I had an interesting revelation last night.
This week, we did the newspaper on Wednesday night so it would be published in time for April Fool’s Day. It’s basically a four-page newspaper full of goofy pseudonyms, inside jokes, bad newspaper style errors, and (hopefully) ridiculously funny articles and classifieds/personals. I may steal the PDFs of the pages and post them, since he says he’s going to do it.
The only downside to the night was that I did layout for all four pages in a single evening. Kinda tiring. There were too many good things to recount, alas, but one of the nice things was that I woke up this morning without a headache, which almost never happens on a post-Thorn morning.
At any rate, at some point during the evening, we were chatting about our phony names (mine was “The eViL Biz-natch”, bien sûr), and Luke remarked that his was funny because it was so unlikely. (His nickname was Chunk.) In a moment of spaciness, I said, “Huh?” His response: “Because I’m not anyone’s definition of fat.”
I almost laughed in shock, but realized it would probably be taken as an insult I hadn’t intended.
It was at this point that I realized how sick I am of hanging around women. I live on a floor with 45 girls and hang around mostly girls, unless I’m Thorning or doing stuff with the Linux group. I don’t like the changes this has wrought in me. I spend so much of my time worried about my weight, my eating (or, lately, my lack of), my lack of dating eligibility, how bitchy I or so-and-so is being, social status, etc., etc., that it disgusts me.
I am so unokay with myself right now that I just want to crawl out of my skin. I’m already crawling out of my own space in my own room, hiding in the Thorn office instead of at my desk, or hanging out in the uncomfortable Commons when I’ve got an hour or two between classes and my room is just across the street. This cannot continue for long without there being distinctly undesirable results. How to fix it, I don’t know, but they always say recognition is the first step to solving the problem, right?
(Of course, one could argue that I’m taking a stereotypically feminized approach [by sitting around thinking about it] to solving a problem whose solution I want to include something of a masculination of my own thought processes. To which I say, “Well… yeah.” Or one could argue that I just think too damn much. To which I say, “I sneeze in your general direction.” Complete with phony French accent.)