Friday, October 26, 2007


I keep trying to be optimistic. I keep trying to hide that I am freaking out because I so much don't want it to be true. But then things happen like trying to get 12 blocks into Harlem and after 2 looking down to find everything in your bag swimming in soda. And that is when I just want to cry. Everyone is having problems, so I don't want to make a big deal about my issues, because they are more or less comparable to what everyone else is dealing with. Why can't I get it together? I need somewhere to rant.

I think a lot of my agitation comes from my weight obsession. I am completely obsessed with the fact that I am gaining weight, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I can't really tell if I have actually gained weight or not, but I do know that I am trying to fight the freshman 15, the birth control 10, and the I-can't-work-out-the-way-I-want-to 5. That is 30 lbs. that I am trying to stave off at one time, all the while living without a kitchen in the most culinarily divine city in America. I happen to be trying very hard to stick to three smallish meals a day with two to three light snacks. I haven't eaten any cupcakes since I have been here, and only a pastry or two in over two months. I try to stick to fruits and vegetables and egg whites and chicken in the dining hall, but sometimes I just break down and have bread or something ridiculous like 5 apples in a day.

And it totally freaks me out that I can't exercise the way that I want to. I have been getting in 5-6 days a week doing something, but I am dying on the vine without spinning and bodypump. my once-hardened muscles are softening, and I just do not have the time or the energy to keep it up on my own, and run, and keep up with all of my reading. And my boobs just keep getting bigger. It freaks me out. I know it is the hormones and I can't help it, but I hate it. I liked not having to worry about who I was hitting in the face. It bothers me more than I would like that my bras almost don't fit.

I can't seem to keep my room clean. There is crap all over my floor, which by the way looks like crap anyway because of our wrinkled rug. I could stay here and clean it, but I also have 200 pages to read this weekend, a midterm to study for on monday, and a paper to finish. Plus I need to get the heck out of here and have fun. And I need to run. I feel better after I work out. If I don't do it every day I get antsy.

The worst part about this is I don't know who to talk to. My roommate has her own issues. Other people are studying. I don't want people to think that I am such a pessimistic person, because really I am not. I have just been so overwhelmed lately with things that are out of my control. But really, things aren't so bad. I talked to the food editor of Spec yesterday about running for her job in the next month or so, and she was really supportive. I went to this cool haunted house in Chelsea last night. I am still working on my chocolate article, and have research left to do.

What would I do if this was last year? I would be in Mrs. Duston's office or Captain's room or Mr. Gray's living room, and everything would be okay, and they would make me think about funny things, or things that could be worse, or how I could use it to make ASB so much better...

But above it all, even though I love it here and would never think about being anywhere else, sometimes I would just love to go downstairs and lay in my parents' bed and hug them. I haven't talked to either of them for more than a couple of minutes at a time since my mom was here a month ago. I want to see my sister, and go to coffee with my mom and lunch with my dad. And I want to use an oven and make chicken and cupcakes. And I want to stop crying.

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