Still alive and still taking her meds

It's been pointed out that I haven't spent much time talking about eating disorders here lately... I know that I have, and that in doing so I've really kinda been skirting my original purpose for this blog. Really... No good reasons or excuses.

I guess that with how things have been going lately I've been rather distracted from any of my life purposes beyond those basic survival instinct dealies. Additionally, internet access has gotten sketchy again (sigh...screw you, Amber) so I'm not as up-to-date on information like I used to be, or at least used to try to be. I don't want Novare to fall by the wayside but at the same time, right now it looks like trying to keep on keeping on has to be my main focus.

...You know, I really don't have much of a life to write about at present.

When I'm not working I hang around the house all day like a lonesome, whiny puppy dog impatiently awaiting the people's return. I watch CNN and LOGO and sometimes a movie or two. Read Borges and crochet, write in my journal and draw. Stare at walls a lot. Dismally ponder the lonely depths of despair. Things like that. ^.^ I need to be rich and have good insurance so that I can be on the appropriate medications at the appropriate dosages at the appropriate times. Instead of, you know, being all depressed now, needing them, and weaning myself off them because I can't afford them.

By the way? I'd just like to say one thing about medication and depression, or medication and mental illness in general. I don't care how many times you've heard this from how many sob cases or doctors you think are quacks, but mental illness is legitimate illness. True, maybe it isn't caused by an identifiable pathogen. Neither is diabetes, Lupus, cancer, arthritis, Lou Gehrig's disease, asthma, multiple sclerosis, muscular dystrophy, and on and on and on. That doesn't make those diseases any less legitimate in your mind, does it?

The body falls apart in a myriad of different ways. Sometimes bodies are born with deformities and genetic defects which cause significant impairments to a person's quality of life. Men and women suffer from infertility, yet we see it appropriate to treat that. We see treatment as being appropriate for headaches, for allergies, unwanted zits, astigmatism, fatigue, insomnia. Almost all things physical which can be naturally impaired are deemed in need of treatment. (I won't go into details, but, Viagra?) So why is it that people continue to hold on to outdated beliefs about the treatment of mental illness??

...Taking a moment to breathe, here...

I'm not saying stop your asthma treatment or throw out your eyeglasses, because I see those treatments as being appropriate and necessary! In fact, I find treating your depression, panic disorder, schizophrenia, obsessive compulsive disorder, etc, etc, as being just as vital as treating any other physical ailment. If anything, treating them may be more vital than many physical ailments. It's a lot easier to live through those zits or live through that obnoxious hay fever than to survive suicidal depression or manic psychosis.

Yes, the first course of action in treating many mental illnesses should be talk therapy (or religious therapy, whatever you want). Just like the first response for a mild headache should be sucking it up. However, if things get out of hand and the person can barely make it out of bed anymore because the world feels too heavy and their thoughts too dismal, maybe medication should be legitimately prescribed.

And maybe, the person taking that medication needs it. Maybe they're not just taking some drug each day like popping happy pills.

Hell, if it was that simple, I'd say screw Welbutrin and give me some weed. Chances are it'd be cheaper and have less long-term damage on my liver.

(Says Crystal in awesomely witty postscript: "So Bush, you have a choice: legalize pot or provide universal health care.")

Mm. Bitterrrr.

Hey kids, I'm sorry if I've worried you. I'm heeeere.

I started work Wednesday, worked yesterday, and will work tomorrow. Yay! Also very happy is that they have agreed to keep my $12 an hour wage from the DC Cheesecake, plus whatever tips I may make cashiering. Depending on how bored I get cashiering, I may stay in that position instead of returning to serving after a while as planned. I mean, hey, it's not the best of salaries but it's certainly enough to pay the bills out here.

God, what is there to write? I'm doing well to get out of bed, make it to the bus stop, work a few hours, come back home and flop to sleep. It's vaguely amusing the way that Crystal and I end up going to bed earlier and earlier each night.

....I'm sorry, all, but I really don't feel like writing more. I don't care enough to lay myself on the dissecting table, all neatly itemized and organized for your viewing pleasure. Forgive me for having more angsty emo teen moments but you're just gonna have to deal.

