I feel so tired. SO tired. I made a list of all the things I should do today. All I want to do now that I'm back from class is SLEEP. Dammit, what's wrong with me?? Stupid question. A LOT of things are wrong with me, clearly.
I want to clean up the house for Mom. She's working so insanely hard. I'm really proud of her. And I know she's crazy-stressed over the lack of functionality in our household these days, which is why I feel so strongly about taking some initiative to get things off her plate. I've never really been very good at foreseeing potential problems and then forgoing them, but it's important that I start thinking with that focus.
Mom really hurt my feelings last night. I don't like it when she compares me/my food issues to Leah, my little sister. Of COURSE I would never wish the kind of angst I have on ANYONE, much less my baby sister. And I make a point not to voice my opinions on the shit my family shovels down their throats. Leah is far more likely to become obese at some point than she is to become anorexic.
Most girls I went to middle and high school with were skinny up until . . . junior year, probably. Then time started catching up with them. Yeah, they ate the same junk they'd always eaten, but, once you hit a certain evolutionarily-based child-bearing age . . . 16 or 17, I guess . . . your body just starts storing up all that extra fat for baby. I could rattle off dozens of girls who I thought were so enviable for a long time . . . and then they hit that point.
Leah's in the same place right now. She's eleven. She's got years ahead of her in which she can eat whatever the hell she wants and however much she wants of it without really seeing any affects on her figure. And, like Mom said yesterday, Leah's figure is currently getting cuter every day--she's going through that change from kid to not-so-kiddish. I haven't noticed the waist Mom mentioned, but mostly because I've been so distracted by her boobs. My eleven year old sister has fucking bigger books than I do. Damn. In any event, of COURSE she isn't going to be getting fat during this period of development, NO ONE gets fat during this period--bodies change and weight placement changes and some stickkish girls gain weight and baby-fat girls lose weight and everything shifts around. No one BECOMES FAT during this puberty--the little body's working too hard. But--and here's the big ole BUT that I've been working towards: The fact that kids don't have to worry much about getting FAT during this time, does NOT mean that they should eat shit. The only times I have chosen not to hold my tongue is when I watch Leah eat multiple poptarts with cereal at 10 in the morning as she slugs out on the couch, which is where she remains until exactly noon, at which point she'll eat something like, oh, I don't know, a FRIED BOLOGNA SANDWICH and a MOUNTAIN of CHIPS. And then an avocado's worth of guacamole with more chips for a snack. And then whatever god-awful, nutritionally-devoid concoction my dad sees fit to put on the table for dinner.
So, honestly, Mom can make all the snitty remarks she wants to about it being so great that food and fat is "on the back-burner" in Leah's soon-to-be-a-hardcore-mean-girl little head, since such things are "so unimportant." I agree that it's very relieving that she's not wrapped up in this stuff as I am. But, truly, she's not any better than me, for a number of reasons. Firstly, as if the things that occupy Leah's time are important? Spongebob, iCarly, Zach and Cody, games on Dad's iTouch and Mom's laptop, texting, becoming increasingly popular and more thoroughly immersed in middle-school-dramatics? THAT'S important? At least MY issues have some kind of deep, secret, awful internal significance, whereas Leah's issues are about as surface-level as they come. At least MY issues say something about my intelligence. Yeah, it's stupid and irrational but at least I have a modicum of DEPTH, even if I haven't figured out yet how I'm supposed to channel it. Because I fucking WILL figure it out. I have POTENTIAL, dammit.
I didn't intend to go off about that. I wasn't going to mention it, even. The whole hurt-feelings sha-bang. I do feel a little bit better though, a little less heavy, now that I've just spewed it all out there and gotten it out of me. I was hurt and angry but I'm not anymore. Just sad again. And sleepy.
Oh, but one more thing about that: HOW can one POSSIBLY say that my food choices (as far as concern for animals and health go) are unimportant? In the scheme of things, it is SO important. It's based in compassion and consciousness! Skinny Bitch! Skinny Bitch! Skinny Bitch! How is that message unimportant? How is being wrapped up in stupid, pithy, "in the moment" nonsense somehow better than living consciously and with intent? I've lived my whole life thus far miserable because I feel like such a fucking waste of space. I don't DO anything. I don't STAND for anything. I don't have anyone, really. Veganism might make me less of a hypocrite. It'll make me feel like less of one, anyway. I'll be doing something, I'll be standing for something, it makes my life mean something. I'll still be lonely, but it's getting to the point that I don't even care anymore. I don't need to be loved. I just want to be right.
Okay. I'm still exhausted. Either I go take a nap or I go clean something or I go to the bookstore or whole foods or I do homework . . . I've got SO MUCH to do, Jesus Christ.
I fucking I fucking I. I fucking hate personal pronouns. I'm a self-centered fucking bitch.
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