Meg Speak

   I’m not doing well. When I was younger I went swimming in the ocean and got dragged out by the undertow. I fought and fought to get above water, but wave after wave came crashing down on me, beating out any breath I had in my aching lungs. It felt like no matter how hard I tried, I would never resurface. That is how I feel right now. I don’t know how to get out of this. It is so frustrating. I tried talking to my mom about it, but every time I do she pretty much ignores me. I actually finally did talk to her, but from it I learned that I am a piece of shit, so what’s new there? I talk to Matt about it and he changes the subject. I feel like I am alone in this.

   So, on another note, it’s 3 am and there’s something outside my window. I’m staying at my mom’s since I moved out of Matt’s apartment (or better stated; I moved out of the apartment we shared) and there is a plethora of wildlife out here. The other night my step dad and I were sitting on the deck talking and heard some coyotes out in the distance. We could tell exactly what was happening by their calls that they made to one another. The noises they made when they caught something were bone chilling. Anyway, as I was saying, there is something outside my window at the moment. It made a noise like a mix between a woman grunting loudly and an elephant sneezing (I’m guessing, as I’ve never heard an elephant sneeze. Though, if they do sneeze, I am sure it sounds exactly like this. Or something close. Gosh that would be messy). It was seriously weird. My money is on it being a deer (if they make noises, I’m really not sure) or a fox like creature. I’m typically not bothered by weird animal noises, but I don’t really enjoy them right outside my window at 3 am. It could really be any creature, but seeing as how our lawn is littered with deer constantly and I just saw a fox yesterday, those are my guesses. Maybe it’s Pam’s ghost… Could be the noises she made when she was killed. God I just got super morbid. I’ve been watching WAY too much Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Though if it is Pam, the least she could do is to haunt me properly. Not this whole wheezing and sneezing thing. It is less disturbing and more phlegm than anything.

   Okay, back to the depressing. If you couldn’t tell, this has miraculously spanned across a couple of days, though I think I’ll finish it now. Well, yesterday I went to therapy to talk out my issues. I expressed my concern and frustration over the Matthew situation and she asked me to tell her about the relationship from beginning to end, so for the entire hour I mapped out our relationship; the ups and downs, the fights, my fears. I cried, of course, but sadly I didn’t stop crying for hours. I felt broken. I realized that even though Matthew loves me, it’s not enough. The truth is that he let me move out and that I’ve been moved out since February. I talked to him and basically told him that I want to move on, and he’s informed me that moving on is not an option. He refuses to accept us breaking up. He wants to fight for us. I want to know why he didn’t fight when I left. The truth is that he let me leave. He then led to us breaking up because he was all butt hurt that I moved out (because he kept leading me on) so he did all that he could to hurt me, which included totally blowing off a standing date and telling me he had been considering proposing, but I moved out, so it was no longer being considered. He was hurt, and I get that, but that is no excuse to seek retribution. He led me on until I moved out, he hurt me until we broke up, but now, when I finally decide that the best thing for me is to move on, he decides he’s going to fight for us. What kind of bullshit is that? Ugh. So fucking frustrating. I have no idea where things will go from here, but for now, I am just going to get through the semester without going insane.

