What I find funny is my persistance in being my own enemy.
What's also funny is that the only person I've ever fully articulated this to, I am no longer in contact with. The grammarian in me is screaming, but I am also sick, so I can forgive my own preposition-culminating sentences for the time being.
I think of myself as a constant work in progress. In a certain light, this isn't necessarily a negative thing, but the way I view it is not, in fact, in that certain light. I am unfinished. Rough around the edges. I'm almost ashamed to leave the house day to day because I am thoroughly convinced I am on my way to becoming something different, better. In three, six months, you won't recognize me. Hopefully. I don't know, I have this ambiguous fantasy of one day, at perhaps 24, stepping out of my apartment, having pulled it together. Miraculously complete. And everyone will see it, and I will finally be proud of whatever person I happen to be from moment to moment. There are so many things I need to change to attain this completeness that the smart voice in the back of my head is telling me it's most likely bullshit and I'm just making excuses to myself about why I haven't done what needs to be done yet. I'm not just talking about my body. There are things I need to learn. Alright, it has a great deal to do with my body.
This is why I want to study the psychology of internal body images. I contradict myself 20 times a day. As a smart, independent woman (not to mention something of a radical feminist), I know it shouldn't matter what the outside looks like as long as I'm a good person. As an american woman, culture and image-obsessed, I cannot stand to look at myself in the mirror. As my mother's daughter, I cannot accept myself as beautiful, no matter how many times I am told otherwise.
See, folks, the problem is all in here. I'm pointing to my head. I hate how I speak in gestures (hey, I'm Italian) but it's impossible to pull it off in writing. Anyway...
This was all spurred on by the Ani DiFranco song "As Is." Did I mention I saw her in concert and it was life-changing? I thought I'd left my Ani days behind (you know, in eighth grade) but lord, that woman is smart. My sister is also smart.
"You have to learn to love your body. It's the only thing you've got, really, so be nice to it, Julia."
I'm working on it.
What's also funny is that the only person I've ever fully articulated this to, I am no longer in contact with. The grammarian in me is screaming, but I am also sick, so I can forgive my own preposition-culminating sentences for the time being.
I think of myself as a constant work in progress. In a certain light, this isn't necessarily a negative thing, but the way I view it is not, in fact, in that certain light. I am unfinished. Rough around the edges. I'm almost ashamed to leave the house day to day because I am thoroughly convinced I am on my way to becoming something different, better. In three, six months, you won't recognize me. Hopefully. I don't know, I have this ambiguous fantasy of one day, at perhaps 24, stepping out of my apartment, having pulled it together. Miraculously complete. And everyone will see it, and I will finally be proud of whatever person I happen to be from moment to moment. There are so many things I need to change to attain this completeness that the smart voice in the back of my head is telling me it's most likely bullshit and I'm just making excuses to myself about why I haven't done what needs to be done yet. I'm not just talking about my body. There are things I need to learn. Alright, it has a great deal to do with my body.
This is why I want to study the psychology of internal body images. I contradict myself 20 times a day. As a smart, independent woman (not to mention something of a radical feminist), I know it shouldn't matter what the outside looks like as long as I'm a good person. As an american woman, culture and image-obsessed, I cannot stand to look at myself in the mirror. As my mother's daughter, I cannot accept myself as beautiful, no matter how many times I am told otherwise.
See, folks, the problem is all in here. I'm pointing to my head. I hate how I speak in gestures (hey, I'm Italian) but it's impossible to pull it off in writing. Anyway...
This was all spurred on by the Ani DiFranco song "As Is." Did I mention I saw her in concert and it was life-changing? I thought I'd left my Ani days behind (you know, in eighth grade) but lord, that woman is smart. My sister is also smart.
"You have to learn to love your body. It's the only thing you've got, really, so be nice to it, Julia."
I'm working on it.
'This above all things to thine own self be true' (Shakespeare I think) .
Perhaps you should post some more pics up we've no idea what the rest of you looks like
Anyway now that's sorted out we can all boldly go and split our infinitives