Um... [Title]

Just a quick post to say that I HAVE A JOB!!!!!!!!

I have to catch the 3:30 bus to the Light Rail so we can go and actually see my workplace before I start working there... <333 I hope to start Wednesday, but I don't know when they'll actually put me on the schedule. YAYAYAY!

Well, actually, it's not all that exciting. I mean, I'm gonna be cashiering at the freaking Cheesecake Factory so it's not as though a whole lot has changed. There will be nothing novel aside from new people and slightly different environment. However, there WILL be $12 an hour plus a small amount of tips on the side. (Cashiers sorta get tips, but it's more like maybe $20 or 30 in a shift instead of 80+.)

Aaand have to go. Sorry. May update later, but if not, hi, I'm alive, how are you?

Categorically speaking

There's seriously nothing like a little hole-in-the-wall, screw-the-corporations coffee shop to make you feel a little better. It's cold and snowing off and on, there is a stone wall on one side and floor to ceiling windows on the other side, the walls all at odd angles to form a strange sort of polygon room. Ella Fitzgerald on the wall and jazzy funness on the radio. I <3 coffee shops.

Side note. What is it about lesbians and coffee shops? It's like the biggest cliche in the book. Apparently, I fall naturally into this category, as without even planning it I'm sitting here in corduroy pants and an oversized flannel shirt, laptop atop my lap with Equal Rights stickers all over it. Sqa wee.

All that's missing are DREADLOCKS. On my HEAD. God, I want them so badly...

---Hello everyone. This is Crystal, Taylor's devoted girlfriend, with a desperate plea to the world at large. Taylor, if you've ever seen a picture of her, has a head of some of the loveliest cheveux roux in the world, and if you have any piece of information that would prevent her from getting dreadlocks? Please share. I will of course support her in any path she chooses to takes, but it's much easier to bury my face in soft, sleek, shining hair than wax-filled ropes. I'm just sayin.---

::pout:: Know what, I'm dropping the subject right now because I don't want to start in on some long, rambling, pointless blog argument. But someday I will have my dreadlocks and you all will LOVE THEM!!!

---Yes, because you don't have to snuggle with them. Face it, they're just not very snuggle-able! Unless anyone can attest otherwise... I will admit, I do find them very hot. Ani diFranco is a fine, fine lady. But aren't we supposed to challenge stereotypes? And sharing your bed with a mop?---

Dude, screw you, hippies! I said I'm getting 'em when I can afford 'em and in the mean time it's pointless discussing it.

Crap, and I'm running out of topics now. I kinda just wanted to say yay coffee, dykes, and dreads. And that's about it. ^.^

Meh. The depression ogre says, "Why post?"

There is really very little of interest going on here lately. I feel like a puppy, left home alone all day while the owners go to work and school. :-P Crystal's gone most of the day, most days, Jody and Amber are gone, the cars are gone... Just me, the pets, and the TV.

The good news is that I've set up and interview at the Park Meadows Cheesecake Factory on Sunday!!! YAY!!! Heh, when I called the GM was very confused as to why I want to cashier if I'm trained as a server (less money, longer hours, pain-in-the-ass duties). However, all of course becomes clear when I'm like, "Well... I can't really use my right arm for anything involving carrying things over, say, two pounds. Yay shoulder surgery." I want to start freaking MONDAY. I need something to DO.

If this entry seems strained, it's because I'm working hard to force myself to update. Despite being bored, I also have no energy. I sleep ten to twelve hours a night and am still exhausted and listless all day. I don't feel like doing anything at all.

The one silver lining is that I've managed some art projects, including a few ink drawings that I'm actually kinda proud of. Rather surrealist and Philip Guston esque. I half-joked with Crystal last night that I should list some of my work on Ebay and see if anyone would want it. :-P This led to the question of how do artists actually start selling their stuff in the first place? I still lack an answer. (I also lack a scanner, or I'd be more inclined to upload the images.)

