I swear I'm going to go shower right... now

I feel fat today. Fat and useless.

Been watching "Desperate Housewives" like it's nobody's business (anyone who is friends with me on Facebook will notice I was rockin' the "Bree" 'do at a recent party like it was 1956)... and I really don't feel encouraged to do anything else until my bandwidth on Megavideo needs an hour to cool down.

I need to get my act together today because I've got a meeting with an especially intimidating professor. He just loves big big words. Ridiculous lexicon. So that by itself makes my palms sweaty when I go in to see him. Plus, his hipster black plastic frames are so intrusive he just looks like a portly pair of glasses with a mustache and leather jacket. It's slightly too tight, which is endearing.

Whenever I see this guy, I just want to break down and tell him all my troubles. But I know that no academic, especially a middle-aged man, wants some girl weeping in the office. That's what school counselors are for yo! So I'll psych myself up to be like, "OK today I'm going to really open up and talk about the problems I've been having..." and as soon as I walk in I start blubbering incoherently and look plain stupid and unprepared.

And my television affinity doesn't help me much on the looking prepared part.

I wanna step on the scale. It won't be a pretty number but deep inside I feel like if I can just see something little, it will be a relief. One thing I'm doing right in my world. At the same time, I know--being the glutton for pain and tragedy--if I do get on the scale, it's going to be something I don't like, and I'll sabotage any hope of a good day.

Being functional sucks. There's no real good excuse for me to go batshit crazy, but I know (and if I let the cracks show through other people see it too) that I'm just not pulled together. I'm a lot of loose threads. Damaged goods. Then, when I finally motivate myself to get out of my crumb-filled, smelly, warm bed and take a shower that I really have no reason to logically feel this way. I can get out of bed. I can shower. I can smile. I can function.

I suppose it's why I do the things I do. Binging, drinking, cutting, shopping, watching copious amounts of internet television. These are the only times I feel free from the prison of my mind. It's nice to focus on something besides myself. The taste of food, the feeling of being tipsy, the excitement of a new purchase, the satisfaction of seeing blood.

The fantasy of voyeristically watching someone else's life for thirty minutes. Or an hour.

I wonder if the great people of the world are plagued with similar problems. Being too thoughtful. Stuck in one's head. Tormented artists had to get that way somehow, right? So absorbed in the hyperreality of one's own imagination that the world seems distant and blurry.

Is this why we push ourselves so hard? Do we have a similar mindset? Something brilliant lies dormant within, but we just don't know how to channel it? Or is it all just another manic thought too keep ourselves going every day? That we tell ourselves we are better. Martyrs. Being an average person who can't seem to handle the world, let alone a single day, seems so pathetic.

Today, however, I feel fat and useless.