Blogging is hard to do while in class

I feel so weird right now. Like...out of body. Probably has something to do with running on 3 hours of sleep, or other things.

A friend of mine posted a blog recently in which she discussed two conflicting thoughts that cause her inner-debate. This inspired me to share my own inner-debate, which instead consists of one thought and how it is interpreted, rather than two thoughts that contradict each other. Her's was a tad confusing, which is typical when trying to describe how one's mind works (though, as I read and re-read, I slowly began to realize I have similar thoughts), and I feel that mine will probably be just as confusing. So, as I tried to level with her blog, please also try to level with mine.

Please keep in mind that I strongly believe in this thought, I just constantly go back and forth between interpretations.
Thought: Carpe diem. Seize the day. Live life to the fullest. You only live once, make it count.

First interpretation: complete and utter lack of regrets (within reason and standard human moral/ethical codes). I'm not saying go out and kill someone because we're just going to die anyway (I'm strongly against violence, whether emotional or physical). I, in this particular assumption, view it more as doing whatever is desired at the time. In my case, this would involve not holding a long term employment postion, traveling as much as possible, sexing whomever without committing (though that's a little hard to do while staying true to my morals), partying, drinking, just all in all living life. What makes this interpretation hard to live by is that I'm constantly worrying about future consequences. Getting hurt, dying, losing loved ones, I don't know. Anything that could possibly be caused by making one. impulsive. decision.
ex. smoke cigarettes if you want to, you're just going to die one day anyway

Second interpretation: make life as worthwhile as possible. Play it safe, more or less. You only live once, you should make your one life last as long as you can. Just try to be happy. In my case, this would mean getting a serious job while traveling only when possible, settling down with someone whom you will be happy with, party safely, drink on occasion, just all in all try to make life long and happy. What makes this interpretation hard to live by is...well, that the first interpretation is so much more exciting.
ex. don't smoke cigarettes, because they lead to death, and you don't want to die early

Basically:
Who wouldn't you want to LIVE life to the absolute fullest? vs. You CAN'T live life to the absolute fullest if you're not trying to make it last.

P.S. disregard the calorie counts I post. They're for my benefit, first of all because I need to keep record, and second of all because they'll help me commit to posting more.

Monday 11/29

Breakfast
egg whites cooked with butter= 60 + 50
turkey= 100
provolone cheese= 70

Lunch
half of a wheat wrap= 145
turkey= 100
provolone cheese= 70

Dinner
two bud lights= 110 + 110

Total
815 calories.

Needed to eat 1464. Not good. Undereating is just as bad for your metabolism as overeating.
Well, it's a new day :)

Hangover Hell

I went to a house party last night. I hadn't been to a house party in so long and had been craving to go to one. However, while it was great to see old friends, it just didn't seem to live up to what I remember parties being like. First of all, I was wasted. Wasted to the point where I remember having fun, but I don't remember why it was fun. I don't remember what I said, or did, and that thought terrifies me. I do NOT want to be that sloppy drunk girl falling all over herself, and how do I know if I was or not? I guess I used to like getting that drunk. I definitely don't find that exciting anymore, though. Also, when I got home from work today, I saw that there was a dirty plate sitting on my nightstand. Apparently, I had eaten. Don't remember doing that. But I do remember throwing it up this morning. Which brings me to... Second of all, the hangover. Is it really worth it?? I had to stop in the middle of different projects at work all day to go to the bathroom and force myself to vomit because I felt dizzy. I was sweaty, my head hurt, everything was spinning. It was terrible. My manager kept asking me if I was okay, and if I was going to make it, which brings me too... Lastly, I was late to work. I HATE being late to work. I HATE being that employee. I pride myself on being very hardworking. I enjoy work, I enjoy keeping busy, I enjoy completing tasks. But I also know how it feels to be the manager of a shift, and to have an employee come in late. And I know what I assume about that employee when the shift is an early shift, and that is that they went out drinking. My manager knew that's why I was late. And that, to me, is inexcusable. I should have been written up. I think I feel worse that SHE didn't write me up than I would if she actually did.

Anyway, what a waste of a day. I got off work, came home, slept, woke up, ate, and now am getting ready to go to bed. And all I was really needing to do today was finish my paper. Well, I guess I'll have to do that tomorrow, huh?

P.S. On a completely different note, tomorrow starts my calorie counting. Shelby (my amazing sister, who I should definitely blog about sometime) showed me this amazing website that calculates what is a called a "zigzag" calorie count. You just put in your information and it brings up a "zigzag" calorie count for extreme fat loss, regular fat loss, and maintaining weight. I obviously will be choosing the extreme weight loss, she's doing the maintain. It's called "zigzag" because it computes a different amount of calories for everyday of the week, and it's supposed to trick your body into losing more weight and also helps prevent plateaus. Plus it helps the person feel like they have some variety, instead of following a set number everyday. Anyway, we'll see how it goes :) I'm going to be blogging about my progress, hoping that will help me stick with it

I'm NOT suicidal.