One final note would be that I have changed my e-mail address. Please take note! fadedamaranth@yahoo.com = bye-bye. novareproject@gmail.com = CONTACT. Believe it or not, the main reason I've switched is the ads. Since Christmas, yahoo mail has been rife with weight loss ads and with the state I've been in the last thing I need is to be told every five minutes that I need to lose weight.

The part of me that says I absolutely DO need it is why this e-mail switch has taken close to three weeks. I want to be told I'm a fatass. I want incentive to hate myself more. If there's one thing I've taken away from therapy, it's that I am the biggest cause of my own depression. Or, at the least, I'm the reason I continue to be depressed. I set myself up for it and lock myself in to the cycle. Changing my e-mail is a little step to try and loosen the hold.

So... That's about it. Again, please try to forgive my terseness. It's nothing against you, I swear.

Letters to Self

Dear Large Intestine,

Please poop. Seriously. We're worried about you! And besides - you're making things really miserable for the rest of us by being so damn stubborn. Whatever you may think in your twisted, cavernous mind, not pooping in no way makes you superior to the rest of the normal human race. Yes, humans are really gross. They eat, they poop, they piss, they fart, but it's still just something they gotta do. And in case you're forgetting? You're part of this body, too, and you have responsibilities.

So get on it. Go.

Sincerely,
Your neighbors in the digestive tract

***************

Dear Serotonin, Norepinephrine, Dopamine, and whomever else it may concern,

Where the hell did you go??? What is your problem?? We know that it's cold in Colorado but that is no excuse to go on some tropical island vacation without warning. There are lots of systems back here who really depend on you to function. We keep providing you with as much help as possible to keep up your morale; hell, you're probably the most pampered little beasts in this whole body. What more do you need? Silk myelin sheaths? Extra padded, fur-lined receptors? Suede dendrite gloves to keep you warm?

I mean, come on, this is ridiculous. Would you please just do your job so the rest of us can do ours?

Sincerely,

Brain, Tear Ducts, Energy, Body

***************

Dear Brain and Stomach,

There seems to be some sort of miscommunication going on between you two. We've checked the axons and the connection seems clear, no kinks or cuts in the line. Somehow, though, either someone's not listening or the message isn't getting through. We know Stomach is hungry because the rest of us aren't getting our fuel and instead have to listen to him complaining day in, day out. Hate to break it to you, Brain, but we can't force-feed him. It just makes him cranky and upset, and Mouth doesn't want anything either since you're apparently not sending him info either. Stomach's hungry but at the same time you're not sending him the message to tell him to eat or even make sure he knows he's hungry. You know he tends to be kinda stupid and someone's gotta get the message through since he doesn't understand himself.

We really don't have much fat left, here, man. Please send fuel soon.

Sincerely,

Muscles

***************

Eh. That's as clever as I can manage right now.

Saying goodbye to ye old life and family

So far, no new developments on the poverty front. Dad informs me that I'm what financieers call a "judgment-proof case" since it would cost more money to take me to court than they could possibly get from the settlement. So, essentially, as long as I'm broke and asset-less for the rest of my life, I should be fine. Yay.

One thing that really infuriated me about the AES statement is that the date I withdrew enrollment is listed, according to AU, as August 31st, 2006. That's why payments start in March. If you've been following my blog for more than a few weeks you'll know that I most assuredly lived on campus, attended classes, and all the other stuff which goes along with being enrolled in college right up until the 18th of December when FAFSA attacked my life with atom bombs. I guess that there's a six month grace period for dropouts... And since AU told them the WRONG DATE I get to suffer for it. Come Monday AU will receive angry phone calls courtesy of moi.

Why oh why does God hate me so much?

Tomorrow I fly back home to my girl in Colorado. It's an odd combination of relief and sadness here... I've been dying to get back home to my lady and the puppies and kitty and all my things but having spent a week at my parents' house it's been somehow natural to settle into old routines and comfort zones. I guess it may always feel like this: no matter how long I'm away from this house or how much I've been desperate to escape it, there will always be some strange element of 'home' when I return to it.

