Ok this sucks.

Thanks to various stressors, medications, and bad luck, over the last 15 months, I've managed to gain 50lbs. Last night I was trying to figure out what I was going to wear today. I didn't want to wear the pair of jeans I wore on monday, and I didn't have time to wash my work pants, so I went lookng through my jeans drawers.
But then they wouldn't go on.
I looked at myself in the mirror, and yeah, I was a little pudgier than usual. But I didn't think I looked like my jeans shouldn't fit. I got one pair on, but I felt like if I breathed they would split. Besides, it created a rather unflattering pooch in my waist.
Now I always wear my jeans tight anyway, seeing as I hate anything baggy. But this sucked.
Of course, I couldn't wear the jeans I already wore this week because I'm up in front of the class part of the day. I don't really like them anyway.
So what's a girl to do?
I knew Ross had a great pair of jeans that I had tried on but decided I didn't need a few days ago. Of course I should have bought them, but it was 11pm, that wasn't going to help me.
My only saving grace was the fact that fred meyer opens at 7.
So I take a chunk out of my workout time to go to freddies before class, and grab a bunch of jeans in my size and go to the dressing room. Now the dressing room at freddies is a box in the middle of the store. There's no attendant with numbers or racks for you to hang your clothes on. The lady comes over to let me in and then insists that I can only take four in at a time.
For one, anyone who's ever thought about stealing knows that things like jeans are hard to steal when you're wearing shorts. Secondly, you just know that she wouldn't have made a middleaged woman limit herself to four items. But what makes a 40 year old klepto different than a 20 year old klepto? Nothing. Unless you want to include the chance that the 40 year old is better at it from honing her skills.
But regardless, she first tells me that I can only take four of my ten items in at a time, but then tells me to put my discards on the handicapped railing in the dressing room.
So, eventually, I'll end up with all ten items in there anyway. Either that or I would have had to stand there in limbo till eternity came and went.
So I grabbed my discards and went to change them for some new ones and before I could do that she squeaked and ran over to take three items and hand me four.
Obviously the woman was brilliant. I'm sure her IQ even rivaled my own.
So by the time I got finished with all the items there were four discards and two keeps in with me. She tried to stop me to talk to her as I left but I couldn't handle it anymore so I just left her standing there with her mouth hanging open.
I'm really getting sick of the age discrimination in this town.
So now in my room I have jeans from size 10 to size 16.
It's so tempting to just try and starve yourself. I'm so upset about this, and all I can think of is how last time I lost 30lbs I just stopped eating. So yeah, I was anorexic for a while. Brought on by depression. Doesn't help that I never looked better than I did then.
But I have a size 8 dress hanging in my closet and it drives me nuts to think that just a little more than a year ago I could wear that.
Whatever. Come be my workout buddy. Come do stuff with me other than go out to eat. Why don't we have a weed pulling party? Or a cleaning party.
Why must having fun always include food?
And why can't portions be smaller. I'm really sick of going to a restaurant and paying $10 for something you should only eat half of, or less than half of, and having to take it home and let it get gross.
But if you order a half portion, it's not $5. No, it's $8.50.
So my frugality gets in the way.
Anyway, I know what you're thinking. Quit whining, do something about it, if you don't want to eat it don't. etc. But I know all those things.
It'd just be a lot better if I had people doing it with me.

How many hours in a week?

168 hours in a week.
During the fall term, every week is scheduled like so:
17+ hours in lecture and lab
20+ hours at work
14 hours at study or homework
6 hours working on my honors thesis
2 hours trying to get my design business off the ground
5 hours working out
56 (hopefully) hours sleeping
2 hours showering
14 hours preparing and eating food
5 hours riding my bike to and from campus

So far that's about 125 hours already dedicated.

Which leave me something like 43 hours to do other things.
Not too bad, but once you start adding in the time it takes to do laundry, volunteer at the animal shelter, get groceries, clean, etc. it begins to shrink rapidly.
As it is, just going to lecture and work is almost a full time job. That doesn't include all the extra work of studying. Pretty crazy.
And people act like college students are lazy and don't do anything.
That's pretty funny.
Well, here's to being a senior. Everyone ready?

But... red and brown are practically the same, right?

I can just imagine that's what the squashed box of Revlon haircolor would tell me if it could talk.
Of course, I would only proceed to squash it more, and while fun, that wouldn't fix the fact that my hair is a muddy shade of brown over my golden blonde.
I was going for some deep red lowlights. But instead of red, my hair turned dark brown. Damnit.
So yeah, my day has been like that. Actually my whole week.
I come home after work and get ready to relax, and my roommate's coffee table decides to dis-assemble itself right on top of my most prescious plate, shattering it to bits.
I try to go out with friends to the bars, and end up spending the entire time babysitting/wandering around in mostly empty bars where not a single guy above a rating of a 3 or 4 casts an interested look my way.
Try to play a new computer game that took forever to install; it crashes constantly before loading and won't tell me why.
I draw pretty pictures for my brother and a friend, and get ignored as a reward.
Try to make a blouse out of beautiful clearance fabric, and somehow forget a major thing called seam-allowances, making it too small.
Pretty much, me trying to do anything is a bad idea.
Why do I have to have all the bad luck?
I hope I'm getting it out of the way so the rest of the year is fabulous.
I guess I'll go lay down and read a book, since I can't do anything else.

Desperate

So I'm sitting here.
Tired, but not sleepy. Feeling hopeless, bitter, empty. Feeling anxious about feeling depressed. Hating my body, and not just because I've gained weight, but because it's a fucking mystery, speaking a language I don't understand and hurting me because of it.
Feeling like I desperately need to get out of this feeling, and yet not only does nothing interest or satisfy me, I can't imagine what I'd want to do if I cheered up. Everything good leads back around to something depressing.
Everything feels so futile.
I mean, with the way our country is going to shit while flipping off the rest of the world, what's the point of doing anything? We'll all probably be wiped out in 20 years.
I feel sick. I can't find a purpose. And I'm getting tired of fighting.

Be yourself?

Mm.. working on it.
Not doing so well.
You know, you'd think it'd be easier. I mean, you just look inward, see who you are, then practice showing it as accurately as possible to the outside world, right?
Of course, I have a problem.
I look inside and realize that the inside isn't in English. It isn't some tangible, quantifiable thing. What's a girl to do?
They say that by being yourself people will like you more, and be drawn to you. But what if they aren't. What do you do then? Can you ever really be yourself and be happy? We depend on others for happiness. Some to a large extent, others to a smaller extent, but it's true for almost everyone.
I'm really just disguising whining with psuedo-philosophy. I'm severely lonely, and while I have a few new friends, nobody but my family really gives a crap about me. Four people. Well, my grandparents care but they're distant. But really, four people out of six billion. And I'm blood related to three of them.
Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe more people care. I thought they did. I thought Tim did. But he dropped me so fast I blinked and ten months were evaporated. I've just been slapped in the face so many times with it all. I just don't know anymore.
But I should count myself lucky to have such a soul-friend in Elizabeth. I'd take her over a bunch of friends any day. I just wish we were physically closer to each other. I miss her too much. All of my people are hours away.
So yeah, it's lonely here.
I mean, who am I even writing this to? Nobody will even read it.
I guess I'm just expelling what's inside. It happens, even if it isn't really coherent most of the time.
But hey, prove me wrong. Remind me that you're a friend, yeah?