Now I'm picturing JZ dragging Hec down the stairs like that old Homicide couple, pelting him with CDs and saying "Die, you bastard, die!" Cracks me up. It wouldn't if you did it, though, JZ.

t pimps NP idea again.

PitA to look for funding programs, though

NP idea?

On the self-loathing thing: I don't encounter self-hatred very often, and it's never about my body. My general fear is that everyone secretly hates me, or at least dislikes me, and therefore goes out of their way to ignore me because I'm thoughtless or a bitch or loud or forceful (ad nauseum). Any self-loathing comes from that same fear that I suck as a person and no one really wants to spend time with me; that paranoia is so obviously related to daddy issues and high school that I have no idea how to divest myself of it.

My own self-loathing with regards to that is pretty much side-by-side with Steph's right now; and no matter how many people tell me I'm awesome or that they want to spend time with me or that I am a nice person, every time someone ignores me or forgets about me or neglects to call/email/write me back, my thoughts first jump to, "god, they must be mad at me about something" or "shit, I fucked something up." That is something four years of therapy has been unable to repair in my psyche.

Now I want a cookie.

Peanut butter? Oatmeal? Chocolate chip? Whatever you want sweety.

As others said...you're gonna be 41 anyway, some day. (OTOH, if you don't go to med school, you might be a better-rested 41)

And I third/fourth/eleventh all the self-loathing comments. It continues to amaze me how sometimes I can look in the mirror and be all "yeah, I'm hot! I look gooooood! Who wouldn't want me?" and like, an hour later look in the same mirror, and really know in my head I look the same, but instead be all "I'm fat and funny shaped and my hair is frizzy and my skin is bad and no one would want to see me naked and even if anyone saw me naked they would be disgusted!" I mean...same me! Same mirror! CRAZY brain.

Course, I also wonder how crazy you need to be to have therapy. Cause sometimes I think I'm pretty well balanced (especially when I think about SOME of the whackjobs I've known in my life, most of whom feel no need for therapy!) and therapy would be a waste of money and time, and sometimes I think I'm surely seriously fucked up and will never be normal.

Nurse Practitioner, Trudy

Peanut butter? Oatmeal? Chocolate chip? Whatever you want sweety.

Oatmeal chocolate chip would be sweet. It's a particular favorite of mine that I can never find/get. Ah, if wishes were horses.

I also wonder how crazy you need to be to have therapy

See, I think that's the wrong question. I realized (on my own) in junior high school that I needed therapy, especially to deal with the stuff about my father, but when I finally worked up the nerve to approach my mother about it she said, and I quote-from-memory, "That sort of thing stays on your permanent record." WTF? What permanent record? But my mother has always been very wary about things like that. It didn't stop me from enrolling my first semester of college with counseling services, though. But I'm not, well, crazy. Not at all. I was circumspect and realized I was running in circles around issues that would take more than me to resolve. And I knew going it that it would be a long-term process.

Strangely, it's usually alleviated when I go abroad.

Anyway.

Trudes, so far I only recall you and Hec commenting on my magnatism. I keep expecting to walk by the fridge and have all the magnet suddenly jump ship and attack me.

Did I mention I have a new iPod? I am loading songs as I type this! Yay!! doing the happy dance

Oh, C's ice cream cake was an interesting creation and totally sugar loaded. I had less than half a piece before I hit the sugar wall.

Nurse practioner would be my guess, Trudes.

Yeah, when you're in that self-hate place, it's never as easy as being reassured. Because sure, of course they'd say that, and it's because they don't want to hurt my feelings or, more often, they just don't know me well enough, or they'd see what a fucked up loser I am. Awful.