Last night Crystal asked me what I will miss most and after a while I determined it'd be my bed. My old room has been overtaken by their lives, transformed into a combination storage and school room for Jonathan, but my bed is the same as it has always been. When I'm buried under mounds of quilts to keep out the basement freeze and it's as pitch dark as a basement bedroom can be, there's no way to tell that it isn't my room anymore. The mental picture I have still has my things on the walls, my OCD arrangements to furniture and decorations, clothes, stuffed animals, books all in their proper places. I suppose that the place you lie in the dark completely vulnerable in sleep is the place which will always have the greatest sense of security and home attached to it.

Each day I've spent here has had a different internal set of goodbyes. As I've gone to this old hangout or that familiar grocery store it's been a little like a walking sequel to Goodnight, Moon. Goodbye, Starbucks. Goodbye, AU. Goodbye, old library with the red balloon. (Okay, so there was no balloon involved. But for the sake of rhythm it's kinda gotta be there.)

Yesterday there was a singles' meeting at my parents' church (basically really for all 18 to 25 y.o.s), so I went to that to say goodbye to my old family. I've never delved into describing my history with this church here, but most of it isn't good. At the same time, though, it was my family for quite some time. The members were uncles, aunts, brothers and sisters. No matter how much s--- they might have put me through there will always be some connection and longing for the sense of acceptance and belonging they used to give me.

It was strange and somewhat surreal being back there for an actual meeting. I'd gone to a couple events over the years, but it was the first service I'd sat through in honestly at least three years. It was bizarre how few people recognized me - or acknowledged me if they did. Sad.

Plus the hyper-friendly small talk about killed me. I'm not a small talk person. I really don't care to talk about my job or the weather or school. I mean, dude, these people used to know me better than any others and I them. Ask me how I'm doing, let's talk about your goals and interests and what's been on your mind most lately. Because really? I kinda don't care about what you ate for breakfast or how hard that test was.

The service was depressing, too. God, there was just so much about that place that destroyed me all over again! The preacher was speaking on sex and it brought back all these old memories as he talked about how every sexual act, thought, and impulse is wrong before marriage. From actual sex to masturbation, jokes, movies including anything suggestive. I don't want to start an opinionated rampage here, but this sort of church teaching is what results in the complete sexual disconnect I've had to deal with. Feeling dirty, ashamed and despised for the slightest attraction. I know sex is a...hehe, touchy subject...but still. Even should one choose to wait until marriage, I'll maintain that completely stifling every natural thought thereof is ridiculous. After all, didn't god give us those instincts? Just a thought.

The thing which completely put me over the edge and made me walk out before the sermon was over was when he started talking about how church members should relate to non-Christians. He said how members shouldn't laugh with them, but rather they "should weep for them, trapped and blind in their sins".

I wrote a note down saying, "If you want to help me, HELP ME. I don't need tears!!!" Tears don't pay my medical bills or buy me food. If someone is in poverty and can't afford to buy things like their medications, shaving cream, food, basic necessities, saying "Wow, that sucks... I'll be praying for you" DOES S--T. Stop praying and start DOING something.

After the meeting I was a land mine. When I'm pissed off...don't cross me. That place lays out such an abundance of food after every meeting - they had fruit platters, cheese and sausage, sandwiches, wraps, f-ing shrimp cocktail platters, chips, candy, soda, cookies, cream puffs, eclairs, pastries... Probably a good thousand dollars worth of food. At the end there was so much left over that the takedown people were walking around carrying trays, shoving them in our faces, asking if we wanted to take anything home.

When the fourth person tried to get me to take food I snapped. "Excuse me, but why don't you spend less time buying snacks for yourselves and actually give the money to homeless people who need it?" After she stopped reeling she tried for a snappy recovery comeback. "Well, we figure that these are college students and we're all pretty poor so we do need it!"Right. Because you can't afford groceries. And because cream puffs and shrimp cocktail are really going to nourish you for the next several weeks.

I know that some people reading this go to that church. I know that others of you are probably very religious. Let me please state that I have nothing against being religious or believing in god or trying to live one's life by a moral code. But I have a big f-ing vendetta against HYPOCRITES. Even I find ways to manage to help others out whenever I can. It's part of why I'm often strapped for cash - because I'll choose to give my five to some homeless guy instead of using it to buy myself coffee.