    I moved out of the apartment that Matt and I shared and back in with my parents. I love Matt, but I got tired of my needs/wants/desires being put last and his always first. I got tired of being told “no”. I have a weird and crazy personality. I’m the type of person who will see and empty stage, hop on it and sing to those who pass by. I’ll see a fortune teller and want to get mine told, I’ll make raunchy jokes in order to make others laugh, and this is why he fell in love with me. But over the last 4 years he’s tried to squelch it. No more singing, no dancing in the rain, no splashing around in fountains and no fortune tellers. The other day he told me that I was making this girl, Jody, uncomfortable. Jody is not my friend and is a wet blanket. I don’t care if she is uncomfortable; the rest of us were having a blast. I’m nothing like who I was. I suppose that I’m getting a little closer to finding myself. I want a life full of laughter, love, passion and fun. I don’t want a life that leaves me bored and depressed.
   But now my life seems to be a confusing one. After I moved out, Matt blew off one of our dates, so I ended it. He ditched me to go to a Fat Tuesday party, which he had absolutely no fun at. In typical Matt fashion, he called me after and left me a gloomy message apologizing for ditching me. I let him know that I planned on seeing other people. We hang out a lot still, so this makes things weird. He still treats me like a girlfriend, but we don’t sleep together. In fact, I’m not sleeping with anyone at the moment. Sex complicates things, and even though I am horny as hell, I don’t need more complication. A couple of weeks ago Matt told me that the weekend I moved out he had been telling his friend that he wanted to marry me. I later found out that the only reason he talked to his friend, Adam, was because Adam was proposing to his gf. Also, Matt only told me because he wanted to say something to hurt me. After all, I’ve only ever wanted to marry him, so the most painful thing he could do is to let me know that I blew it by moving out. After a long discussion, we both decided that we need to think about what we really want. I suppose he’s decided that he wants me, as he’s been really great to me lately. I’m not sure what I want.
   I have another complication. I met someone who I am wildly attracted to. We aren’t crossing any lines, and we are trying to be good, but I really just want to jump his bones. This guy isn’t dateable though, for several reasons. First, he isn’t interested in me like that. He likes to hang out with me, he likes to fool around, but he doesn’t ‘like’ me. God, this sounds so high school. Second, he’s battled a lot of the same problems I have when it comes to various mental disorders, so I feel like I can talk to him about pretty much anything. I honestly don’t want to lose that. Also, I don’t think we would work well together. Both of us have pretty unstable moods, so I can just imagine how absolutely volatile things would be. Third, well, it just wouldn’t work. I suppose there is no reason to waste any more thought on this with a guy who even said himself that he has no stock in my personal life. I’ve never had a friends with benefits, and I doubt that one of the benefits is supposed to be being able to tell them your secrets. This seems like a relationship… but it isn’t.
   So I’m stuck in this weird limbo of not knowing whether I should try and work things out with Matt, explore things with this other guy or just try dating for a while. I wish I knew what the right decision was, and it’s not really one that I can talk to other people about as they really don’t know what my relationship with Matt is like. It’s easy to point out all the bad, but it’s hard to explain how great he can be sometimes. I know that no matter what time I call him, if I needed something he would come right over. He knows about the problems I have with my father and my mind, he’s been there when I’ve been horribly low, and he knows about the rape as it happened while we were dating. I don’t want to have to start all over with someone else. How do you tell someone you want to date that you were raped (and you blame yourself) and now have a strong need for the word “stop” to be respected in the bedroom, no matter what, and have a fear of getting thin again because you think you’ll be raped. Hell, I’m being mildly stalked now, so how much worse would things get if I was once again thin and cute? How do you have sex with someone else when you’ve only known one person, and you’ve learned everything with them? There are loads of insecurities that come along with this. What if I’m really wretched in the sack and Matt just never knew any better? What if they don’t find me attractive? Matt has known my body big and small, and he loves both. Would someone else? Who could love someone who has panic attacks over stupid shit like their gas light coming on, whose moods swing like a door, who can’t even get her father to love her? Could someone else ever really love me? I truly fear that no one could.
   I want to get married. I want to have children. I want to be happy. I want passion and love. I want to go to bed every night with a man who makes me wild, and wake up every morning excited about the day ahead of me. I want to feel important. I want to adore someone and be adored in return. I want to trust. But I guess for now what I really need to do is work on not hating who I am. Instead of looking in the mirror and seeing everything that I hate, I need to look for what I love. I need to be myself again. I need to laugh and I need to have some fun. I’ve been a grown up since I was 7. I want to act like a kid for a while, while still enjoying the good things that come with being an adult such as alcohol, no curfew, lust, love and driving (though not all at the same time). I NEED to be happy. I really think that I will suffocate soon is something doesn’t change. I guess I just need to breathe.