I'm bored with the hum-drum. I want to do something. I want to feel something that I haven't felt before. I want to go somewhere. I want to be something to someone. I want to be important. I want to be missed. I want to do all the things I want to do. I want to have a future. I want to have fun. I want to be in love. I want to be safe. I want to be healthy.

I rarely write. I'm sorry

I promise I'm happy. I'm just thinking. Sometimes I wish there were different fonts for different emotions. That way I wouldn't come off so depressed to you :) It would also help with a lot of text messaging induced fights. Which, by the way, I hate.

"It's so much easier for normal people"

So, I promised to update about the gay convo, and while I am aware it's been quite a few days since I promised that, I only have 2 readers so I doubt I offended either of you by waiting so long.
Quick Recap: My mother found out about me being gay in a very bad way. She walked in on me kissing a girl when I was 15 and I think it goes without explanation that she didn't react so well. This happened around the time that my best friend had just told one her friends that I was gay and the grapevine effect came into play at school. Also, I had just recently admitted to myself that I was gay, so it was a pretty rough part of my life. The way my mother acted towards me changed dramatically. She wasn't rude, she was just distant. She cried everytime she saw me for a good 3-4 weeks after finding out, and then just kind of shut off towards me. We still talked, but the conversations were just kind of empty. I could tell she was trying to avoid the subject. She referred to my girlfriends as "friends". She never asked about them. She never talked about it. At all.

And then, last monday, we went to Pei Wei for dinner because my dad was out of town. We were talking about how they met and what it was like in the beginning. By the way, they have a perfect relationship. She told me they never really fought, they both genuinely wanted the other to be happy, she could tell that he loved her more than anything, etc. I then told her that I feel like they set a pretty high standard for me to live up to when it comes to relationships, because they are SO perfect, and then it was like a volcano exploded inside of our relationship and everything we've wanted to say since she walked in when I was 15 just poured out of us. She started with "I just hope the woman you end up with treats you well". Okay, she has never said "woman" before. She has never acknowledged that I would end up with a female. The conversation went on and she said that basically all of my family knew, that my grandma wanted to talk to me about it because I've seemed distant (um, I'm distant because I'm young and am pretty much always thinking about being with my friends, though that's actually been changing recently), told me she was sorry it was so rough in the beginning, that it makes her nervous when I date "straight girls" (she has never used the terms straight or gay, not to me at least), that I should wait to find a person who is sure in themself and how that might not happen until I'm 30 or so because when you're "normal it's so much easier" (this offended me at first, but she is old fashioned and doesn't know that it hurt my feelings so I let it go), and that if any family or friends ever have a problem with it, she will always side with me. She then went on to say that she had always seen the signs that I was gay but that she just made excuses for it. She also asked the question she asked the day she found out: "Does this have anything to do with the depression period you went through?". Her asking it again was eye opening, and I don't know if I didn't realize the connection because I just blocked it out or what, but I suddenly realized that the two events were definitely related. I was taking out my confusion and anger about realizing I was gay on myself, in the form of self-mutilation. Anyway, I told her about Kris and Tyf and Kari and everything. It was just so relieving to finally get it out, to finally be able to talk about me being gay without it being awkward.

I tend to over-analyze things, and for the sake of getting out of that habit, I'm not going to analyze how this conversation related to me overcoming the alternate attitude I've had for the past year and a half or more, but it did, and that's all that matters to me.

Phew, that was a lot to try to remember. I should have written this right after, when it was fresh on my mind.

Oh, by the way, the other night I was at dinner with some friends and one of them brought up the fact that I had been kind of actually talking/considering talking to a boy, and said something along the lines of "that was really weird" in a very judgemental tone. This person is gay, and it REALLY really upset me that someone who knows what it's like to be judged for the way they think was able to have such a strong criticism of my actions/thoughts. I try really hard not to judge people, because you NEVER can truly understand the situation that the person is going through. Everyone has motives for what they do and how they think. Do you think that I understand why I've been recently considering dating a boy? NO. Of course I don't. But I can't HELP that I'm thinking that. It doesn't change who I am as a person. I'm not downgrading myself, I'm not changing to fit a stereotype. STOP LETTING BEING GAY DEFINE WHO YOU ARE, PEOPLE. Hi, I'm Jordan, and I'm also a lesbian. I'm not Jordan the lesbian.


