random thoughts

I know, I haven't done very well at the "I will try to post everyday" promise. Although, if you count "try" then I have done well, you just aren't aware of it.

Anyway, I don't know if there is anything to report on the life of little 'ol me or not. There is a lot of randomness, so, randomness is what I will write about.

Classes started last week. Nothing to exciting there, except that no professor knows how to say my name and I have to repeat it several times in a row before they even get close to not butchering it. PAR-tee Girl. Say it with me. Say it with me at least 4 times.

Good, Professor.

This semester will be heavy on the papers. Lots of dead trees. I am taking 13 credits.

Nine credits is full time.

I went out nine days in a row. On the tenth day my liver rebelled against me.

I'm not sleeping. You know, something new and different.

I apologize for reading, but not commenting on all of your posts as of late.

I have the prospect of a date tonight.

Let's hope it goes well.

As a result of all my epiphanies from the summer I am still learning more about myself each day.

It has been an emotional and in many ways, sad journey. Oh, the thoughts I have forgotten to think and the memories I was successful at forgetting all come rushing back.

I'm not saying I have been sitting in a corner rocking back and forth, just saying I'm glad I've had a month to myself.

London emailed to say, after an official inquiry by the Royal Post Office, my painting is lost.

Poop stain.

In watching my best gal with her boyfriend it made me very sad. I realized over this past weekend that the reason why is because I miss that feeling. Particularly the feeling I had for London. Time to move on, I know this, but a person cannot always control their feelings.

Even though I practice female control and taking control over emotional, mentally, and physical abuse from their partners, I find I make excuses for people when they are verbally abusing me.

For example, a male who is in the MPP program says he is just being honest, but in reality he is just being down right mean. (I know that sounds very kindergarten-ish, but it's true) After confronting him, again, about this fact over the weekend, I was, once again, blasted by his "honesty."

This honesty contained comments about how sexy and beautiful I am, but apparently I am fat and need to lose weight.
I'm stuck-up.
My life goal, although admirable, is ridiculous and will never be fulfilled.
Walking out the backdoor of the bar and having him grab me and stick his tongue down my throat.
Being persistently asked to have sex with him.

My responses included:
the number on the scale does not dictate my self worth. (Fucktard.)
I am incredibly sexy regardless of the number on the scale.
Just because I do not wish to smell your farts or your belches does not mean I am stuck-up. You're an imbecile.
If I change one life, then I have changed the world.
Screaming, repeatedly, that I do not, nor will I, make out with him, nor have sex with him.

My excuses for him have been, that it's just Fucktard, and he is only like this when he drinks.
A fucktard is a fucktard regardless of the reasons behind it.
No more. I'm done.

Unfortunately, we are a group, we have classes, breaks, and we go out as a group every Thursday. Sadly, I may have to isolate myself in order to avoid him.

Yes, he is a fucktard.
Yes, it is easy to make excuses and fall into old habits. I realize this, I hate this, it will change as of right now.

Thanks to my apartment pool I have an awesome tan.

Thanks to going out nine days in a row all of my healthy eating has been contradicted.

Oh, well.

I've realized that when someone matters to me I am willing to fight for it, be open, honest, and let my guard down. With some coaxing, this can be done. Hey, babysteps.

I have a date tonight.

Let's hope the date goes as well as the phone conversation did last night.