It has been a little rough lately. Matt has been working crazy long hours and I hardly get to see him anymore. For instance, he got home from work tonight at about 9:30 pm and promptly went to bed. I’m glad we got our kitten (we got a kitten named Molly!) otherwise I would be really lonely. Luckily, I met two really awesome people, Vera and Ted, and we have become fast friends who hang out every chance we get. They’ve really helped me not to feel totally isolated and alone, which is easy to feel when you live with a boyfriend who is hardly home.

I was put on Celexa for my depression/anxiety and really, it wasn’t working, so I was sent to a counselor to talk about what would be best. After talking to her for about 10 minutes she realizes that what I really need is to be seen in the mental health facility in Kaiser, so she made me an appointment for 8:15 the following Tuesday. I showed up a little early (as always) and they gave me an enormous packet to fill out that covered every topic from sleeping habits to family history to addictions. I’m pretty sure Kaiser now knows more about me than any person I know. Around 9 I was called in, along with 15 other people for an orientation where they take all of our packets and the psychiatrists look them over and decide who should talk to whom. While they are doing this, we, the patients, are seated in a room to endure a powerpoint presentation about the benefits of Kaiser’s mental health facility. I don’t care. I’m already here, aren’t I?

We got called out of the room one by one to go off to mini offices to talk over our paperwork. I got a woman named Dominique who was older with red hair and a taste for gaudy jewelry. She went over ever detail of my packet painstakingly and asked me to clarify any answers that she deemed worrying, which had magically been highlighted at some point. I never expected that I’d loose my shit at any point and start crying, but when we went into my relationship with my father and her desire for every minute detail, I just couldn’t help myself. She had me describe for her how my father would physically abuse my mother and brother, but leave me to watch. He could be one of the cruelest people I’ve ever known, but he could also be incredibly sweet. One day he would brush your hair and paint your toenails (I was 6, so this was a big deal) and the next he would be slitting your dog’s throat with a shovel and threatening to do the same thing to you if you told anyone. You never quite knew what you would encounter from day to day until one day he up and left our family for a new one. I’ve fought for his love ever since, but it’s turned out to be a losing battle.

She also wanted to go into detail about my suicide attempts. I was 19 the last time I tried to kill myself. I was living in San Luis Obispo at the time, and this wasn’t long after “the incident”. I took all the sleeping pills I had left (about 7 though I never really counted) and the rest of my Nyquil (not too much) along with a couple shots of vodka. It wasn’t a stellar attempt, but it was all I had and I hoped it would do the trick.

I laid down in my bed and pondered what it would be like to die while I waited for sleep to come over me, but it never did. In fact, I had one of the worst cases of insomnia that I had had in a long while. I never fell asleep and I never got tired. In fact, I became hyper. Dominique asked me if I ever told anyone and I asked her if she would tell anyone if she failed at killing herself. At that point in my life I was so low that I never imagined I could sink any deeper. Failing at suicide doesn’t help you to feel any better about yourself. You just feel like more of a failure.

After going through the highlights of my crazy, Dominique gave me several referrals to support groups, psychologists and an immediate referral to see a doctor about a possible case of bipolar disorder. The appointment was in 30 minutes, but before I left Dominique told me something that made me cry no matter how hard I tried not to. She told me that though I never got to choose who my parents were, I never should have gone through what I did. She then went on to tell me that I had shit parents (mainly my dad) and that she understood how I felt and thought I was remarkable as I could have become a totally different person. It sounds strange, but it was nice to hear that someone out there was giving me permission to feel heavyhearted. She also said that I might have some PTSD from my childhood then again after “the incident” and that it wasn’t my fault that I couldn’t control the memories that sometimes flood my mind or the moods that drown me in sorrow. It’s amazing how many people out there try to make you feel like shit for things you cannot control. She knew exactly what I needed to hear.

