Multiple Choice Question

What is the source of Kat's present headache? Chose one of the following responses. (Note: Kat's back is also going haywire, which could affect the right answer)
a: Not enough Caffeine
b: Too much caffeine
c: PMS
d: Too much studying
e: too much stress
f: a bizzare combination of the above.

Its a good thing this is my last quarter because I don't think I could stay sane dealing with much more of this.

sigh

XKCD did it again.

http://xkcd.com/

Midterms

I have three midterms next week.

*thinks about studying. wretches.*
I'm so not cut out for school anymore. Aggravated senioritis.

(March 20th, graduation, here I come.)

Foward

Someone sent this to my inbox and its been the highlight of my day so far. (of course, currently my day consists of sleeping in, failing on getting rid of my caffeine addiction, fearing someone had stolen my keys which I would be needing to get to campus before 11am so I could meet up with my boyfriend and get my cell phone charger back, only to find my keys hidden in my pasta--after it would be possible to get to campus before 11am. So its not too hard to be the highlight of my day....)

This is an actual letter from an Austin woman sent to American
company Proctor and Gamble regarding their feminine products.
She really gets rolling after the first paragraph. It's PC
Magazine's 2007
editors' choice for best webmail-award-winning letter.

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20
years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard
Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or
salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the
beach in
tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your
revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to
realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you
how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my
pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? I'm guessing you
haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can
already feel hormonal forces violently s urging through my body. Just a few
minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my
husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.' Isn't the
human body amazing?

As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt
seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customer's
monthly visits from 'Aunt Flow'. Therefore, you must know about the
bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood
swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a
tough time for most women.

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is
just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings me to
the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so
painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an
Always
maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these
words:
'Have a Happy Period.'

Are you f------ kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your
tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing
happiness, is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned
above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless
you're some kind of sick S&M freak, there will never be anything 'happy'
about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and
lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local
Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in
a blaze of glory.

For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you have to slap a
moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something
that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular
Manslaughter is
Wrong'.

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective
immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen
to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss
your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending
bullshit.

And that's a promise I will keep.
Always. . .

Best,
Wendi Aarons
Austin , TX


The funny thing is I actually have no problem with my period. It actually usually is quite happy. Whatev.

addiction

Attempting to diminish/eliminate caffeine dependency.

Had a tablespoon.5 of insta-coffee this morning (considering a few weeks ago, I was using 3 and saying, "look, I'm cutting back!" this is still an accomplishment.)

Withdrawal headache. temptation looms. Course, I would have to get up to find coffee, and head drooping sleepily. Library is comfy.

May have to resort to getting coffee before work, don't want to be a zombie for the kiddies....(muahaha excuse...)

*zonk sleeeeep...*

The Future

I'm sitting in the UCSD library, working on my take-home final due Saturday (that I want to turn in tommorrow/thursday so as to not have anything to do thursday or friday), I can't seem to stop my mind from wandering back to a familiar path, a subject it has been drawing back to over and over again in the recent weeks: the future.

My constant re-tracing of thoughts about the future is somewhat vexing to me; one of my personal rules is to avoid thinking about the future, based on the idea that if I think about the future, I would distract myself from relishing the present; that I might come up with all sorts of unrealistic expectations that, because they would never come to fruition, would break my heart; that I'll freak out worrying about things that I have no way of being able to do anything about. I feel this system has generally worked out well for me, apart from several incidents involving my complete inability to plan (eg: hiding from crazies and cops in a closed train station in a little town in France hopped up on so much espresso I couldn't tell if the reason why my hand was shaking was due to fear or caffeine...oh, and the time I spent the night freezing underneath an overhang in Spain when it was raining...etc). What comes to pass has come to pass; my life, without any conscious effort on my part, was already following a plan, although I guess through following instincts, I've accidentally deviated from the norm. I've almost never spent more than 3 consecutive years at one school; I've left pieces of my heart in the hands of friends I never thought I would be lucky enough to have; I traveled to places I never imagined I'd see, with people I never imagined I could learn from; I fell in love despite circumstances no one believed were realistic. I'm grateful to my instincts for every time they've taken me off the path of well-worn expectations.

And yet, as I'm reaching the beginning of my (potentially) last year of formal instruction, I can't help but think about the future. Since as I mentioned before, I have absolutely no capability to plan, this preoccupation with the future seems to be a subconscious plot conceived by the subversive part of my brain to torture me. Many of my friends and acquaintances have graduated and are already "out there" on the path of making their dreams manifest in a tangible form, while I'm still doddering away finishing take-home finals. I'm starting to think my ideas about leaving the future to the future were misguided and escapist rather than sensible life plans…because here I am, standing at the end of the pre-planned plank, staring into a formless, unending depth and trying to see into it as if it were a scrying bowl.

