Trust me, I'm a doctor.

I have awful body image. I shouldn't, really, but I can't help it. My grandparents used to tell me about what a chubby little baby I was. "You used to be a real chubby baby," they say. "But look at you! You've shot up and slimmed up!" For years they've been telling me things like that. "You and your cousin both used to be chubby babies." They say.

"But you got real slim."

And I'm terrified of the day my metabolism slows down. Or the day I look in the mirror and can't see my ribs anymore. I don't ever want to gain weight. Or flab. Or pudge. I just want to be skinny as hell, safely below 150 pounds. It bothers people, I think. They think it's just part of the whole being an asshole thing. But no.

It's legitimate vanity and narcissism.

I was crossing the street the other day trying to get to the bank. A girl walked up to me, trying to hand out books of coupons for businesses around campus. "Would you like some coupons?" She asked. "Sure," I said, since I don't know how to say no to people like that. I took the book from her and she flashed me a big smile. She had braces. As reflex, I think, after months of conditioning I threw out a line.

"Aren't you a little old for braces?"

I smiled back, showing mine. She frowned. "No." She said. She turned and tried handing out coupons to other pedestrians. Unsure how to follow up such a catastrophic failure, I continued on my way. God damn you, Dr. Gallagher. I'll never use one of your pick-up lines again.

Comments

Carolynn said…

Heh heh heh. Nice try, wise guy.

October 24, 2011 at 11:08 AM

No, Holmes, no!

All I ever think about these days is how much I have to/want to study. I hope that's not how I have a good time, now. Would I rather go hang out with peeps or would I rather sit in and study? It is a difficult question to answer. Just a couple more days and then I can focus all my energy on the next greatest idea I've ever had: iconic detectives and sharks.

I wonder, sometimes.

I am standing on the edge of a cliff face. A breeze whips past me as I stare out into the darkness. It's a familiar sight, comforting. The river bends below me. It stretches out, away from me at both ends. The arch of the bridge traverses the river, silhouetted by the house lights and golf course below us. So far away from us. The highway reaches out before us, straight into the hills and disappears on the horizon. It is silent. There are no cars. No planes. No animals. It is just us standing on top of the cliff. As it should be. It's late. A late weeknight. Just a normal Tuesday night to the world. I step away from the edge. In 5 minutes, I will be 22 years old. It's a turning point in my life. A fixed checkpoint. I'm only 21 years old, I'm not an actual adult yet. Maybe legally. But I'm still a child. I'm immature, I laugh at fart jokes. I laugh at everything. Why would I take anything seriously? 21 years old and we still have no responsibilities. We c...

Side effects include constant irritability, being an ass.

It was a typical day in MUS 307 . A typical day where nobody pays attention to anything the professor talks about. A day where people play shitty flash games instead of take notes. A day where people sit and refresh their Facebook newsfeed instead of follow the slides. A day where people roll their eyes and go to sleep instead of listen to the music examples. A day where people get up and leave ten minutes before lecture ends instead of having the God damn decency to stay the whole time and pretend to be interested. I mean, if you're going to be so unaffected by the music we're studying in class then why the fuck did you take the class in the first place? Fuck it makes me mad. And I haven't even started talking about that fucker who sits in the back and tries to whistle along with every song that gets played in class. Alright, dude, we get it: you are just too cool and you know everything about jazz, ever. You know every standard ever written and everybody's so...

everything is fine

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