After my time with Dominique, I went to the waiting room for about 20 minutes before seeing Dr. Wang (really). She and I further discussed my life and my moods and my sometimes erratic behavior. She gave me some medication and told me that I wasn’t just depressed, but I was probably mildly bipolar (which is something my mother thinks is bullshit. Of course she does. Then again, this is the woman who never acknowledged that her daughter would cut herself) and that regular depression meds were making things worse for me, which seemed to be true. She then wanted to know when I began hurting myself. It was probably back in junior high when I would slam my fingers in drawers and doors in order to feel better and have a physical pain to focus on. From there I would stab forks into my arms under the dinner table so that no one would notice. I started cutting in high school. I remember sitting in my car before school started and feeling like my chest was filling with this overwhelming pressure that needed to be let out. It was like a balloon that was being overfilled. If some of the pressure wasn’t released then I would absolutely explode. I picked up a safety pin that I kept in my car and began cutting myself with it. I immediately felt so much better. A friend of mine recently recalled how I would lay in the back of the bus on our way home from competitions. I would have my headphones on listening to Bright Eyes while continuously stabbing and racking the safety pin across my arm. No one ever talked to me about it, and I was just fine with that.

I don’t recall when the transition to an actual razor happened. I had this mini box cutter key chain that was perfect. It was discrete and sharp. I remember Matt finding it in San Luis Obispo. It still had blood on it from the last time I had hit bottom and cut myself while sobbing. He made me swear on the spot to stop cutting and for some reason, I did. That was the last time I cut myself, though I often long for it. Lately I find myself digging my nails into my arms until the skin breaks, but I never consciously do it. I want to cut so badly that it hurts, but I’m not. I am absolutely doing my best, but I can feel myself weakening. I think about cutting and/or killing myself at least once per day. I know how I would do it this time too… I’ve made a plan. But I won’t kill myself because I don’t want anyone else in this world to feel the way I do. I wish I could, I really do.

Dr. Wang gave me my new prescription and had me make an appointment with her for the next month. I’ll be seeing to docs, my regular MD, and a support group for who knows how long. My mother wants me to see a psychologist of hers (a patient I think) to get a second opinion because I couldn’t possibly be bipolar. Whatever. I’ll see whomever she wants just as long as this feeling stops.

So here it is, the least humorous post I’ve put on this blog. But you know, sometimes life really isn’t all that funny. Then again, you’ll always find me laughing. I joke with Matt that I laugh to keep from crying, but really I’m not sure whether or not that is true. I make jokes to keep from having to face the person I really am. Anyway, it’s been a pretty hard couple of days.

Tomorrow I will be 23 years old and I’m utterly depressed. I don’t care that I am one year older. I’m not really one of those women who gets upset because they are aging. Instead, I am upset because I have accomplished so little. When my mother was 23 years old, she had two children, a career, a husband and a home. When my brother turned 23, he had a wife, a child and had traveled to many different places with the military. My boyfriend, Matthew, just turned 23 in October. He has undergraduate and masters degrees in statistics and is working at a good company, making a nice salary while working on his career. He’s been to several different countries and is well traveled.

I am upset because at 23 I am unmarried, I live in an apartment, I go to a junior college, my boyfriend of 4 years is not ready to get engaged, which makes me feel like he doesn’t want to marry someone who is beneath him. I know this isn’t true, and I know he is unready because we are so young, but it still bothers me. I have never been out of the country; hell, I don’t even have a passport. I’ve never been to Canada nor Mexico, and I don’t foresee myself going out of the country anytime soon. I’ve achieved nothing that I planned to do, and I’m not even close to the person I wanted to be at 23. Tomorrow is my birthday and I have no idea if my father will call me, but most likely he won’t.

I know I should be grateful for all the things I have, and usually I am, but tomorrow I morn the person I am not, the person that I wanted to be. Maybe this year I will become a bit closer to being the person I wish I was and learn better to let go of the person others think I should be. 