Don't slam the door in your children's faces because of something stupid like their sexual orientation, preach love and acceptance, and glut yourselves while refusing to help those in need. THAT'S what I'm against. That is NOT f-ing Christianity. You wonder why I left your church? It's because I see more spiritual, loving, moral behavior among all those poor heathens you weep for than I have EVER witnessed coming from the hands of your church members. I'm sick to death of the crap you spew. The only charitable donations you've ever given me are judgments, shame, and condemnation.

If I'm headed for hell because of not accepting what you preach, so be it. I would rather live my life to the best of my ability and bless as many people as I can in the process than EVER accept the vicious gospel you preach.

Crap. Again.

Sadly, I had a post all prepared in my head but events conspired (as they so often do) to overthrow all those planned out anythings in my life. It was all a normal, routine day (well...ish, considering I'm at my parents' house instead of home). I was down in the city running errands, going to a checkup with the orthopaedist, then on the way back wanted to swing by the old apartment since apparently the people at AU are worthless and have been forwarding all my mail there.

Mail in hand, headed to the bus stop. Waiting at the bus stop, opened the mail. According to a letter received from AES, since I dropped out of school my loan payments start March 1st 2007 instead of five years after graduation. ...WEPDIGAJPAJG?!?@!

Okay, please, help me with the logic here. Loan company refuses to give student loans, forcing student to drop out of college. Loan company then comes sharking after student to repay old loans. They're expecting me to pay with what, exactly? (Blood?) The whole reason I have to drop out in the first place is because those a-holes refused to give me any financial assistance this year and, as such, I can't afford school!!! If I can't afford it now, how am I expected to afford the loans I wasn't supposed to have to worry about until 2014???

It always happens like this. Whenever I'm starting to feel somewhat okay about things, think they're on the incline, another shitbomb falls into my lap. I say it every time: there is someone up there who refuses to see me happy. (Family, don't start. If you're going to say this is god's loving way of pulling me back by making me desperate you can think again. Since god is sovereign over events, all this is his fault in the first place and he'd better stop causing new and improved crap if he wants me to grovel.) Is my life just some sort of f-d up Dick and Jane parable about good behavior?

Over and over I hear people tell me what an enouragement I am, how they are inspired by my story and my strength to keep fighting. Well you know what? EAT ME!!! I need HELP right now, not empty words, and obviously whatever 'strength' people think I have counts for diddly squat when a person actually needs to survive.

I spend my days fighting for air from the moment I wake up, battling and kicking and screaming and demanding my right to live and have a life, and it's never enough. I get trampled, discriminated against, shoved through cracks in policy outlines, mummified in red tape, ignored when I plead for help and hounded when I have nothing left to give. I can't afford a car without working and I can't get to work without a car. I've made t'shirts and just want to give them away and talk to every girl who wants one, to get the message out, and I can't even afford postage unless I receive money. I spend hours writing letters and Christmas cards and e-mails to people I care about, even if they don't know who I am. I walk around all day looking at the world through a writerly screen, searching for things that matter and things that don't. Turning every life event, store manequin, weird commercial into a blog entry in my head, something that might make people laugh or think or feel.

At this point I don't even see the point in school. The bureaucratic torture chamber has driven me mad, I can't see how the education, no matter how beautiful, is worth it. I'll teach myself on my own as I have since grade school. I'd probably get a better education that way. But I wouldn't have a f-ing piece of paper certifying I'd done the study and graduated from the university and so I'd get automatically fed minimum wage.

Bridges are looking mighty damn better than the alternatives right now. Just when I'd finally gotten thinking that maybe I really DO want to stick around.

Picture of health

Not sure how quality this post will be. As we all know, I am the Queen of good health... Not wanting to jeapordize my status, I had to find some new ailment to contract. As such, yesterday I came down with a case of food poisoning! Yaaay! Bleaugh.

