once more, with drugs
I just took my company's health risk assessment questionnaire: partly because doing so saves me money on my payments for medical benefits this year, but also because I'm intrigued to see what sort of rating my beer-and-cheetos-based lifestyle gets.
The answer is, not so good. While I'm in the clear for things like weight and blood pressure (that one was labeled a strength after I said I didn't know what it was but would estimate "ok"), pretty much my entire lifestyle is under attack by the health nazis that run this thing. "You have indicated that you frequently drink alcohol, but that you have no plans to change this in the next six months. Did you know that drinking causes problems like chronic diarrhea and relationship problems leading to divorce?" "You have indicated that you rarely use seat belts or sunscreen. Do you know how stupid this makes you?"
Not that I'm unappreciative. I guess it helps at least to be aware of what my risk areas are (tobacco use, alcohol use, emotional health, safety, nutrition and exercise), because then I have a handy list order to use when dismissing most of them (tobacco: whatever; alcohol: SERIOUSLY, whatever; emotional health: really? just because my stress level is "medium?"; safety: c'mon guys, no one uses seat belts in taxis; nutrition: I'll go with this as long as I don't have to cut out cheetos entirely; exercise: ok fine, this one's real).
The funny thing is, just earlier today I was thinking about how I've never really put my body at serious risk, even when I was 14-21 and culturally obligated. I never starved myself, I never deliberately threw up food, I haven't really put myself at risk of contracting a sexual disease (hm, all right, I'm ok with that one), I never experimented heavily with drugs and to this day I've never lost an entire night's memory to drinking. And now I feel like I've passed the stage in life when I was entitled to that kind of self-abuse. Now I'm out of school and paying off loans and working full time and have medical benefits and I'm not supposed to treat myself like an adolescent.
Maybe I should try the drugs thing again, I thought to myself. But I found myself concerned with this what's the effect on my body and brain crap. Man, why don't we let ourselves have fun anymore? Maybe I need a "poor lifestyle choices" mentor to help me feel better about treating my body and brain poorly, because if I keep going the way I'm going I'm never going to have any irresponsible fun ever again. And then I might as well just throw my whole life away.
Damn caution.
rain: day six
I have been liking the rain. Usually, I only like rain when I am not in it; not so this week. My hair has not looked good yet this month, and I own no shoes suitable for the weather, but I have been loving traipsing around under my new umbrella and listening to the patter of raindrops on our skylight as I prepare to go out.
I have begun several posts recently. All of them are saved as drafts and end literally mid-sentence (the point at which I leave the office). I haven't been able to get a continuous thought going.
I thought about taking after The Parable of the Sower (which is the second-latest book our reading group settled on because we were CAUGHT UNAWARES by Bertram, who said it would be good) and writing drab, numb-sounding snippets about the tragic bits of my life:
I am an Earthseed.
I have a Destiny, which I can't quite remember at the moment...
Maybe something about living inside a star?
Anyway I'm fucking hungry.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Today my last pair of not-socks disappeared. I don't know where they could be. Something tells me I won't see them again in pleasant circumstances.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
I was right. I'm often right about things. My father tells me I have only not been right three times since my birth. On each of those three occasions, he beat me with a severed limb so that I would understand the importance of being right in this cruel world. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a different family, one that did not beat its children with severed limbs to demonstrate the importance of always being right. Would it be worth it?
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
I forgot to tell you what I was right about. I was right about my not-socks - when I saw them again it was indeed in unpleasant circumstances. It appears Stan, my roommate, has stolen my not-socks. Not that I blame him; commodities are scarce in this harsh world. But he should have known better than to pilfer my not-socks. Though it has prompted me to some interesting metaphysical considerations: when not-socks are taken, are socks left in their place? I will incorporate these musings into the religion I am inventing in my spare time between sleeping with old homeless men and eating my own toenails.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Watching Stan prance around in my not-socks, which he claims not to have stolen, was painful for me, so I beat him to death with a severed limb.
Quite apparently, there was nothing tragic enough in my life to write about in such a fashion. Then I thought I could dedicate a post to my boyfriend, in honor of our approaching anniversary:
On October ... um ... 17th, 2004, Conrad and I cheated on our respective significant others in defiance of the advice offered by every friend in the universe. And thus began a relationship.
But somehow that didn't ring true either. So I'm post-less for now, since my life contains nothing at the moment but work, rain, sex, books, and Arrested Development. And for the first part of next week you can take out the sex, rain and books, since I'll be pitched headfirst into a dawn-to-dusk event at work. In lieu of posting real entries until that's over, I will publish, in bits, the wisdom of Earthseed. Oh, you wish I were kidding.
in order to have a reference point for the two things amusing me right now.
Number One: Happy graphs.
Not much compared with Robert Putnam's MALAISE charts, but still funny.
Number Two:
KING WANGCHUCK
