To take a shower

Have you ever actually considered the phrase "take a shower"? It makes no sense. A shower is not a tangible object that can be taken. Unless you mean take the whole shower unit and move it, but since that is obviously not what anyone is saying when they say they are going to "take a shower", it seems like a ridiculous phrase.

Are you shitting me?

I was browsing This is why I'm broke when I found this.

Please tell me that people aren't actually paying to have flecks of gold show up in their crap. How does anyone benefit from this? No one is going to see it....at least I hope they aren't. And what are you going to do after you have decorated your crap? You have two choices. You can either flush it, or you can try to get your gold back. One option leaves you out over $400, and one is....well absolutely disgusting. If you have the money to shell out to decorate your shit, please consider all the better uses for this money. Donate the money to your local food bank, or animal shelter.  Or really, anything else would be a better investment than this.

Catharsis

I wrote this about five months ago. Today, I found it and reread it. It was something I wrote for myself without ever having the intention of sharing it with others, but my anxiety has started attacking again and I am trying to fight it off. I think it might help me somehow to post this.

I've spent the majority of my life trying to made sure I look good to colleges. I guess my anxiety mixed with my love to learn in order to form a horrible concoction. I HAD to do good in school. I HAD to be perfect. And because I couldn't, I hated myself. Time and time again I pushed myself beyond my limits. I still do. It has become habit I suppose. I've gotten better at stopping though. Better at keeping up. I know my limits, and while I still choose to continue to push them, I know when to stop. 

The next portion of this I wrote a couple days later, but it is essentially a continuation of this.

I wish I could have kept my anxiety from affecting anyone else. I tried as best I could, but it seeped through every action. I kept myself at arms length from everyone because I was scared of what they would think. For some reason I didn't mind that they disliked the person I let them see. That wasn't the real me, so it didn't matter so much. As strange as it sounds, I didn't even let myself see the real me. I was afraid of what I might see if I did, so instead I floated in a lack-of-existenceness. I told myself I could be happy someday. After I did what I needed to do. After I got accepted to college. After I got accepted to grad school. After my PHD. In truth, that day never would have come. I would always have to do more. I still fear that drive. That need to accomplish. But now, I can put down my work to go hang out with friends. I'm not silent anymore because I'm not constantly questioning everything I have to say.


I continued on, but the rest of it kind of morphed into me trying to decide what I want to do with my life  so I won't continue it. 

There isn't really a point to this post. Mostly, I think when I finally manage to push that "publish" button, I will find some sort of catharsis in it. I feel bad for anyone who accidentally stumbles upon my blog and gets sucked into the inner workings of my mind. It is a scary place, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone one.  I hope someday this might be a blog that someone wants to read, but that comes secondary to the main goal of helping to heal myself.