I’m going to sound like a total whiner, but whatever, it’s my damn blog. Matt has told me that within the next year he and I will get engaged. I’m super excited, but I’m also kind of troubled. My mother’s parents are both deceased and I’m not super close to very many family members, including my dad. For example, he moved to Hawaii a while back and I only found out through my sister in law. He didn’t even bother to tell me. He didn’t call me for Christmas, but then again, I didn’t call him either, though I did call him on his birthday, so we’ll see if he calls me in turn on Saturday, when yours truly turns 23.

Anyway, I’ve begun to think about my wedding and I’m not sure whether I should invite him or not. I don’t really know if I want him there, but then again I feel like I would be a terrible person for not inviting him. Also, if I don’t invite him then he will probably hold it against me for the rest of my life, but if I invite him then he will get to decide whether or not to show, and hold it over me. I want it to be a happy day, but I’m finding that I’m dreading this. I know the best way to resolve this would be to have a very small wedding (Matt’s parents, my mom and my step dad, and then of course Matt and I) but is that what I really want? I’m really not sure.

I could just be so bothered because I haven’t been sleeping, so I’m making a mountain out of a molehill. Really though, not sleeping. I’ve read through all of the Sookie Stackhouse books (like all 7 of them) in like 2 days. I’ll just read and wonder when I will get tired, and then Matt will get up and start his day. Within 72 hours I’m pretty sure I slept 6 of them. I go through these cycles every month or so where I just won’t get tired. At about 8 am I will force myself to lay down, but I’ll only sleep for about 2 hours, and then I start the process all over. No wonder I spend the rest of the month exhausted and sluggish.

In other news, there is absofuckinglutely nothing on tv at 3am. Thought you should know.

Really, I’m just depressed. God knows why, but it runs in my family, and I’m going through a low point. I’m on new meds, but some of the side effects are insomnia, tiredness and slight memory loss, so I’m forgetting to stay up, forgetting to go to bed and forgetting to take my pills. I’m lonely, but I don’t want to leave the house. I don’t want to shower, I don’t want to brush my teeth… I just want to be in sweats all day long and do freaking nothing. Then again, I’m longing for companionship, but I can’t muster up the energy to make a connection. I’m severely itching to cut myself again, but I made a promise 3 years ago not to do it, so I haven’t. I want nothing more than to break my skin, but I have to find some other way to release this feeling. I’m being sent to see a new therapist, so perhaps that should be good. I hate seeing new therapists. I wish the last one could just brief the new one as I really don’t want to relive the shit I’ve had to say to the last therapist. Perhaps I’ll speak in a British accent. Who knows.

Alright, I’m boring myself, so I must really be boring you! Until next time…

I am not a gray bra kind of girl. In fact, I’m not a boring sock/undies/bra kind of girl. Nothing makes me sadder than a pair of plain white socks. I’ve always been the type of person who adores colorful socks. Ever since toe socks came into fashion I’ve been receiving socks for every major holiday from someone. For Christmas I got a pair of colorful socks from my mother (along with many other things) and 2 sets of colorful cashmere socks from my mfmil (maybe future mother in law). As a side note, what the hell do you call your boyfriend’s mother? We’ve been together for four years and they are practically family to me, so it’s always bizarre to say that I am going to my boyfriend’s parent’s house. Is there a term for that? Let’s make one. Mother In Law is of course off the books, but perhaps we can say something like Mother Through Close Proximity or Mother Through Man. In my opinion, she is my Mother in Mind. I adore Matt’s parents… really, I adore his whole family. I’ve been extremely grateful that I don’t have a ‘monster in law’. Though, to tell you the truth, I am worried what they will think when I get engaged to their son. We both know it’s going to happen, but I’m still terrified that someone will not approve. Oh well, they will just have to get over it.
Back to socks. I’ve been trying to turn as many people as possible against plain white socks. I consider socks a glimpse of personality. I had a professor once who always dressed conservatively in kakis and a tucked in dress shirt (always in muted tones), but one day he moved in such a way that his socks peaked out of his tailored pants and I saw that they were a multicolored holiday sock. I instantly knew I would adore this man, and over the semester I came to find that he was funny, intelligent and had an amazing personality. I’m telling you, it’s the socks. They are a perfect indicator of who you are. They are something that is almost always hidden under your meticulously planned clothes, but when they are spotted by someone else, they say a little something about who you are. Are you the type of person who matches their socks to their clothes (my bf tries to match his boxers to his shirt… men)? Are you the type of person why enjoys colorful socks? Or are you someone who will just grab whatever is in your drawer, not caring that you are putting something so plain on your body? Think about it. You spend time shopping for pants, shoes, underwear, shirts… but you get ugly white socks. I’m just saying.
I talked about this once with my counselor, and she joined the colorful sock bandwagon. It’s about bringing a little more joy to a mundane thing. I’ve turned my mfmil, many friends, including Katie who gave me purple grape socks as a moving away present, and several people I happened to encounter. There is nothing better than looking in your drawer while getting ready and being greeted by an array of color. “Who am I today,” you may ask yourself. It’s for you to decide whether you want to be a white sock kind of person, or whether you want to show that you’re a little more fun.
I’m not a white sock kind of girl, and I’m not a gray bra kind of girl. I may be wearing gray sweatpants at the moment, but you can bet that I’m wearing multicolored socks and a hot pink bra underneath my clothes.

