solid into the early summer. They offer a variety of options and referrals for everyone. Basically, they’re the pillar of strength that Laurier needs. But it’s not enough: the amount of counselling and on-campus inclusive services is not meeting the growing amount of students seeking help—and those who are not.

Laurier is becoming the home for the hardcore—students taking on full course-loads, jobs, financial troubles and the usual drama, along with mental illness it becomes a daily struggle to stay above water. The university needs to offer additional services, along with the great ones it does offer like PEER and Counselling services, in order to meet the growing demand of students seeking help, and try to reach out to those who do not. It doesn’t have to be like this: we don’t have to sit in the dark and pretend like everything is okay: because it’s not, and we deserve to feel cared for.

What I've been up to:

http://free-admission.com/2011/02/17/guest-post-the-artmusic-shuffle/

http://free-admission.com/2011/03/17/feedback-loop-pre-screening-of-not-afraid-to-die/

How to Be a Good Spouse in the 1930s « Thought Catalog

How to Be a Good Spouse in the 1930s « Thought Catalog

A Perfect Housewife

Perusing through the aisles of the Northdale Dollarama my eye was caught by a particular item: a pair of pink rubber gloves with the words "I'm a perfect housewife" embroidered on the cuff.

Can I get a WTF?

The epitome of shame to every feminist and really, every WOMAN out there-- is garbage like this circulating our stores. I am not going to take the radical femi-nazi viewpoint here, but I am going to be very critical of what this signifies.

A pair of pink rubber gloves alone signifies a lot of things: pink is the gendered colour for women and girls. Rubber gloves signify cleaning and housework, keeping your hands clean and away from the dirt and grime and cleaning solutions--keeping them pretty and your manicure untouched...ready for presentation.

As if that wasn't enough, a cuff with the embroidery "I'm a perfect housewife" is almost the lull of a drone, a passive cry from a woman enslaved to the house. Housewife is a term to describe a woman who is two things only-- housekeeper, and wife. She cleans and cares for her husband and her house. Her political views, personality and intelligent thoughts are kept out of that equation.

"I'm a perfect housewife" signifies the beginning of the end--the apocalypse of knuckling under to a normative heterogeneity that means nothing but cooking and cleaning for the rest of your life, doing it 'perfectly' which includes no complaining or faltering.

Well, no thanks, but I think I'll be the imperfect home maker! I'll be whatever the hell I want to be! I'll be a slob, I don't care. I don't care about your values which you deem appropriate to push on me with your pink rubber gloves!

As ridiculous as that may seem, all that from a pair of 1$ rubber gloves (which, if you like pink and want reusable gloves, by all means buy them). All that from anything. Notions of feminine passivity and caving 'to the man' are in everything we do, see and touch. Just look for it.

Why our parents have it wrong: why you should vote in EVERY election

What if Canada were suddenly in the reins of the baby boomers? What would some changes be, if Harper would let the 55+ take control even just for a day?

As both my parents are avid complainers about the current government, and constantly offer very close-minded worldviews, I am frightened at this thought. And of course, no other constituency of persons is as big as the BBs. They vote at a higher percentage than us 18-24s, and mostly are conservative leaning (traditionally speaking, although recent stats show a more liberal lean is happening).

First off, it's a little odd that our parents, my parents would vote conservative: they were once the liberators, the rebels of the 1960s-1970s; the after effects of the war made them so angry and they decided to band together and create change. And change it was: but look at where we are now! The youth are hungry for change, hungry for a new leader and one that doesn't suck (sorry Harper, nothing against you really....well maybe). But for some odd reason the highest percentage of voters want nothing to change: they want values instilled in government, and "Canadians" to get what is for some reason 'rightfully' theirs.

I'm missing that point entirely. And truthfully I don't really care: it's what would happen if these persons came into power that concerns me.

If for example, my father and mother were to become the PMs or leaders of federal or provincial parties-- the policies and protection acts that would float around, some becoming legislative.... would be incredible.

No foreign aid. My father has long been an advocate (to my Facebook page and e-mail account's demise) of removing all foreign aid until Canadians are 'well off' and there are no more 'starving children' in Canada. He also is for upping pensions and cutting off welfare (a complete anachronism to me) with this money.

There would be no stores open on Sundays, except maybe grocery stores: but only for a few hours. The epitome of backwards thinking-- we must observe Sunday as the Sabbath, according to a large portion of relatives of mine.

I've never been a part of a religious family. But it seems more and more of the 55+ crowd are turning to faith to fill the hole of despair. Despair of not having enough pension to feed you and your spouse, despair of having to pay 1.30 a Litre for gas, despair of having to pay for anything really, when it seems that you have the god given right to these things for lasting on this earth for so long.

And really, respect for our elders is few and far between, and they deserve it as they have lots of wisdom to offer us. But other than the few bucks in your birthday card from Grandma, it seems that the elderly are nothing more than grumpy, backwards, and seemingly living in a whole different world than the rest of us.

What about the young mothers who need to feed their children, who are so hungry themselves that breast milk has stopped, who can't afford to pay for the insurance on the car, the house, and god forbid that something goes wrong and someone needs some medication. Welfare? No. It's a lifeline.

There are so many problems in the 'system' that affect so many of us. They even effect my parents. They effect me, my friends, and my friends' friends. Not voting is the stupidest reaction I've ever heard. Apathy has to be the most irritating response to the lack of 18-24 crowd getting out to vote. Our parents are running this country for us. No wonder we hate the way things are done. Somehow same sex marriage, abortion, and contraceptives are still legal. Thank god, because if it weren't for some of these valuable rights our generation would be incredibly fucked up.

