Medical Marijuana or Stoner Kid?

Today in Abnormal (Psychology class) we started our section about eating disorders. There were several debates (never unusual for our class), one was: Is anorexia a phobia? Second was: Is it an anxiety disorder? and last was: Could medical marijuana be a good cure for anorexia? The answers to these are: Eh... No. Not really. And HELL NO! Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to high (ha ha) and mighty, I have indulged, I'm a college student (and a psychology major at that). But when this girl asked my professor if she though this was a good idea I honestly thought she was joking. I've written out a skit so you can fully understand this debate:

Girl: So I was thinking, hypothetically, of course, if weed was legalized, couldn't it be used as a treatment for anorexia?

Professor: Umm... I'm confused by the question. Why would that help at all?

Me & a smart ass: Munchies?

Professor: Umm no. Not going to work, seeing as, as we previously reviewed anorexia isn't about appetite it's about a warped state of mind.

Girl: Well that wasn't everything I was taking about! Like, when you smoke weed you chill out more. Like we could calm them down. 

Professor: Well umm I don't know if that would-

Me: (I go on to tell a story of a friend who suffers from an eating disorder who smoked put one night and had an awful trip, that only made things worse)

Girl & the smart ass: Well your first time smoking pot is different... That doesn't happen every time (lovely just so you know attitude)

Me: (In head) Oh thanks for that insight. I am not going to get into a "I can smoke better than you can" fight, so I'm just gonna keep my mouth shut, and let you dig yourself into a deeper hole.

Professor: No, I'm pretty sure Katie has a point... And plus you can't ever GUARANTEE the quality of the weed. You'll never know what PCP or whatever is put into it. Where as the SSRI's which will effectively "calm down" the anxiety that comes with these conditions, you can guarantee that quality of.

Girl: Well like, if it was legalized, the government could grow and regulate it, so there would be any lacing. 

At this time the entire class is just looking at the girl, and back up and my professor wondering what would come next...

Professor: And so Bulimia Nervosa....

Classic Prof Tyler moment. Don't feed the dumb ass. It was just so irritating because at the beggining of the semester my Prof had us raise our hands if we were thinking of going into the field, and she did, and I am just like, please God, don't let this girl ever treat a patient... It scares me when I hear ignorant people (period ha ha) act like they more than someone who has spent over ten years in schooling, and probably 20 plus in the actual filed of study. 

Anywho, just thought that was a funny little story.

Trying to refocus my life. Oh balance. My newest thoughts have been revolving around my health. I eat like shit, drink caffeinated beverages all day, don't work out, and get stressed out 95% of my day. So my new theory is, "If it's not healthy, don't eat it. Get one large drink, and make it last. Go back to my work out plan from the beginning of this year. And spending 5 minuets in meditation a day." So there we go. We'll see how long I can stick with that.

I'm alright Jack keep your hands offa my stack...

Money. In and out of my pockets it flows, grows, and diminishes. "Get a good job with more pay, and you're okay." I am the living breathing entity of this song. Right now I have a position that I am "guaranteed" at The Winery of the Little Hills. This job could potentially bring in over 120 a day... Which is double what I make on the longest of days. I have an addiction to money you see. So right now, I should be writing an english paper, but instead I literally am just counting the same amount of money I need, I could be making, making lists of how much [stop to do English, and return] money I'll need, what I want to get with at money, and the combining all the lists, in different ways. It's an obsession of mine. A guilty pleasure. Some people do crack, I do numbers... Right now I'm fixated on the profit from the prospective job. But my guilt (from the thought of quitting my current job, and leaving my boss in a crisis) is tremendous, and makes my obsession a little less fun. 

That is it for now. Honestly. I have almost nothing else bothering me. Just money. Oh money.

Put It DOWN!

Raymond Holenbach died today (yesterday as of now). He was my grandfather. My mother said he looked "beautiful" and told me that she "kissed his cold, still body for me" and that is what directly sent to heaven. I haven't cried yet, although i almost did when reading what my cousin wrote as her Facebook status, "We pass from earth to sky. From dark to light, our souls take flight, Beautiful here, a wondrous sight. Thank you for your light. The wink..." The wink... I know what wink she means. He didn't say much, but that wink, it let you know he was listening, and that he loved you. I've gotten that wink since I was a baby. But thankfully I will have a perfect picture of it to hold onto. R.I.P. grandpa. I love you so much. Have fun in the "Great Martini Bar in the Sky" without me!

I've had quite a few more ideas flying through my head. As usual. Of course they are almost all school induced. There is just so much to see and learn there... It's crazy. 

First off, none related to my personal life, PMDD vs. BiPolar 2. PMDD (Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder) is a recently discovered condition that has been ruining women's lives for longer than we knew. It is a "condition associated with severe emotional and physical problems that are linked closely to the menstrual cycle." These "problems" include many symptoms very similar to those of BiPolar 2. So here we are diagnosing women with BiPolar 2, when they probably just a have a period that runs ramped. Just like in states of manic depression, the levels of Serotonin in a woman's mind drop, so all you have to do is take an SSRI two weeks out of the month, and you are good to go. It just made me laugh a little. Knowing that there are Psychologist going through the DSM, and having to choose between BiPolar, and a really sucky cycle.