I was on my way home from class when my mom called and told me she had set up a political rally for McCain and wanted to know if I would join her. My political affiliation was pretty much down the middle, so even though I didn’t support one political party over the other, I would support my mom. She told me recently that she was depressed and felt like she had nothing going on in her life, so I told her that I would stand behind any hobby she chose. She chose politics, so I kept my word.
I headed straight over and realized that supporting her meant holding a giant McCain/Palin sign in the rain. Whatever, it gave us time to hang out and catch up. I also didn’t anticipate that 100 Yes on Prop 8 supporters would show up, and that half as many No on Prop 8 supporters would arrive. Again, this was fine. That is, until one man, who was holding a No sign, started pushing my mom. WTF? I stepped in and talked to him and he told us that we are terrible people and blah blah blah. I informed him that I had voted no on prop 8 and instead of realizing that I had nothing against him, and that we were on the same side on that issue, he called us cunts and hit us with the sign.
Are you kidding?? As if being out in the rain, where it is cold and dark, wearing jeans and a sweater wasn’t bad enough, some asshole decided to harrass us. Is it a hate crime when gay men bash straight white women? The whole thing pissed me off as my mom and I had been standing there chatting with eachother about our weekends when this guy picked a fight with us.
I hate politics.

We had to give a political speech in my communications class and my professor thought it would be fun if we recorded and critiqued our own speeches. I’m not sure why she thought this would be fun, but hopefully my critique helps her to understand that it isn’t.

Nomination Acceptance Speech Review

            It was frustrating to listen to my Nomination Acceptance Speech as it sounded like I had not practiced at all, when in reality I had practiced a great deal. From what I could hear, I stood completely still throughout the speech, which would be great if I was giving a demonstration speech on how to be a guard for Buckingham Palace, but for a political speech it was a terrible thing to do. A political speech should be passionate and insightful and not delivered by someone who speaks like a valley girl after a stroke; “today I want to talk to you about three topics that are pretty important to me. Um, everyone is talking about, um, things such as, um, the economy and, um, gay marriage, and I think we should talk about things that aren’t talked about as often which are universal healthcare, school vouchers and the idea of vat-grown meat”. It seems we were all quite lucky that I got my thesis statement out without going on a diatribe about how awesome my shoes were or without a rapid succession of ‘ums’ that would fully illustrate how I should never become a public speaker, which is worrying as I plan to spend the duration of my career in front of a classroom.

