As a follow up to my last entry: I'm not dead.
Some days are harder than others, but they're okay days for the most part. Now that school isn't stressing me out to the point of wanting to play in traffic, more time can be spent doing things I don't fucking hate. I feel more like "me" now and I like that. I hope it lasts.
So... As someone who recently graduated from nursing school (yay), I have to say that NONE of what I'm about to share is a good idea for anyone, especially me.
So, I did a water fast for four days. Nothing but water. Obviously, it sucked. As someone who lives on mostly crap and shit food, I wanted some kind of detox before I started making better eating choices.
I have an appointment to see an medical professional about possibly trying some antidepressants. That bothers me for several reasons, but I'll get to those in a second.
Depression/abnormal emotional bullshit runs in my family. I truly think I'm the most "normal" of all of us, but that (obviously) isn't saying a whole lot.
Several months ago, I was having some emotional hiccups. My therapist noted it, too. She told me that she had been noticing my decline over the past several weeks and that she thought that I possibly needed some low dose antidepressant/anti-anxiety medication. I was absolutely not about to try that shit.
I am absolutely ashamed to admit this... But, I want a relationship. A romantic one. With sex... and cuddling... But, mostly sex.
No, I'm kidding (sort of). I just want someone to share my life with... What the entire fuck? Did I just type that? I "want someone to share my life with"... Ugh. My desire for a relationship typically waxes and wanes, but I've been sort of stuck on it for the past few weeks. I DO NOT want to get married. I just want someone that I can spend my free time with that I can also fuck if I so choose.
I have never blogged while tipsy... There's a first time for everything (except vaginal sex for me, apparently), so I care to share that cheap merlot is coursing through my veins and my fucks to be given are so very few. I plan to seek a refill, so by the end of this entry, I think I will be sufficiently fuck-free.
I guess I should go ahead and say that I truly don't give a fuck what people read. I am not losing sleep over this and I have not shed a tear. I just want to say how the fuck I feel. I hate how people think you care deeply about something when you have an unfavorable opinion about it. I care enough to talk about it... and that pretty much covers it.
So, I am pro reading. Truly I am. I love that people are still choosing to be stimulated by text.
By nature, I'm just not a big risk taker. My prudish nature coupled with sheltering parents has left me with no sense of adventure. As I've said before, I consider not shaking the orange juice thoroughly before drinking to be a pretty badass move.
One reason I don't take risks is because I'm okay with living with "what if" in most cases. If there's a moderate chance of this risk fucking some shit up in my life, then I just don't do it. I typically don't regret it, either.
New discoveries worth mentioning: I absolutely HATE medical-surgical nursing, The Amazing Dr. G is moving away, and my therapist is probably the most awesome fucking feminist in my area.
I don't have much to say about school. Just that December can't get here fast enough. When I embarked on this nursing school journey, I was easily pulling As in accelerated core classes. Now that I'm in the midst of all things nursing, I find myself rejoicing over anything above a 75%. It's hard, because I may not be a genius, but I am *not* stupid by any means. My test grades don't always reflect that.
So... I think I'm about to become one of those whiny bloggers who beg for money, but label the incoming funds as "donations." My laptop is dead and gone. I'm mulling it over, but I likely won't ever do it.
I hate feeling obligated to give something to someone just because they're CHOOSING to provide me with something (whether it be entertainment, food, sex, or otherwise).
So, anyway, have you ever thought about how you feel after an orgasm? Not after the yummy contractions die down and your heart rate has returned to normal, but IMMEDIATELY after you hit that pinnacle pleasure?
Should I even bother telling you that school/writer's block is the reason why I've been gone? No? You already know? Good.
Also, my laptop is going to ABSOLUTE SHIT. This piece of shit is missing four keys and a few of them are super glued so they'll stay attached. Writing papers/doing study guides is a fucking NIGHTMARE, so you can only imagine how horrible blogging is.
Carlin wrote an entry about sexting. It got me thinking about how awesome it used to be back when I was a teenager.
I try to blog immediately after an orgasm. This only works maybe a fourth of the time, but I make an honest effort to start writing when the orgasmic afterglow is still radiating.
I masturbated naked today. That's something I rarely do. I took a shower and went from my bathroom to my room, sprawled out on my bed, and went to town. I always forget how good it feels to feel skin on skin, especially when it's still a little damp.
So, while I'm feeling all glow-y, inspired, and freshly cleaned, I thought I'd write about Carlin and Liandra's fisting video.
So, my gynecologist appointment was today. I left school (and went back after; talk about dedication) and drove over. I didn't have to wait nearly as long as I did, which is good, because I was on the verge of having a case of nervous diarrhea.
I Google weird shit all the time. Really, I do. I get curious about things that are probably inappropriate to ask my peers (or anyone, for that matter), so I run to my trusty search engine to find answers.
Today, while I should be knee-deep in study materials, I Googled "I regret having children," just so I could see if my ideas of parenthood are as absurd as people lead me to believe. They aren't.
Not dead, writer's block, nursing school ruining my life, blah blah blah. All that good shit.
I'm worried about my boobs. So worried that I made an appointment to have The Amazing Dr. G give me my first exam and get my yearly PAP later this month. The last time I went, I was freshly 19, so I suppose it's time for her fingers to enter me anyway. I didn't want to go under these circumstances, though.
Y'all... I have a confession. Please don't disown me. I deserve to be spanked (in the bad way) and to be punished, because I have done something so horrible, but I didn't have any other choice.
I... I... I BOUGHT A BOX OF "U BY KOTEX" TAMPONS.
I know, I know. I'm sobbing because I am so ashamed. Not really, but I am not proud of myself by any means.
For anyone lost as to why this is even a problem, read this. I rant about how awful the marketing is for this product and shit on their idea of cute packaging. No regrets, either.
I have several.... tens of blog entries that I've started but I haven't finished for several reasons. I either get stuck, lose interest in the subject, or realize that I've already talked about something too much akin to the topic that it would almost be a rearranged re-post. The following post is a mash-up of about four entries that I've started and never finished. It was pretty irrelevant for me to tell you that...
Taylor Momsen rocks my fucking socks. I didn't know kids these days had such fantastic ideals (says the moderately sexually liberated freshly twenty one year old masturbator). One of my good friends linked me to this quote by her:
Nope, I'm not dead; still a suffering nursing student who has writer's block.
You may never think of me the same after you read this list, but I really think I have long surpassed the normal level of weirdness a person can safely be at without being committed.
1: My standards for sleeping with men are EXPONENTIALLY lower than my standards for sleeping with women. So low that they're almost nonexistent. Like, if you're not mentally challenged and you can put on a condom.... I think all systems are go.
2: I masturbate so often that my fingers are often prune-y from always being in contact with my pussy juice.
3: I will make out with pretty much anyone.
4: By default, I love you if you're a lesbian. Seriously.