If this is ridden with errors, I'm sorry. I just don't feel like going back and checking for mistakes :)

And just like that! *snaps fingers*

I've got my old self back! My "not so paranoid, nonmaterialistic, unaffected by others thoughts, strong, and sturdy in my identity" self! (Though, as for the paranoid part, I have always been a bit of a worrier. At least now I won't wake up in the middle of the night thinking someone is coming to murder me in my sleep)

And it seriously happened just like that. I woke up Tuesday morning with the exact same mindset I had when I first met Kari (though I'm sure her involvement wasn't the sole cause for my change)

Monday night I had my first open, honest, nonawkward conversation with my Mom about being gay. And I think THAT is the main reason that I suddenly feel alive again. Holding in feelings from people so long can seriously take a major toll on your psychological build.

Expect to hear more on the gay convo soon. Back to studying :)

A Harsh Critique

Okay, so I know in my previous post I ranted and raved about an amazing quote one of my favorite authors, Yann Martel, had produced. But I came to the end of the book with a much more critical view of him, as an author and as a human being. I've never really given a book critique before, mainly due to the fact that it takes a lot for me to deem a book unworthy of reading. However, this book struck my heartchords, and not in the way that the Poisonwood Bible did, leaving me begging for more, but more so in the way that caused me to literally throw my book down in disgust. Seriously, the bang of the book hitting the coffee table was comparable in extremity to the popping of the sizeable bubble in my head and heart that contained my respect and love for Yann Martel.
Let my begin by giving you a brief synopsis.
Beatrice and Virgil
The book begins with an author named Henry discussing a book he is planning on writing that is both nonfiction and fiction in one book, in the format of a "flipbook". This book is meant to tell a story of the Holocaust in fiction form, due to Henry noticing that fictional accounts of the Holocaust are rare.  Then, as you literally flip the book, you are brought to a nonfictional essay outlining facts of the Holocaust. When he meets with his editor, he is shot down, leaves the meeting in a furious state, and bans writing. Time passes and Henry recieves fanmail of the unusual sort. It's a scene from a play along with a note that simply says something along the lines of "I need help", signed Henry. (I'm unsure if their identical names are important or not.) The scene is about a howler monkey, Virgil, and a donkey, Beatrice, talking about a pear. Henry, who by the way is known to the other Henry under a different name to hide is identity (as many authors do), visits the address and comes to find out that the man who sent the play is a taxidermist. Long story short, time goes on, and the creepy, withdrawn, emotionless taxidermist slowly begins to read Henry more scenes of the play. With every scene, Henry notices that the taxidermist is writing a play about the extermination of animals to really tell a story about the Holocaust, which intrigues him. Henry is drawn into the life of the taxidermist, as an amazing story of human nature unfolds blahblahblah.

No. Stop there. Halfway into the book, you are led to believe that it will outline a beautiful series of events, each author helping the other in finding their creative writing abilities. However, 3/4ths into the book, it suddenly takes a grotesque and offensive turn. The taxidermist shows Henry a scene in the play where Beatrice is recalling events in the past where she was tortured by police. These events are nearly a direct copy of what some Jews experienced during the Holocaust. This monologue is very long, the longest monologue of the play that the taxidermist has written, and it is through the eyes of a....DONKEY. An animal. And to understand the utter graphic disturbance caused by this monologue, you'd have to read it yourself. But animalizing the tortures of Jews from the past and going into such detail can only be described by two words: Too Soon. Make it 3: Way Too Soon.

Sadly, I didn't stop there. I continued to the end of the novel to find out that Henry was disturbed by the play, began to leave in anger and was stabbed by the taxidermist suddenly, after throwing the play down onto his desk. He stumbles out of the shop, is seen by people walking the streets, and looks back to the shop to see the taxidermist smile (he has made no facial expression throughout the whole novel) and suddenly disappear into the back of the store. Shorty after, the store goes down in flames. Henry is rushed to the hospital, is healed, and writes for the first time since his "flipbook". Suddenly, the story is not about the Holocaust at all, but about a writer finding his voice after a tragic incident.

I challenge you to read the monologue. And then decide if you want to read the book.

No but really. Did she ever really learn to use punctuation?