            When I wasn’t spending my time peppering my speech with ‘ums’ and ‘uhs’, which really added some credibility, I was spewing out random strings of sentences that were so fast and garbled together that you never quite knew where one began and the other ended. An example of this would be when I was discussing Universal Healthcare and I said “my first concern is that without competition pharmaceutical companies are going to keep raising their pricesalreadytheytake home seventeen cents per dollar (said like a question) as opposed to oil companies who only take home seven cents so we’regoingtoneed to put a cap on that, you know, maybe we could legislate how much they can charge and then tax them on that and use that money to help, uh, lower income families with healthcare (said triumphantly)”.

            I’m not quite sure how my speech turned into this, but there once was a time when it was well practiced and articulate. It even had a lovely PowerPoint that emphasized each statement. Sure, the PowerPoint was still present, and the speech was there amidst the emotion breakdown, but it was nothing compared to what it had been during the practice runs. I was prepared, but sadly being prepared wasn’t enough to save me from the humiliating meltdown that I had before my peers. I am a smart woman who works extremely hard on every task she is given, but I feel that 6 minutes before my peers discredited everything I work towards. I suppose what is most mortifying is that I practiced nonstop. I practiced in the car while I did my errands, I practiced in from of the mirror in the mornings, I even practiced with my boyfriend, but I still managed to make a complete fool of myself. I didn’t think I could possibly dread giving the next two speeches any more than I had, but apparently I can. I’m not sure how I can stand before my peers while appearing to be confident when I know that I sound like a complete idiot.

            As for the type of organization that I used, I chose topical. My topics were universal healthcare, which I opposed, school vouches, which I supported, and vat-grown meat, which I felt we should explore. For an example of my dazzling display of topical organization, please see the first paragraph.

            My introduction was nothing to be proud of. I would like to take a moment to transcribe it for you, so that you may get the complete awesomeness that was my emotional breakdown. “Hello, I am Megan Burks, and I am Presidential Nominee for the Salt of the Earth political party. (4 second pause while someone, somewhere, hums a ditty) Um, and today I want to talk to you about three topics that are pretty important to me. Um, everyone is talking about, um, things such as, um, the economy and, um, gay marriage, and I think we should talk about things that aren’t talked about as often which are universal healthcare, school vouchers and the idea of vat-grown meat.” I introduced myself and my topics, I got the audiences attention, if only long enough to say my name, and clearly stated my thesis. What I did not do was make up some sort of back-story to establish credibility. Instead, I tried to do that throughout my speech by giving personal details that illustrated why this topic was important to me, which was embarrassing, but I felt it was necessary. For instance, when I revealed my family’s history and fight with cancer, I did so to illustrate why universal healthcare wouldn’t work for me.

            I felt that I did say each topic clearly and that my speech remained focused on my stated purpose. I chose to discuss three topics that I felt weren’t talked about enough, and I tried to demonstrate why I was passionate about those choices. I may not have executed my speech particularly well, but I felt I was clear about my topics.

            In my speech, I used several different kinds of support. For instance, when I talked about vat-grown meat, I used the example of how cows contribute gas emissions to our environment, which would require us to change. I used testimony from nurses.com which stated how Canadian surgeons felt about the wait times for their patients. I also used anecdotes in my speech. Though I wasn’t particularly funny, I shared personal stories with the class in order to illustrate why I felt the way I did.

            In conclusion, I would give myself a D for this speech. It was clear that I had prepared as I had visual aids and clear topics, but my delivery was horrible. I am embarrassed that I gave that level of performance in a classroom as I typically pride myself as someone who goes above and beyond what is asked of her. I sincerely hope that my future speeches are nothing like the one that I am reviewing, and I can promise that I will never run for political office. Also, I believe that this has made me realize that I should think long and hard before becoming a teacher. How could anyone ever take me seriously? Teaching has always been a passion of mine, but perhaps I never considered that being passionate wasn’t enough. I will practice and prepare more thoroughly for my next speeches, perhaps emphasizing speaking slower, and I can only hope that doing so will help me improve.

