the wrong side of the bed

Sunday, April 25, 2004


this isn't like last summer when i was reading a bunch of evolutionary psych on the off chance it appeared on the social psych prelim (which i failed, thank you very much). when i was reading that, i couldn't help but notice that i am everything that a person wouldn't want in a mate... except i guess i don't have a withered arm or something like that.* i mean, i didn't feel really great about how i looked then, but angela was able to reassure me that there isn't some sort of objective standard for beauty. anyway, this is different.

you see, i am ugly. butt ugly. i try to hide it with cute, nerdy glasses and attitude. but, get behind my comic book facade and here is what you have: my body looks like someone randomly shoved some cotton batting into a pair of "nude" hose, scrinched it in a coupla places, and then ran away giggling. my hair is all "cousin it" style and fucking takes over my life. i have worse skin than i did when i was 15.

the biggest problem is that when i am stressed out, i pick at my face until it bleeds. i try to keep it to my scalp because then no one will know that half my head has oozing sores** but under extreme duress, i pick at my face. so, today i look like shit. i told someone recently that my "look" for the spring was going to be "haggard" and i really think that i am achieving it. blah.

* there is nothing unattractive about a withered arm, if you ask me. but you didn't, did you? you asked some evolutionary psychologists who told you that it was probably the sign of some terrible affliction and that people ought to stay the hell away from you lest their progeny also have withered arms.

** can anyone tell me why i told my whole philosophy seminar that i scratch my head until it bleeds? did it really have that much to do with plato?
8:13 AM


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