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Wednesday July 9, 2014 8:33 PM
For some reason, I'm having this huge questioning-of-my-morals argument with myself over a sandwich ("But the sandwich is simply the surface!" cries my mind, while noting the slight alliteration of that sentence). Also, today, my conscience is british because I've been watching too much Rose Ellen Dix.
Why is she so pretty? Her girlfriend, too. Like damn.
So I've been well-aware of my incessant whining. I've been whining to my mum (do you see that, I'm american and I just said MUM, ok) because I really want to eat something with meat but my house is weird. We don't HAVE any meat. Only fake meat burgers and tons of vegetables and cheese because my sister and I used to be vegetarian and now we have a habit of mostly eating veggies.
I was whining about burritos and pizza when finally my mom said, "Okay, fine, lemme go to Mr. Subbs. We can share a sandwich."
I then proceeded to whine because I really wanted a sandwich to myself. She gave up, and said she'd just buy me one and eat a salad and quesadilla instead.
THEN I WHINED ABOUT THE FACT THAT I WAS BEING SELFISH IN TAKING A TWELVE INCH SANDWICH ALL FOR MYSELF.
NOW I'M HAVING AN ACTUAL CRISIS.
Part of me says, "It's fine to eat a foot long all by yourself. In most situations, if you love someone, you share your food and aren't selfish about it since you remember being traumatized by your dad as a child when he wouldn't give you a bite of his food but THEN he'd go ahead and eat yours."
The other part says, "You're selfish when it comes to your mum all the fucking time. She gives so much for you and you can barely get out of bed some days (ahem, most days). This is just another time when you're taking advantage of how lovely your mum is. Share your fucking food when she returns. Give her half your sandwich. Besides, you're fat."
I've summarized both arguments but seriously I'M HAVING TROUBLE BEING OKAY WITH EATING A WHOLE SANDWICH MYSELF. IT'S NOT LIKE I CAN'T. TRUST ME, MY STOMACH IS FLEXIBLE AND PROBABLY HATES ME SINCE I EAT SO MUCH ALL THE TIME. I AM A STARVING CHILD.
I'M HAVING TROUBLE BECAUSE MY MUM DIDN'T EVEN ARGUE. SHE'S OUT GETTING ME A SANDWICH. GOING OUT OF HER WAY TO BUY ME /A SANDWICH/.
WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO HER? MY FAULT.
BUT DEAR JESUS-ITA (pronounced EE-tuh. It's how I turn every english word into spanish. I swear I'm genuinely hispanic... I could say Jesus in actual espanol like hey-zeus pronunciation, but NO).
SHE'S BUYING MY FAT SELF A SANDWICH, THOUGH. WHAT A BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL WOMAN SHE IS.
I'm in a pretty good mood today. Anyway yeah, so that's my sandwich-and-its-symbolic-meaning-in-my-life rant. YES I'M STILL FRETTING OVER THIS. I can't decide whether or not to share? I'm not even hungry, I JUST WANT TO TASTE THE MEAT FOR HOURS ON END.
Alright, goodbye small population of readers. I hope you enjoyed today's installment of "Today, I'm Fat and Unwise" AKA the story of my indecision in every corner of my life.
Seriously, even my brain chemistry can't decide on a baseline mood. Thanks, bipolar disorder. Is bipolar disorder a genetic defect that alters brain chemistry? Or is it just something that happens because of something situational? Or is it both?
Alright, I'm both thinking like an eight-year-old and Yoda simultaneously (Yes, I'm a walking contradiction, what about you?) so I shall go now, adios.
PS: I accidently deleted an entry and now I'm really sad. There goes my rant about "self-conceited" being a non-existant and redundant word...