I am exhausted with school, and I am exhausted with one of my professors, and I am exhausted by not being at the beach every single fucking moment of every single fucking day. It's not even gratifying to know that in five weeks I'll be done. I'm fucking done already NOW.
Yes, my wall is purple. I love it. I hated it initially, but I've grown rather fond of it. I'm sure this looks like very little actual work, all things considered, but it's quite a bit. It's a fuckton of reading (that I'm actually doing this semester, because right before you get your degree is when you should buckle down and be a good student, right? Really earn that 3.8 GPA I'm so proud of), and a lot of coordinated effort with young ass students that need to be corralled by my old ass. Taking on five classes really isn't all that much, considering when I was going after my business degree, I was taking six (my second semester, the dean approved me for seven classes, and I think he did it because I walked in so confident I could handle all of it AND a full time job AND a kid AND a flourishing social life that he wanted to see if I was ACTUALLY capable of it. Joke was ultimately on me, and I dropped college algebra. I am fucking numbers stupid. That's why I'm going after a masters in psychology and not business. Too many numbers. No thank you), and at one point in the beginning of my psych path, I flirted with the idea of taking 8 classes JUST to be done faster. Five is a very reasonable number, and because my sole job is school right now (I haven't even touched photography except for funsies. I am too fucking busy), feeling over it might be a little bit whiny. But fuck it, I'm over it, and if that's whiny, I'm whiny.
I'm stuck at home today, unable to go work in the lo'i, and I'm pretty fucking disappointed about it. BUT it means I can put the finishing touches on my mini mid-term paper for my least favorite class that's due tomorrow. I sent my professor a huge email detailing my complaints, and she wants to meet with me about it tomorrow, so I'm putting together a more detailed list of complaints. I get really weird about rocking the boat sometimes. I really noticed it when I was with Dan. I would have a pretty fucking legitimate grievance, and then I'd talk myself into thinking I was wrong for having whatever thing bother me, and I would cement my feelings of wrongness by convincing myself that I'D be the asshole if I brought it up. I did this for a fucking LONG time with Dan. The whole of our relationship, really, and it's left me with a very complicated ball of needing understanding and closure in the pit of my stomach, and being absolutely haunted by pretty fucking consistent dreams about Dan. A lot of unresolved issues there that I could have curtailed if I had had the spine to go through with telling him the first time he crossed my lines that he was being a needle dick, because I would have either dropped him/been dropped by him on the spot, or I would have maintained that momentum for the rest of our relationship and taken the piss out of him every single time he treated me like shit. Which was a lot. I uh...I'm not making myself look like all that strong of a woman here, and in truth, I wasn't when it came to Dan. That tall mother fucker was my god damn kryptonite, and I cannot for the life of me figure out why. On an unrelated note, I feel pretty fucking shitty that my husband, whom I love far more honestly and a lot more as a whole than I loved Dan, gets the short end of the stick because I loved Dan with more fervor and less reservation (undeservedly so). My husband has his faults, and a lot of them make me feel inferior and ugly and uncared for in much the same ways that Dan did, but I far prefer my relationship with Derek. Getting back on track, I am not spineless about the things that irritate me with Derek. I always mention them, because I'd rather be honest and open and obscenely irate at my husband than silent and convincing myself I'm wrong about my pains in my head. I learned that it's better to be the way I am now (and really, the way I was before Dan. I was always the kind of person who told people to fuck right off when they were doing something that hurt me personally. I changed all of that for Dan, and I really....I really just do not fucking know why. He didn't earn that from me, I just gave that to him right off the bat. It's infuriating to see that hindsight isn't 20/20 at all...it's WAY fucking blurred by any manner of other shit) than to be a super fucking mousy bystander in my own emotional immolation. I learned that through experience, and I feel validated in behaving the way I do now. It's served me well.
I do NOT have that validation from dealing with a professor, though, because I've always handled my relationships with professors as having a very impermeable line between always correct (the professor) and always wrong (the student). Do I believe this is true? Absolutely not. It's such a strange dynamic, really, and so arrogant to think that this one person knows better than you, therefore you need to look at them at all times, and address them formally at all times, and treat them like superior humans when the truth is, they fucking suck a good deal of the time and should be told as much. I've always kept my mouth shut about my shitty professors, though, because I think I understand fairly well that in a showdown between myself and a professor to any person higher than them in the school authority hierarchy, I'm the one the school doesn't know, and it's easier to write off one student than an entire teacher. I've had bad professors before...careless ones that talk shit about students, and don't show respect for their students, changing expectations and due dates without mentioning anything, just being general pricks because they have the power seat and wield over students because they can. I've just dealt with it, because I was adult enough when I started college that I could let it roll off of my back and not bother me. I had too much other shit to worry about, and if I kept my head down and just did my shit, I'd survive and be able to forget all about my nimrod professors sooner rather than later.