            Matt and I watched The Other Boleyn Girl last night. I still am unsure what to say about this. I think this was the first thing I have ever seen Scarlet Johanson in where she actually acted. It was actually pretty good. Typically she just kind of sucks, but she was decent in this. Up until now I couldn’t peg what she was famous for. She can’t really act, but she is in movies, she cannot sing, but she is putting out a record, and she is considered uber hot, but her nose is not so good. Then I realized it. BOOBS. If boobs = famous, then I’m the next big thing. But really… go watch a movie with her in it (like Match Point) and don’t look at her boobs. It makes a difference. Anyway, she was decent in Boleyn, which was much appreciated as it was 2 hours long.

            On my quest to better myself, I have decided to learn how to cook. *Queue ominous music* Cooking stresses me out! I don’t really know why, but it does. Perhaps it is the need to create seven things simultaneously, but I hate it. I do LOVE to bake though. I’m a cupcake kind of girl and love creating interesting and cute cupcakes. It brings together my love of creation and my need for my house to smell like heaven. That, and I’m not a huge fan of baked goods… unless it comes in a bread form, in which case it is mouth porn. So, I made an effort to cook something yesterday and it turned out quite well. I made pork and pineapple skewers with pineapple brown rice. It was quite yummy, much to my surprise. I even had to make my own marinade! Holy shit. I’m typically a macaroni and cheese from the box kind of girl, so this was an accomplishment. I’m going to try and make something every week. Who knows, maybe I will post pictures! I’m Martha Stewart bitches.

            So, I’m staying at my mom’s house, which is the ‘haunted’ one. I was home alone earlier and I heard knocking on my front door, so I went to inspect. I’m looking out the peephole when I hear the stairs creaking behind me as if someone was walking down them. I turned to look, and no one was there. I scurried back to my room after that.

            Alright, I have to go scope out apartments now for Matt. It will be interesting to see what happens with Matt and me as we are not quite sure if we will live together or not. I dunno… I will keep you updated.

            I’ve been totally MIA lately, and I’m sorry that I suck. So, I was doing summer school and was taking History and Political Science… neither of which are my strong subjects. It was a wicked brutal summer session, but I passed and lived, so that’s good. But, the fun didn’t stop there. We moved and it was also totally brutal. Did you know that moving = lots of fighting? I didn’t, but I do now.

            My parents came down on Thursday to help us out. They had to bring Mel, their adorable dog, down so we couldn’t really go out and do nice dinners or anything. Matt and I grabbed some Chinese food and headed over to my mom’s hotel where we split a bottle of wine and a couple of beers. Then we headed out to a little park with Mel. I had to pee, so I went back to the hotel. I put the card into the slot and it didn’t open. Then I tried again… and again and again. I was becoming more and more desparate and began assaulting the door when it suddenly opened. There stood a guy in his early 30s in the doorway and I saw a baby and wife sitting on the bed. He stood there staring at me expectantly when I realized that I had the wrong room… actually, wrong floor. I whimpered an apology and ran upstairs. Whaddaya know? The key card worked there.

            So, after I got over being an idiot, the four (or five, I suppose) of us went to this place on the pier where they serve a drink called the Mean Tai. It’s like a mai tai but twice as strong. Both of my parents and Matt had that and I got a drink called the Tropical Itch or something like that. All I know is that my mom and I were drunk and annoying and it was fabulous. Oh, also, my drink came with a backscratcher in it. Amazing.

            Saturday we got all packed up. We decided not to rent a Uhaul, so we crammed everything into my car, Matt’s car and my stepdad’s truck. Then we headed up to Sacramento. The ride would have been boring as I was crammed in my car alone, but between my book on tape and the stuff in the passenger seat falling on me periodically, I was quite entertained. You know what is weird? When the guy narrating your book on tape is also in one of your favorite tv shows. And the fact that he doesn’t change his voice very much for any of the characters except for the token black guy, who the narrator gets really into voicing. I was cracking up. You know what else is weird? Narrated sex scenes that involve quadriplegics and a woman who bought a book titled something along the lines of The Broken Lover. I almost peed myself. Anyway, the trip took roughly 7 hours including several stops, but we all made it. I just have to figure out what the hell to do now!