The only fortunate thing I can say is that it isn't serious. Nothing too gory, no high fevers or frightening symptoms. Just yuckies. I've not really felt like updating or, you know, moving. Today I'm feeling much better but still not inclined to do a whole lot of anything beyond lying on the couch reading or crocheting or engaging in some other sedentary activity.

Sooo that's my update. Impressed? Oh yes, indeed you are. We know the truth.

Bluuuugh...

In which Tina reveals her complete patheticness in the face of travel

Yay time lapse! Except no, not really, because I'd much rather be on top of things and keep the updates coming fast and furious. I miss it when my bloggers don't update so, with the assumption that I have loyal readers, I'd rather be reliable. ^.^ EGO MUCH.

It's been hard to think about updating because I'm still a bit disorientedly reeling from the stress of travel yesterday and adapting to the time difference and new environment today. Jetlag and all that, right? (Translation: I woke up at like, two today and still feel like it's early in the day now.)

Trying to get to the airport on time yesterday was a total nightmare. I don't even want to relive all the trauma in order to relay it... For a while there it looked as though the journey wasn't going to take place at all as Crystal and I wrangled with the stress of not having the car (which we'd expected to have been left) and trying to manage bus routes and airport shuttles and crap...

There are few things more distressing that dragging three suitcases down roads with six inches of snow pack only to watch the bus you're trying to catch drive by when you're thirty feet from the stop. At that point I told Crystal, "If one more m-f-ing thing goes s-, I'm taking it as a f-ing sign from God and not stepping foot on that g-d c-s-ing plane." (Yes, my language is shockingly tame in this blog compared to the sailor-esque quality it really harbors. I've actually put shocked some of my military friends once or twice.)

In the end Crystal was able to nab a bus to where Jody had left her car and we just drove to the airport. Thank God.

Once there the lines were more obscene than I'd ever witnessed. I tried taking pictures on my camera phone but I guess my hands were shaking some, as they turned out to be naught but blurs. Basically, the entire airport lobby thing was a winding Chinese dragon of people, moo-ing along through the partitions like cattle in a slaughterhouse. I hate travelling. SO MUCH.

Security was even worse. At Denver International Airport there are three concourses, two together, one connected by a sort of skybridge thing. The concourse across the bridge was the one I needed to reach. The security line stretched all the way across the bridge and partway into the main airport terminal. Yeah. It was tons of fun.

Actually, I got lucky about two thirds of the way through the beast. I'd been standing in line for close to an hour when one of the security guards waved for me to come over to the priority/first class passenger line. "Hey, sweetheart! You ought to be over here; the lines are a lot shorter and there's no reason for you to have to just stand there waiting all day."

Now, I'm not one to pull the feminine charms and I certainly wasn't doing so while standing in a big ass line waiting to tiptoe through a metal detector with my shoes and purse and all getting a separate inspection. I was just in my frumpy comfy travel clothes, too; nothing particularly attractive. So I honestly have no clue why random security guard randomly singled me out, not for extra inspection (...double entendre, eew) but just to save me time and pain. But I'm really not one to question, either... If for whatever reason the fact that I've got breasts and a butt means a horny, bored, college-age security guard's gonna save me half an hour in line just to walk past him, I'll do it. Please forgive me for buying into cultural standards of sexist behavior!!! :-P

I got to my gate with ten minutes to spare, long enough to sort through my purse for enough change to buy an iced tea and pop a Percocet before boarding. I know it's really not the legally sanctioned use for it, but the pills were legally prescribed for me and I only have ever 'abused' them by taking one each time I have to fly. It's the only way I can be sedated enough not to claw madly at everyone near me and banshee screech through the entire takeoff, flight, and landing. I am NOT mean to be on airplanes. Not. At. All. God.

Even drugged, I still text-messaged Crystal pretty much every five seconds until the plane was on the runway because I was panicking so badly. (As she pointed out to me later, I apparently said my final goodbyes and everything. Heh.) Have I mentioned I hate flying...

I'm finally safe on the ground, still alive, and don't have to set foot in another flying cylindrical death trap for five more days.