Another thing that has been on my mind a whole bunch lately is the interactions between whites and blacks. It tends to vary on age as well. I have a coworker who I can joke around with about our color, but if I went to school, and tried that on my acquaintance Maria, it wouldn't be so funny. But as I have learned in my Anthro class, race is just a myth, so why should this be an idea in my head anyways? Yesterday I filled out a survey, and to bubble in "White/NonHispanic", when the head of our class, is having us read A Raisin in the Sun, and trying to teach us the values of loving each other for who we are. So why the hell, does any one care what race I am, when I'm taking a survey about how long a day a spend texting? Why should that even be a factor? It really pisses me off. I will have more to come on this subject at a later date.

The balance in my life seems... Not so balanced. Everything will slow down for a tiny bit now though. My two, and only, friends are going back to where they came from, and I will sink back into my routines. But Friday, all will be disheveled again. I will go up to Columbia for an evening, eat a dinner with what seems like a group of strangers sometimes, and then pack my bags and leave for a memorial service. Most people probably dread memorial (death) services, but I am really looking forward to this one. I have family that truly speaks my language, and I get to see every last one of my family members (from my mom's side). That hasn't happened since before my parents split. Anywho, back to the balance... I just try so hard to keep all my tasks managed, and seem to fail, epically at sometimes. I want to read and write, and sing, and be free. And I am trapped. In a bubble of espresso and text books, I sit and dissolve.

P.S.

I have a thought...

"Social Scientists" vs Hippies. There is a thin line sometimes. I like it when I hear the scientists walk the balance beam (aka. almost cross the line). It makes me smile. The name of a course title "Dealing with Diversity", my personal description: Why can't we all just love each other? Fuck this idea of "race" we are all one. Sound like scientists, or a bunch of tree hugging Grateful Dead fans? Or does it matter? Lets all just be each other. Who cares about categorizing anyway right? ;)

Balance.

I have been finding balance is a value we tend to neglect, along with respect and politeness. But balance is a alive and thriving in my life right now. But the balance is askew. I have weight on all my scales, but some scales need more weight on them. So I need to push myself a step farther. I wrote a blog earlier today that I did not publish, about my need to lighten up. To give up, to let go. And I say no. I say that is not who I am now, I do not let go. I will fight to keep the balance where it needs to be. There are things that need to be let alone, to let breath, but not given up on, not let go of. So hold on, with high hopes. With my faith in something that drives my soul, I know that I can do it. I can make it. Maybe it was the weather outside today, maybe it is the feel of my callousing fingers, the tingle of carbonation on my tongue, the thoughts of the future, but I just feel powerful. 

Love. Balance. Soul. I think I can say that is how I am centered with life right now. And everything flows from those three. 

Much Too Tired To Be Writing This

It amazes me how much I want to blog. I think about it daily. I never do it, but I always think, "Hmm, this would be an interesting bit to put on my blog." And even though not many people read it, and a blog is not of utmost importance in every person's lifestyle, it really means a lot more than I thought it would. I just wish I had more time to use it. Because now, when I do have this few minutes to actually blog, it is very late (at least for me, some people the night is still young) and I am focused solely on getting rest, and recouping my strength to get through another whirlwind of a day. 

I guess I'll just hit brief highlights on a couple thoughts I wanted to put on here, so I feel some what accomplished. 

The musical Hairspray. I love it. Really and truly, through and through, the message is great, and it is presented in such a way, that is so IN YOUR FACE. I love it. I almost get the feel of pop-juvenalian humor. You have these really hard hitting ideations, in a sing-song joking manner. Like "Miss Baltimore Crabs", for instance, is really quite an awful thing to think about. And most girls who work their way to success by means of providing sexual favors as are viewed as "loose", and very much so. And here in this Broadway production, we have a 50 woman not just thinking back on, but REMINISCING about her thwarting other girls out of success by "screwing the judges". Awful concepts or a production that is now mass produced in cases with colorful sparkle text, that little girls are dieing to see.

Blacks and whites. An everyday thought. But most days I attend school it really hits home. Just everything. It's different. The dialogue. The cigarettes we smoke. The way black educators are viewed. The way black educators view their students. It just hits so hard sometimes...

I think it is HYSTERICAL when a person, any person, but usually a stranger, when make slams, or comments about the "gay community", or "gay people" around me, without even knowing. And I will never say a word. What makes this person so confident that I'm not "a gay"? I just let them keep going... Black people can't hide the fact they are black, so you never have the conflict of "Umm... By the way, I'm black, so if you could stop talkin' shit on my people..." But with homosexuals, some of us aren't flamers. So you'll never know, and rather than become angry, I let them hold their feelings, and get a good chuckle out of it. But by the end of the conversation of me just soaking up how they feel, and why they feel that way, I always have that urge to say, "And what makes you so certain I'm as straight as you?", wink, and walk away. Just a little secret of mine for you to know.

