Looking up from the "new entry" box, I see a purple banner with the phrase "vaginas are weird" and a semi-Raggedy Anne/Andy doll.

*twitch*

.....

I feel almost surreal.

And rather goofy, because I've got some 3D glasses perched on the end of my nose.

Have you noticed that through the red, everything is red (or black), but the blue still shows what color an object is?

My eyes are strange enough that I have to wear the glasses backwards. My left eye is enough weaker than my right that when it's trying to look through the strong red, I can't see a damn thing. It's quite sad really.

Enough.

.....

I think I'm going to donate a gallon of apple juice to the lobby.

*goes to do that*

*while she's at it, goes and takes some trash out to the dumpster to keep the room cleaner*

Anyway.

.....

Earlier tonight, I was talking with somebody about stories. Their story, actually. They said it sucked, in a self-deprecating way.

I argued that it didn't.

Perhaps because I have some strange talent with human nature; as long as there is an element of truth, I can accept it.

I don't know why; I don't think that there is any great truth hiding within my thoughts.

Anyway, it got me to thinking....

Why are humans such social creatures? Why are we so dependent on others for our self-esteem?

Self-esteem is defined as how one thinks of oneself. How you esteem yourself. That's why it's called self-esteem.

So why is it that we seek an outside opinion?

I know that I am hot stuff. I know that I am beautiful and sexy, that I am desirable, that I am smart; I know that I am a wonderful person, and that I can improve somebody's mood in some unfathomable way.

So why is it that I desperately need to hear other people's opinions of me?

Why do I seek ratification for my self-esteem?

Perhaps the media is to blame. Everywhere I turn, I see slim, svelte, short beauties on TV. I am not slim or svelte, and at 5'9" I'm not particularly short.

My friends who are as sticks next to me seem convinced that they are fat.

Rachel-down-the-hall weighs literally less than half what I do, and often bitches about being overweight. She also cannot believe that she is beautiful. Why does she suffer from this idea?

Why do I suffer from the idea that I must slim down?

I do not want to be thin; but I would like to have a dress size that is smaller than my age. At age 15, for my junior prom, the best-fitting dress sizes I found were a 16W. At 17, I wear an 18.

I have never been skinny.

There is a picture of me, in my parents' house. I may be all of six years old. It's at the birthday party of a friend of mine at the time, one Casey Lamb (I remember for a long time, I was confused, or perhaps just contrary, and refused to eat lambchops or mutton or any similar meat product because I feared for her). I believe I was the largest of the children at that party.

Throughout school, I was the fat kid.

Not the really fat kid; it's not like I've ever been so fat I haven't been able to see my feet (or my "naughty bits" for that matter, wink wink) while standing.

But I am fat enough that pretty clothing does not fit me.

I am fat enough that my feet hurt most of the time.

I am fat enough that thinking about this is bringing tears to my eyes.

I remember, in seventh grade Home Ec class, the teacher's display of "This is what a pound of fat looks like. This is what five pounds of fat looks like." Little piles of curdled plastic, to simulate just what eating at McDonald's will do to you.

Society has cast me adrift at sea, and abandoned me to my own ends.

Normally, I don't feel that I am fat.

Fat, to me, is the lady at the McDonald's drivethru ordering six Big Macs and an extra-large Diet Coke. The lady who is in the drivethru because she does not look as though she can get out of the front seat of her car without the use of a crowbar.

Fat is the people at Walmart who take the little motorized shopping carts because they're too fat to walk around.

Fat are those who have given up on the other six deadly sins to get their jollies.

That isn't me.

Ah, but society at large is just as cruel to me as it is to them.

And maybe that's why I need others to tell me I am beautiful, because the TV is drowning out my own voice.

Do you remember the movie "Bridget Jones' Diary"? Renee Zellweger is supposed to be "fat" in that movie. Oh no! One hundred thirty pounds! I'm a cow!

So how is that supposed to make the girl who has 190 on her driver's license feel?

And why is it, that although I tear myself apart on the altar of society so often, I find it so hard to do anything about it?

I think I've been to the YMCA at most three times since Greg said he wanted to go, every week, in the middle of Spring Break.

Mind you, that was three weeks ago. I should have gone at least ten times by now.

I can't even manage to go to my Pilates class all the time. Admittedly, I twisted my ankle, but I said that I was going to go anyway, and just not do anything to my ankle...

.....

I look at myself and see a pitiful creature.

I am distinctly lacking in a sense of self-worth. Perhaps I have self-esteem, but I do not find self-respect.

I see a lazy slob. (I have cleaned my room down to the floor twice all semester, and last time, a month ago, I do not believe I even touched my desk.)

I am sick and tired of being such a lazy bum.

Perhaps I will be able to make and hold a resolution, now that I am writing something of actual truth at 4 in the morning...

The time has come for action on my part.

Perhaps it is too late to try to find a job for the next month until the semester is over.

But that means I have more time, in that month, to improve myself.

1. I shall study, and make A's on my remaining tests.

2. I shall go to all my classes. Really.

3. I shall work out at least four days a week. Including at least one day on the weekend.

4. I shall improve my flexibility to the point that I can actually touch my toes when they're pointed, and hold the same position while I flex them. Among other things.

5. I shall keep my room at least clean enough for my mother not to be disappointed.

6. I shall improve my friendships, including my frienship with my sister.

7. I will learn something new every day.

Eh. Maybe I should quit while I'm ahead, instead of overwhelming myself.

I think I'm still missing something. But maybe I'll find it this month.

Oh, and I'm not going to tell Greg. If he reads this, he'll know, but otherwise he won't. I don't want him to push me. I need to push myself, because he won't be there this summer.

I need to change, and it has to come from within.