1. I slept enough.

2. I relaxed about meals, which still make me freak out, and ended up managing a very balanced diet all week.

3. I didn't have a single sip of diet soda ... and I think that my liver was so thankful for getting a break from the confused process of filtering phenylketonurics, it rewarded me by letting me consume as much rum-laced crap as I could pour down my gullet, but keeping me hangover-free all week.

4. I had one (1) cigarette all week, and hardly hankered it a bit.

I hear this is what vacation is supposed to be like, right? To be completely honest, my idea of a perfect vacation is something more experiential than the somewhat false recreation of a cruise, like, visiting people or exploring strange cities. It makes me kind of uneasy to have everything done and planned for me as it is on a cruise, but, hell, what's to complain about? I did have fun last week. Lots of it. And, physically, I feel pretty good now.

Last night, I composed an entry about the trip, but my home computer is still all fucked up and the disk I saved the entry to so I could post it at work "can't be formatted" or some shit, so fuck it. You'll hear it all eventually, I promise. But not today.

I'm moody as hell, and I guess I'd be lying if I claimed it had nothing to do with PMS, but that doesn't make any of the moods any less valid. You know how, when you're drunk, you say the most outlandish things with utmost sincerity? And you really mean it? PMS moodiness, for me, is like being a sort of sad, overly introspective drunk with bipolar disorder. My reactions may be exaggerrated, but they're no less true. So fuck you.

My eyes well up with tears, as I finally come to understand the true beauty in Volvo commercials.

I am so touched by how a wooly mammoth, a saber-toothed tiger, a three-toed sloth, and a human - four creatures of such distinct genetic makeups and geological eras - manage to find each other and work towards harmony in the movie "Ice Age."

Everybody loves me, everybody hates me.

I'm so fat. Why am I so fat?

MAN, my ass looks great in this skirt.

I just suggested to a friend that he push his octagenarian grandmother down the stairs.

All ridiculous, but all true items. Each sold separately.

Shut up. It's not my fault that everything rises to the surface with the blurbling of my hormones. As such, the arrangement of any cohesive thesis at this time does not a realistic expectation make.

But at least I'm not LISTLESS! (Ba-dum! Bum!)

See? Look:

Why am I an angsty Yoda today? I don't know where this shit is coming from:

1. If someone says he/she is afraid to fall in love with you, don't torture yourself over whether or not that person will make some miraculous realization in your favor. It may be true that he/she loves you, but I think that in love, the distance between fear and desire is as skinny as an eyelash. If your beloved is unwilling to take a risk to bridge that, you are not being loved in the way you might hope or deserve. Cut your losses, and take the relationship for what it is. It still might be very beautiful, indeed.

2. Sometimes things that you want to happen, even if they are entirely possible in some realm of existence, will simply never come to be. But, at the same time, they might.

Dreams:

3. Lately, my dreams have been full-out FUN. Just some samples:

- Kelly as anime ninja in a band of revolutionaries.

- Kelly as member of Indian prince's royal harem, as selected by an online dating service.

- Kelly as cheerleading avenger.

- Kelly as owner of contact lenses which turn into adorable, tiny penguins.

- Kelly as Alice Cooper's best friend and collaborator. He was really nice.

Ocean:

4. It was wonderful to be surrounded by ocean last week. I have always loved swimming, and felt a connection with water. My parents have pictures of me as a baby, less than a year old, crawling voluntarily into the ocean up to my neck. I don't know, maybe my parents were actually trying to kill me.

At any rate, I survived, and for as long as I can remember, I've wanted to have my own place near the ocean. It's starting to seem just plain old wrong that the only way I could live further away from an ocean coast, is by moving to Asia's epicenter.

Oh, God. More Body-Image Bullshit. But, don't worry, I start out focussing on my breasts:

5. Though I'm still mildly obsessed with losing weight, and a week in a bathing suit did nothing for my crappy-but-unfortunately-accurate body image, I recently realized that if I lost a lot of weight, there is so much of my flesh that I'd miss. Like my tits. I'd really miss having tits. My ass will never go anywhere, believe me, but my tits have been hard-earned. I do not come from a busty family, and if I were to get skinny again, I'd look like a little boy.

My sister is cute and tiny, but completely flat. My mother is also cute and tiny, and didn't have boobs until her late 20s, when she was pregnant with my sister.

I don't know why I'm comparing my build to theirs, anyway, since I take after my tall, brawny dad. Then again, he doesn't have tits, either.

6. I think that maybe, if I had been better about taking care of myself in my formative years instead of being all hyper-starvey, I would have been taller. As it is, I got big old hands and feet, and I flail and break stuff like a puppy who hasn't grown into its tail. That's right, I blame my klutziness on a thwarted growth spurt.

7. A cute guy who lives in my building told me I'm beautiful. Hee. That's appealing.

FDA Approved:

8. Yesterday I was eating something societally forbidden, like wheat bread, and I thought to myself, "I'm eating a carb! Don't tell my pancreas!"

The comment was inspired by all that crap about blablablah carbs jacking up your insulin which is secreted by the pancreas, and the overproduction of insulin has some connection with weight gain*, and that is why carbs are bad, because fat is bad, and any food that might lead to FATNESS is one to which you should be morally opposed. I decided I'd like make my fortune selling fake carb blocking pills, and name the product "Pancreas Umbrella," because it would be kind of funny. I guess I'm a little bitter before I menstruate.

Oh, additionally, I'm going to start referring to diabetics as being "pancreatically impaired."

And:

8. From what Jen told me, it sounds like Aaron's funeral was rather lovely, strange as that is to say. I keep seeing him everywhere, and it's odd... it's not that I think about him more now that he's gone, it's that I didn't realize how frequently I always thought of him. Maybe that sounds awful. I'm sorry.

We had dinner once at one of my favorite restaurants, and I think of that whenever I go there. We saw some movies together which I loved and naturally associate with him. He's been lifted from the world, and the thought takes a lot of getting used to.

"Aaron" is alphabetically first in all of my contact lists. I can't bring myself to erase his cell number or email address. I realize it might be absurd, like keeping tax documents from 1979, but I keep thinking I might need it someday.

Lordy. I think I'll go get more coffee. That seems like a grand idea.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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