There is no duty to help those less fortunate than us. There is an opportunity to save someone's life, or make it better for a day. If it is possible, then why not do it? We are well off in comparison to other 'first-world' countries. And in the middle east, people are taking democracy into their own hands. Why not do that here too?

I'm so sick, and tired, and grumpy about hearing at every family meal and e-mail and facebook post about how we should do this and that and blah blah blah. We're not doing anything. We're sitting on our asses, checking our facebook, bbming friends about this weekend.

Soon enough, that'll all be gone, by some force or another. It's only a matter of time before we get fed up and take action. Why does it have to be a matter of time, when it can just be this fall?

That's my rant for the hour. Just vote already, for your sake.

10 Moments to live before you die

Inspired by the Summer of 2010.

Moment 1
Jump off of something higher than you'd normally find acceptable. This can be a cliff, a bed, a high chair, a Mach tower, or an airplane. Do it safely. Do it twice.


Moment 2
Fall asleep listening to post-rock. The Earth is Not a Cold Dead place is great. Explosions in the Sky's entire discography works if you take awhile to fall asleep.
Fall asleep listening to jazz. Do it every night. Use the white noise to your advantage. That way, someday you'll sleep in silence and you'll love it all that much more.


Moment 3
Eat with your hands. Try new cuisine. Just wash those hands first. and after... Don't be afraid to get messy. Don't even use a plate.


Moment 4
Kiss someone you just met. Have a one-night stand. Be safe, but don't play it safe. Give them your all and then never call them. Better yet, make it someone's boyfriend.


Moment 5
Go see a band on a whim. Preferably one you've never heard of. Really get into the sounds, the atmosphere. Remember how it smelled. Remember what you were wearing. Buy their CD. Play it once or twice


Moment 6
Read a book in a park on a weekday afternoon. Make it in the sun. Wear sunscreen. Sweat like you've never sweat before. Make it July. Make it sunny as heck.


Moment 7
Sit in the same park at midnight. Sing out loud like nobody can hear you. Make it a love song. Make it an opera.


Moment 8
Walk around the house naked. Turn off the air conditioning if you have it. Turn up the heat if it's winter. Sit in your skivvies. Become comfortable with your natural state.


Moment 9
Fail a course. Get a 48.8 in a subject, somehow. Learn to accept that you're not perfect. Learn to accept that the education system is not perfect. Know the subject, get a failing grade on a multiple choice test.


Moment 10
Fall in love. Fall into a cycle of uncontrollable emotion, unabated thirst for the freedoms of another. Hold hands. Don't hold hands. Be so mad for someone you can't breathe around them.

And when you want to say "I love you", don't do it. Hold your breath. Wait. Wait until they walk away and say it quickly and quietly. Wait until they're across the ocean. Wait until you're old and grey. And then, then remember it for what it felt like.

Boys have self-esteem issues too...

If there's one thing I've noticed as of late, it's that guys have the same issues we do. They don't always feel happy when they look in the mirror. In fact, I think they have it worse: sure the pressures may be lesser or different, but the ability to talk about 'feeling fat' or nothing be happy with the way you look is something we females accept and take for granted.


It came to me as a realization as I noticed more and more of my guy friends were spending large amounts of time at the gym. By large, I mean more than myself: 10+ hours a week. Whether it be pumping iron, cardio or classes, more and more men are spending time working out and 'getting in shape' seems to be the justification for losing weight and looking 'better'. Truth is, I like a little meat on my guy. Muscle is good too, but I certainly am not attracted to the fakeness of a Calvin Klein underwear model, or the scrawny hipster-types that grind against me at clubs. I know, by now, that men don't necessarily want the Natalie Portman in Black Swan thin types, nor do they demand Megan Fox figures either.

With both genders accepting some leeway in figures, and with health being the primary concern rather than weight as a number--why is it that more and more men are super concerned about their size? Talking to one friend, who was troubled about being 'stuck' at 230lbs (a number that is neither ridiculously high nor unacceptable by 'healthy' standards for his height) I reassured him that the weight loss wasn't a numerical value but a loss in inches. It's why I never, ever weigh myself. I think I'd be disappointed at the scale, but when I try on new clothes, or especially old ones, I know I lost a lot.

And even then, I have 'fat days' like most girls. We all feel like crap now and then. When it happens a few days in a row, it's time to make a change. It's simple logic. Feel like crap, then actively make yourself feel better.

Is it that guys are going through the same cycle of crappy feeling? Is it that they feel pressure from girls or the media to be a certain way? I honestly don't pretend to have any unnatural insight about men, but growing up with a brother and a father, I can safely say that a certain weight can mean all the self-confidence in the world-- and self confidence means getting girls... or guys. Whatever the preference is, guys are having issues with the way they look: they're putting more effort into their appearance now than ever.

At least, I'm starting to notice it more now, or rather--care about it.
It kinda hurts inside to see a male friend going through the same troubles I face as a female seeing a 100lbs 5'5" celebrity on screen all the time-- men are faced with the lean, muscular, powerful imagery of the antagonist. It's not like it's unachievable--but it's certainly difficult, especially on a University students eating budget.

So if you're reading this, take a deep breath. Realize, and PLEASE take heed: you may not look in the mirror what you think you should, but that doesn't make you any less perfect, important, special and intelligent. Health is important, and most true health comes from the inside.

So work on that. Work out, keep fit, but don't go overboard. Don't spend 3 hours a night working out. Spend it having fun, studying, talking to friends...

...maybe cluing in on the fact that maybe this is about you. I care!