Oh!!! One last thing about the flight. Somewhere over Nebraska or Kansas or something, I pulled out my sketchbook and pencils so I'd have something to do. And I realized something which made my already non-existent trust in airline personnel drop another thirty metres. Without even thinking about the fact I had it in there, I'd managed to get my pencil sharpener through security without so much as a hiccup.

Now, something you must realize about my pencil sharpener. It's an artist-grade little tool, not one of those round plastic deallies they give away at fairs and whatnot. This means it's a metal block with a one inch razor blade held onto it by a teeny little adjustable screw.

Think about that for a sec.

I could undo the damn screw with my fingernail. After that it'd be a simple matter of embedding it in some tool, say, one of the pencils, and I'd have a little razor-sharp machete capable of slitting throats and murdering people. And maybe taking over an airplane if another half dozen of my friends had done the same thing..? Yeah.

Shut up, I know I have an overactive, disturbingly morbid imagination. But STILL. For someone like me who already has nearly debilitating flight phobia, this little incident was not good news. And I totally didn't make a scene at thirty-four thousand feet in the air by ranting about it to the flight attendants... Um.

Heh. So that's my travel adventure story! And this is why from here on out I'd rather drive, hitch hike, or even crawl on my hands and knees over a bed of gravel, refuse, and broken bottles all the way across the country than ever have to set foot in another airplane!

Recent onslaught of dieting commericals

It's driving me NUTS. And pissing me off in a major way.

I figured out today that it's probably because of the holidays - people feel guilty about enjoying Thanksgiving and Christmas, then New Years offers a reason to make resolutions. I don't know for sure, but my guess would be 'to lose X lbs' is the number one most popular resolution, at least in the United States.

Being the capitalistic society we are all these gyms and fad diets and diet pills attack those resolutions like starving hyenas. When just chilling out and watching some TV today, I counted during the commercial break. Four out of the eight commercials were directly related to weight loss. Two of the remaining four were food-related in some way or another.

So we're talking a 75% of all the commercials we're watching telling us, either subliminally or outright, that we are fat and need to lose weight.

Aside from the dramatic before and after shots, the glamourous supermodels holding coffee can sized bottles of heart-destroying diet pills, there were ads featuring images of morbidly obese people or cartoons of skinny women getting larger and larger over a matter of seconds. After a while I'd had enough of listening to the commercials and put them on mute but you still can't escape the messages. All it did was minimize the onslaught of insulting product hooks. The worst part is that you can't even change the channel, since most channels have commercials on around the same times!

Now, yes, many times people gain weight around the holidays. A few weeks ago the commercials all featured these glorious feasts and tables of happy, skinny, smiling people gorging themselves. Here in America, food is an enourmous part of any celebration and the winter holidays are almost nothing but food. Even those commercials capitalizing on our sense of goodwill and prosperity guilt were often all about how we rich people have too much food and others need our donations.

But don't we like enjoying the food, if just once a year? Do we have to be made to feel guilty over having just that one time a year to relax and give ourselves a break about food and body guilt?

I hate this country sometimes. The past few days have just been especially galling.

Testing the waters

Well, thus do I prove my skills as a webmaster, eh? I figure, hey, what the hell - I'm gonna give it a shot. Obviously it's really raw (I mean, I've put all of what? an hour? into it) but other than that, how doth the readers respond?

Reasons for the new service:

• Commenting is permitted by EVERYONE, not just those with accounts!!!
• More flexibility with the template.
• If ever I do get that mythical website finished, I can transfer this blog to it.
• Easier updating format (I know, this mostly is a personal benefit, but hey).
• Bye-bye annoying ads.
• Not so crowded-feeling as the Xanga and its sidebars.

Reasons to remain with the Xanga:

• It is well-known at this point - I wouldn't have to update all the sites who've linked to me!
• Subscribe-able...not sure if this is...
• Cooler profile features.
• Prettier, at least so far. ^.^
• Personal thing maybe, but it's a simpler web addy... 'Novare' was already taken on blogspot. Pout.

Those are the initial thoughts which come to my mind, at least, but I'd really hope to hear if you have any more thoughts on the matter. Please comment. You determine the fate of the nation! Or...the weblog.