Still worrying about the aspirations of becoming a Psychology major. There is just SO much in the field to be looking at. I feel like, well I've got my major, so now... HOLY GOD, that just made things about 500 times MORE complicated. What career path do I choose? Do I go into research? Social Work? Psychiatry? RxP? Education? And with most of those comes other majors, or extended schooling, and training. It's just so much to think about, and it's a bit over whelming, "a bit" being quite a humungous understatement. 

And now that I have gotten tid bit out of what has been rushing through my brain as of late, I will go get my nightly cup of OJ, take my Vitamin C, and ship of to sleepy land. Night all!

Hauntings...

I have tried and tried to blog. So hard for past few days, I just have so MUCH to say, and that I try and find the words to say, they just want to come out all at once. It's so hard to get them all down in writing.

Right now. I am living in a moment, both of present and of past. Feelings of both sadness, and pride. As I listen to young Hilary Hahn beef out the first, and my favorite, movement of Sibelius' Violin Concerto in D Minor, I am flooded with emotions. For my father. Whom has scarred me so deeply. But when he plays this song, with as much fervency, I can feel his scars too. Deeper than mine perhaps. And this song. This very one. Has as much meaning to him, than it does to me. It is a ghost that haunts him. It has broken him so many times. Just like his heart. And you can feel it when he plays. Miss Hahn, plays this songs well, but when my father belts this out, I see, hear, feel, every string hit somewhere much deeper. It stings. It shouts at you. Telling you what it means. Who he is. Who he was. His music is his way of freeing himself. He needn't sing, nor speak. No. The passion presented is all that is ever needed to understand him. And it is from him, and not my mother, that I have received my unfathomable passion. Stubbornness. Recklessness. Selfishness. Anxiety. My father knows how to really feel. And I believe he feels the way that I feel. And I don't mean we are empathetic towards one another. I mean to say that he and I taste life through the same buds. Through this song. Through most anything. Love it, or hate it. Generally there is no middle ground. And we may not be close, and at times I find myself hating him, but there is such a part of him I can relate too. It scares me some moments, and at moments like these, I am filled with such pride. It is a conflict I may always treasure. And keep to myself. As a secret. Because even as I sit here writing this for you to read, the liking of me to this song, will never be understood, by another human being.

And now, we change for an ode to me. Moonlight Sonata, and of course, the first movement. My grandmother always wanted my dad to learn it. She said it's all she ever wanted before she died. I learned it. When I told her, she smiled, but didn't even ask to hear it. I think that has always haunted me. I learned it all on my own. Out of lesson time. I guess it was best. Because I didn't feel the way I do about the song now. It is now my haunting. It has broken me. Humbled me. Now that I can hardly read music, I try every once and a while to sit down and hack through those notes. I don't play it correct. I never have. I disagree completely with the dynamics. And maybe that is a huge slap in the face to Beethoven, but just like my father, my passion knows the song better than my eyes do, so it disagrees, and plays it to it's liking. And with my quickly dying musical literacy, I sat down to play this song, and it broke me. I could barely chop through the first few lines. There is a picture in my mind when I play this piece. I only imagine death. All of the dead, and all of the dying. And myself. It is a goodbye song. Of course I never die after I play the piece, or haven't yet. But I picture it being played at my funeral. I picture many people, I loved, and who loved me, gathered around, weeping, to this song. But not just anyone playing it. I hear me, playing it. I know it may sound sick and twisted, but I promise you it's not. Nor do I wish to die. It's just what drives my fingers to hit the keys the way they do. 

This is not anything like what I have been trying to blog about. But it feels good to have gotten out. I am posting lyrics I wrote on my other Blog. So visit soon.

Plans and Tylenol, in an epic battle to fight for my love.

I have so much I would rather be doing than posting a small blog, and heading off to bed. Including extending this blog by many paragraphs.

I have the Flu, which has been floating around like wild fire. And it's a damn shame, because it bumps back 7 and a half hours of work, that I could have been making money, which at 6.65 ends up being about 50 dollars out of pocket. A pretty penny spent for being sick. I also have studying and papers, that could be done. But I must tuck in to bed rather than dive into a pool of what sometimes feels like an inexhaustible amount motivation. I'll wait for that swim tomorrow afternoon. Even though the procrastination is tearing away at my conscience. So I will take my Tylenol, and eat a donut. Turn off the TV and roll under the covers.

I could continue on about how I feel on other topics, such as my disrespect for my superiors, the lack of justice in this world, how in love I am with someone I never knew I could be, my endless internal debates. The list goes on for miles. and almost every night I sit here thinking of puking all of it out, but it just seems trivial to linger on these thoughts, when there is so much to look forward to. I.e. the donut I am about to put in my face, or the face I get to see in less than a week. Or the sky. Or the grass in the summer against you back. Rivers. Family. Love. Friends, even the ones you wish you could make your self spend more time with. Possibilities. Learning. This blog... tomorrow.