I have a problem. I keep my personal blog as impersonal as possible. Yeah, I’ll reference specific things that I’ve actually experienced, but you can bet it was something that happened to me so long ago that all parties involved are way out of my life. If recent, I’ll keep it vague, casually masking it in a third person point of view, perhaps throwing in a lukewarm-witty joke to diffuse the situation. I’m sure there’s some deep psychological jargon you can slap on me. Something about emotionally unavailable, avoidant personalities, yaddayaddayadda.
But this entry will be different.
Lucky for you, all my roommates are gone and it’s past midnight and I’m feeling moody and restless and frankly quite lonely and I’ve been stalking people on Facebook who I probably shouldn’t have been stalking and I’ve been drinking too much herbal tea and it tastes disgusting. If that’s not the prerequisites for an emo heartspill, I don’t know what is. If you looked at the doc appointments lined up on my Google calendar, you’d think I had some nasty disease. My body is just being really lame and I just have to get stuff checked out as a precaution. My mom says it’s best not to talk about any illnesses you have, so I won’t dwell on it but I guess I now know where I inherited my reluctance for personal talk. I promisepromisepromise it’s nothing serious, but my mom has been worrying about me simply because that’s what moms do. So I get multiple reminders from her and my dad and even my aunt in California to drink my chinese herbal teas and to exercise and eat less and whatever Dr. Oz talked about that day. I have to eat healthier because even though I look like a giraffe, I have the diet and exercise habits of a gorilla-sloth-dinosaur. So I have roomies and friends watching what I eat and motivating me to go to the gym. And I am lucky to have family and friends who love me and fuss over me and don’t want me to get diabetes like Paula Deen, but at the end of the day it gets tiring to think and talk and hear about it again and again. Not to mention one of my frat brothers was being really obnoxious today and telling me that I’m too skinny and it’s awkward and freaky that my thighs don’t touch. It’s taboo to criticize a fat person, but I guess it’s okay to tell a skinny girl that her body is weird. And maybe it’s comments like that that I’ve gotten over the years that makes me overindulge, as though I’m trying to dispel any possibilities that I may be anorexic. Or when I’m told that boys don’t like girls who are too skinny or too tall or too too too whatever other adjective you wish to insert. Or when I hear my concerned grandma whisper to my mom to ask if I’ve been eating. Or how real women have curves so I guess I’m not a real woman. And when I complain about all this, I can hear them thinking, boo hoo the skinny girl is complaining about her body image to fish for compliments. But really, keep your compliments and your fish because compliments won’t make me or anybody happier or healthier. Just wish people were less concerned about how girls looked like or were shaped like or were dressed like. Because I have a friend who is beautiful and healthy and still thinks she needs lipo. And I could go on and on and on but I’ve been writing for an hour and I need to sleep because I have an 8:55 class tomorrow.