The future has never been more unknown to me. I knew after elementary school there was middle school; that after middle school there was high school, and then on to college. Sure, I didn’t know which middle school, high school, or college I was going to—but it didn’t necessarily matter, because I was convinced that no matter what school I went to, all I had to do was work hard and I would turn out alright. I even knew I was going to spend some time studying abroad, and spend time in D.C. The question now is not “Which institution will I go to next”, but “will I go to an institution?” Before me lies a myriad of choices—Peace Corp? If so, which country? ESL certificate? Take a course in Quechua? Go straight to the American Work Force? If so, for global issues or local issues? Should I try my luck getting a job in Latin America? Should I go to Grad School? If so, what should I be going to grad school for?

I know I should be thinking of this precipice of the unplanned as an opportunity, not as something to fear—life is a blank page, its unwritten (as Natasha Beddingfield would say), what freedom to shape your own life! But of course, to anyone who has had to write ANYTHING EVER and had a deadline to turn it in, a blank page is freakishly scary. (Have you ever said, “oh goody, the page is blank, this essay could turn out in any way whatsoever!” I seriously doubt it.) And there is a deadline. When I graduate, in either 8 months or a year, I will have to do something; and whatever it is that I choose, it will involve giving up things I hold dear for other things I hold dear. Worse, I’m used to thinking of things in assignments: once its done, its done; once the page is written, its written, and I can move on—but this page is an ongoing project, one that will not be finished until the day I die. (And with my luck, probably mid-sentence.)

I guess whatever I do directly after I graduate won’t alter the course of my life for good or for bad; but it could. I want to live the life worth living, and I’m afraid that I’ll fall into the patterns I’ve been accustomed to, following what is prescribed rather than cutting my own way through the jungle. I want to write a book or 12, I want to bring world peace; some of my goals in life seem as though the fulfillment of one would mean the ignoring of others.

And this is the point at which my thoughts once again devolve into helpless sputtering; so many choices, so many options, and so much confusion. I guess I’ll be going back to that take-home final.

Flying High on HMC and BUST connection

Yesterday, on my way to class, I ran into Tina. I was really tired, I didn't feel like going to class, and it was nice to run into a familiar face.

She said, "Hey, you're in BUST!"

Me: What.
Tina:Yeah, I was reading the letters to the editor, and it said something about the Healthy Models Coalition, and I thought, "Hey, I know someone who's into that," and then it had your name and I was all, "oh."
Me: ...what...the...holyfuckingshit

The next 24 hours I have been absolutely pumped with excitement.
For those of my two or so readers who are unfamiliar with BUST, it's a feminist fashion/music/pop culture magazine that has a nationwide readership--and, according to another letter to the editor in that edition, even has some readers internationally.

Hence my freaking out.
Anyway, I was already almost late for class, so I had to sit through 1.5 hours of slow (albeit captivating) lecture on sociocultural anthropology of Indigenous peoples of Latin America. Before class I texted Kyla and Claire, meaning of course that they had to wait an hour and a half before THEY could get the details too (Now that I'm thinking about it, I probably should have waited--but I was so excited coherent thought left me).

After class I called up Kyla, walked to the bookstore to buy the magazine and as I'm sputtering out half-words to Kyla, I searched for the article that had me in it.

It's the VERY FIRST letter to the editor--almost the first written thing in the entire magazine, apart from the table of contents and the Editor's letter.

As I'm reading it, I recall about two months ago having sent this very letter to the editor, my thoughts being, "I really want Healthy Models Coalition in print in BUST magazine. How can I do this? I know, I'll find an article in BUST that's sortof similar in feel and somehow put in Healthy Models Coalition...maybe that will work." I remember scrupulously nitpicking my words, trying to make the letter as short as possible but still say everything I wanted to broadcast, and at last I remember thinking:

"There is no way they're going to publish this--its so transparently an advertisement for HMC"

And yet. I read my own writing in BUST and laughed at how crazy the world is.

I'm still in a daze. Today I wrote two more sample letters for the website, wrote an announcement to everyone in the HMC, posted it on Facebook and the HMC website, wrote everyone I know to spread the word about HMC and to spread the word on boycotting bad fashion magazines.

Next step: I need to write a petition. I need to print out pamphlets. I need to come up with a coherent speech to tell everyone when I go canvassing next Saturday.
I need to stop checking the HMC website and Facebook for encouraging comments. I have to assume that at least some people who have received my emails are excited about what's going on too, that I'm not alone, that someone else will also show up next Saturday to accompany me while I canvass, because I'm nervous to do it by myself. I have to get myself to believe that even if no one else shows up, I can still successfully talk to store managers on my own. I have to assume that even if none of them take me seriously, that at least one of them will start to think differently.
I have to assume that someone not in San Diego will also do some canvassing.
I have to assume that someone read the email I sent them, that someone cares.

I'm honestly a little depressed when people I know haven't responded to joining the HMC facebook group--(My self-doubt speaking: why aren't they joining? Don't they think this is an important cause? Don't they care about me?)

I have to be strong. A leader. So weird.

I take heart though when I see that there are 12 whole pages of members on facebook, some people not even being friends of me or Kyla.

Just today: 6 new members on the facebook group. I wonder if they joined because of BUST.