"If you are pitched into misery, remember that your days on this earth are counted and you might as well make the best of those you have left."
- Beatrice and Virgil by Yann Martel

Rather than post this quote and move on from it, leaving the reader wondering why I posted it and what it means to me, I'm going to take a few minutes out of my night, accompanied by wine and mindless television, to tear this quote apart and truly to analyze it for what it's worth.
First question: What makes this quote so important to me? Other than the fact that it's written by a Spanish man currently residing in Canada (which proves to me that there are other people in other parts of the world who have the same flow of thoughts that I do) who is fluent in several languages and comforting to me because of his ability to relate every novel he writes to my life (and I'm sure plenty of other lives as well), it's not a corny quote fed to me via film or propaganda, jazzed up with a nice set of polished actors, or through a musician who sings of one idea and then wastes life away with alcohol, drugs and money. Okay, the alcohol I understand. But money? Pffft. Money. I'll get to that idea another day. But no, this quote isn't dressed up, spread from person to person via facebook, accompanied by less than 3 hearts, by girls whose photos are of them making a kissing gesture to the camera while mindlessly holding up a piece sign. "Live every day like it's your last". Give me a fucking break. If I lived every day like it was my last, I'd be unemployed, uneducated, and a bum (Because who in their right mind would want to work, school and worry about their bank account on their last day of life). It's completely irrational to live by a quote that promotes so much lazyness and complete apathy because, alas, life does go on and as annoying and inconvenient it is, it's a necessity that you go through the basic motions. You need money, you need a job, and you need to be educated, not only for the main reason that people need something to anchor them down and to keep them sane, but also so that when it becomes necessary to start living your last days, you have the recources to do so.
Second question: Why is this quote better than the other Carpe Diem quotes? And this is where we really get into the analyzation. (Drumroll commence, please) "If you are pitched into misery". What a beautiful way to put such an ordinary event. I didn't meander into Misery wondering "Oh hey what's going on in here?". Nope, I was pitched. "Remember that your days on this earth are counted". Martel doesn't bring any idea of religion into this quote. No man in the sky decides we are done and takes us away. He puts this part as simple as he can, because it's a simple part of life. You die, it happens. "You might as well make the best of those you have left." I can, without a doubt, picture him shrugging his shoulders while uttering this part of the quote, with complete reason and rationality. No need to mope. What would a rational person do when realizing, after they were thrown into misery, that one day they will die? Umm duh, try to make the best of it.  It's not wrapped in beautiful syntax and poetry. It's straight to the point.

And now a round of applause. I'm sure my senior year English teacher would be proud. Had she given me something such as this to analyze, maybe I would have been a better student. But Emily Dickinson
Is really - not the kind.
of person - That I,
can relate - to.

As of late, I've really been thinking about what my life used to be like, before.... before.... Well, I don't know what specifically happened to change my general mood/attitude towards people and life, but something changed. I used to be such a happy, optimistic person. I'm still pretty optimistic. I don't like to complain about things. I'm just... lost, I suppose. Perhaps it has to do with my recent break up. 2 years of your life spent telling someone else every single detail about yourself and then studdenly bringing all contact with that person to a complete halt can leave you feeling a little empty I suppose. But I also think part of it has to do with the friends I have now, compared to the friends I used to have. Everything used to be so (and excuse me for this, but I'll put it in the simplest of terms) fun. Well, that's excluding the winter months of 2006-2007 when I laid on my couch a good duration of the time, reading Crime and Punishment and sobbing in silence. Why those months were so hard, I still don't quite understand. That's a different story for a different day, though. Right now, the main point I want get across is that I miss the friends I used to have that are no longer around. I miss the relationships I shared with Reice, Ashley and Erica. I miss being able to talk to them about anything. I miss being able to tell without a doubt that they truly loved me. Now, I don't know anymore.

I know I told you in my last post that I was done feeling pathetic, and that I was ready to start getting my sanity back. But please be forewarned, that does NOT mean that every post will be joyful and carefree. This blog in general, whether the posts it contains are happy/sad/mad/etc, represents my getting my sanity back by doing something that I love, for me, not for anyone else.

Sitcom Sanity

Okay, let's get real.
I'm 21 years old, and have been dating various people since the age of 15. By now, you'd think I would have come to terms with the fact that break-ups happen, hearts get broken, people get sad, blahblahblah. But it's getting to a pathetic point right now, and sitting on my couch watching re-runs of Everybody Loves Raymond can only suffice for so long. You can only laugh at the misfortunes of others for a certain period of time before you have to start facing your own, and that's what I'm going to start doing. Facing my misfortunes. Woe is me, and all that fucking shit, is stopping right here. I can't keep feeling pathetic. It's a rule of life, when you get into serious, hardcore relationships, your friendships crumble a tad. But I can't let that effect my actions anymore. Sitting on my couch isn't going to get my sanity back. So, I say to myself, let's start doing the things I want to start doing, for myself, not for anyone else. Hooray!

Pr(blogging>statistics)=1

If you would be a real seeker after truth, it is necessary that at least once in your life you doubt, as far as possible, all things.
- Rene Descartes