I do not know what the deal is this semester, but I have fucking had it with one of my professors, and I sent her a pretty fucking detailed email accounting for my grievances. I felt super justified in sending it, especially after speaking with other students in the class and having them agree with my problems. I told her she was disregarding of her students and their other obligations, that she shouldn't be talking shit about students when they're not there (I had bronchitis and missed two sessions, and my classmates filled me in that she was running her mouth a bit about me missing class. I've also heard her run her mouth about other students who missed class because of work), that her emails are brazenly snarky and maybe she needs to watch her tone (she sends emails about her disappointment in us for not attending things, and that attendance is important, but she regularly asks that we miss days worth of classes to attend things she wants us to do with little regard to the make up work she's incurring for us), that asking her students to create their own make up work is fucking lazy as hell (has anybody ever had a teacher that was like, eh, create your own assignment, I can't be bothered. This absolutely floors me), and that all around, she's setting students up to fail by being inconsiderate. I cannot stress enough that I have conferred with other students, and there is a general consensus that this is going on, and I know I'm not being a nitpicky cunt for calling this professor out. That being said, I didn't mention the other students because I'm not a fucking rat and I'm not trying to get everyone into some school drama when they have enough on their plates, which leaves me open for her saying that the problem isn't her, it's just my interpretation. So I feel wobbly in the stomach about this now. I suppose we'll see about it all tomorrow.
In other news, cycling has done wonders for my butt. It has never been so deliciously round in all my days, even when I was running. Check it:
Even my little back dimples have returned! I know I'm still a lardo in almost every other meaning of the word (and I'm working on it. PCOS is a fucking bear to combat, even with being a pretty fucking healthy eating vegan, and even with cycling every fucking day, and even with yoga every fucking day, and even with hiking and swimming on the weekends, I am struggling to slip the fuck out of this hideous god damn fat suit that my body is walking around as), but small pushes forward are starting to be noticeable. Derek says he notices them a lot, which I guess is encouraging, but I'm still frustrated that shit isn't just falling off the way it used to before PCOS took over my body in a not so nice way.
I will say that cycling the twelve miles for school every day, and trying to come to terms with having an older body that doesn't just let go of weight like it did when I was in my twenties (both because of age AND because of PCOS which I think was really kicked into gear from gaining weight after my accident. An exceptionally vicious cycle), and having to wear weather appropriate clothes that allow for me to not die from heat exhaustion on my way to school but that are suitable for cycling, and sweating because the ride is long and difficult, and the weather is sunny and humid, has really helped me be more ok with having a fuck it attitude about my appearance. I look like a fucking bedraggled ass labradoodle when I roll into class every day. I'm in riding shorts, so it looks like I freshly shit myself with the padding bulge directly over my asshole area, I'm sweating damn near literal buckets from every inch of my skin, I'm in a yoga tank or some other workout friendly, breezy shirt because it's so god damn hot out, and my hair. My fucking hair. I don't straighten it anymore because I'm too busy doing other shit that would immediately ruin the flawless look I'm going for when I make the effort to straighten my wild mane. I smell like SunBum, though, which is really the only perk to my Zero Fucks Given look. Other than that, I am a hot god damn mess for every single class. And I have stopped giving a fuck about how I look there. I think I mentioned this in a previous blog, but I feel particularly self congratulatory about this, because my appearance has always mattered to me in a big way. I knew I didn't have much to work with, so I wanted to fucking work the little bit I had hard. I don't have that luxury now, so I can't do my hair, I can't do my makeup, I can't hide behind fashion. I'm just sweaty and frizzy and fresh(...ly red) faced and always wearing workout clothes, and that's just the pulp of that motherfucker. I do wish I could walk around campus looking cute as fuck, or at least put together. Part of me is still envious of people that get looked at. That really isn't what people are about with me. I think I'm pretty ENOUGH that dudes needing a place to bury their dicks for a little will look past the fact that I'm not an Amazonian supermodel goddess, and then they find out that I'm just WAY super cool and obviously the smartest and also super cool and smart that they end up being intrigued enough to stick around, but my looks have never, ever, EVER been my strong suit. I keep holding on to the idea that I'll be hot one day, but let's fucking be real: I'm 34, I've never been hot a day in my life, and whatever hotness I DID have is more than likely long behind me.
I am considering a tummy tuck, because this pesky ass extra skin from having two watermelons pretending to be children living in my guts for almost a year each ruined my stomach. I would like to not loathe myself (correction: my figure. I fucking love myself, I think I am the goddamn tits) so that I can....I don't know...look in the mirror if I'm naked without recoiling in shame and horror. It's a strange thing, because I don't care about how I look at school in the ridiculous shit I'm wearing so I can be comfortable cycling the twelve miles to be there, but I definitely care about how I look naked. And my naked body is a fucking trainwreck, and I hate it, and if surgery can help that, I am all in. My primary worry, and the thing keeping me from a consultation, is that if the surgeon asks me if I've considered X procedure, as well, or would I maybe like this thrown in for little extra, I will never be able to unsee those flaws, and I will forever be chasing a plastic ideal that will be prohibitively expensive and never, ever finished enough for my satisfaction.
I may just have to accept the fact that, if Derek and I don't make it, or I decide to have a vengeful affair because he had one first, or whatever throws me into the fray of finding new dick in my thirties or forties, dudes are going to have to be ok with my body as it is. Maybe they can just focus on my ass?
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