This Is the One in Which I (Partially) Admit How Shallow I Am Ahh.. finally I am able to update. I had this huge outpouring earlier of all the things I wanted to say, and of course now that I sit down to type they've all fizzled out. I work with Power Point. I have the newest version here at home, while my version at work is older. My older version has the slides in the left hand pane, and that is just great. The new version has the slides listed by title instead. I would much rather have the actual mini slide because you can tell at a glance what it is, as opposed to having to read to know. Now, wasn't that interesting? I'm sick and tired of the head games that I play with myself. I see them for the unhealthy crap that they are, but that just doesn't seem to stop the beliefs or the thoughts from coming. I think we have it too easy as kids. We think that life is that way, but it's not. Life is hard. We don't get what we want. What do I want? I want to be a bombshell, not just someone who is better than average. (Have you seen the average? Geez.) I want to be slim with D size round perky breasts that will never sag. I want no bags under my eyes from three children taking my sleep. I want no wrinkles ever. I want a small nose and dainty features and small hands and feet. I want a quieter voice and less crass ways. I want to get rid of the slang without sounding like a priss. Fuck yeah, dude. I want to have a pretty smile. I want white teeth. I want to be the best in my field and amaze everyone with my creativity and smart thinking. I want quick comprehension and the ability to convey my thoughts with eloquence. I want everyone to love me and like me and think that I'm cool. I want a perfect complexion with not even a hint of a pore or a blackhead or anything else so icky. I want to smell fresh and good. The other day one of my coworkers was standing near my desk while we were talking, and we were looking at the computer screen. She was very close to me, and I could smell her skin. It smelled so fresh, as if she had just gotten out of the shower. I leaned closer and just inhaled her while we were talking. I'm jealous of her. She doesn't seem to be wracked with hangups like I am. People seem to like her. And then you know what? I don't like to confess that I feel this way. Why? Because people don't like people who feel this way. Do you suppose that you get any respect in my field if you in any way express lack of confidence? No way! I think this is primarily because it is such a male dominated field, but it is this way everywhere that I can tell. And I also wish that I never had to go to the bathroom again. I hate that. I hate even admitting that I have to go. Basically, it all comes down to my feeling appalled by the human race, by our lack of beauty and sickening mistakes that make others miserable. Once you hit a certain age, you are not beautiful! You are ugly, yet you must live with yourself. You must still feel as if you have some value in the world, even though you are harsh on the eye. No one will look at you and say, "She is so beautiful." They will just see an old woman. Can you at least say when you are old that the beauty inside has increased because of your life experience? All the older people I know say they feel the same now as they did when they were younger. Fuck, way to dash my hopes, folks. And I can't fucking stand that I have bought into this mentality, this stupid fucking mentality that so many of us stupid women have, that I've always hated, that judges myself so much on how I look and what other people think of me. It's funny, because I was laughing with one of my coworkers the other day about how 1984 was the highlight of my life, why I loved it, and yet it's true. When I turned 9 it all came crashing down. I remember the exact instant, climbing the stairs at my friend's house, entering her room at the top of the stairs, coming out of the dream of childhood, and feeling self-conscious for the first time. Well, I need to qualify that. I had felt critical of myself before, because I was a dirty rough tomboy and I had this feminine best friend. I would try to look nice, and here she would come in her pretty dress and bow in her hair, and I was wearing a shirt that was too small, jeans, and my hair was in a straggly pony tail. But that was different. The time when I was 9 it stopped me from knowing how to behave, whereas before I would feel bad but keep on moving, acting the same as always. I've really got to get to work. Usually this kind of vent is saved for my written journal, but what the heck. |