Whatcha Say

I'm not sure what I feel like blogging about tonight, but I just feel compelled to put something down. I have no creative juices flowing, since all I've done today has been lay around. It makes me restless and like I've wasted a whole day for nothing. Which I guess is why I've decided to blog tonight. And there's nothing on TV.

I guess what's been bothering me lately is how when I seem to get to a point in my life where I'm actually comfortable with what's happening around me and when I feel safe and secure, something happens to upset it. In the past it's been other girls that I can't compare to, that made me feel inadequate when standing next to them to those who were comparing us, and to those who weren't. I can at least say that I haven't had that feeling from someone I care about lately. Sure, there is someone who I can see judges me every time we're in the same room, and probably finds me undeserving of the classes I'm allowed to take and the privilege of being in the Honors College. By this point in time, I just don't care anymore. He's judged me from the first time we met, he used me and my friends to get close to someone, and she either doesn't see it or doesn't want to see it. Quite honestly, I hate people who do that. Not only because I was in that position a fair number of times, but because he was hurting everyone else to get what he wanted. I could care less about what he does now, except for the fact that I have to see him in my room and pretend that I have no ill will towards him, when I know what he's done, and I know how he views me.

That's not what's really bugging me, though. He's just a constant annoyance that I have to deal with a few times a week, and won't have to deal with for three weeks. The real issue is this freshman who had a thing for my boyfriend before we were going out, and seemed to carry the flame well into the semester. Things eventually cooled off, and while I was wary of her, I never saw anything that upset me terribly. And now she wants to hang out with him over break. When I'm 2.5 hours away and can't do anything if something does happen between them. I wouldn't feel too uncomfortable about it, because I trust Dave, but even he feels uncomfortable. If he feels uncomfortable, then that's cause to worry. Which shakes the whole feeling of being safe and secure. I have only felt inadequate to this girl in one arena, and that's on the ballroom dance floor. And I know that the only reason for this is because I've only had maybe one year of dance background, and very little was in ballroom, and most of it was when I was 7 years old. The whole situation is just bugging me, because I know that I can't do anything to her until well after the fact, if she is stupid enough and brave enough to try something. I can't even warn her to back off and enter the mindset of a high school girl, complete with girl warfare.

And of course, she's not the only one who's upsetting my comfortable settling down routine. For some reason the holidays bring people out of the woodworks of missing me and wanting to talk to me again. People who I've hardly talked to this semester, and others who I haven't talked to in at least a year, have decided they want to engage in deep conversations heavy with flirting, leaving little to implication. In past relationships I've been fine with this, I've even engaged in the flirting back. But this time is different. I don't want to anymore. It feels...wrong. And I know that Dave doesn't see it that way. He's perfectly alright with having a flirt buddy, when both parties know it's just innocent flirting and nothing more. But with at least one person, it seems like he's rather insistent on having his way. And with another person, I'm not sure if he realizes that I'm actually off limits. It gets rather frustrating when I have to deal with this and all that's on Dave's mind is how much he'd like to be with me physically, and how I'm talking to someone I truly thought I was in love with.

But we both know we're both horrible, incurable flirts, and we have to accept that about each other as a character trait. I'm having trouble accepting it. His flirting is with pretty much any girl, who knows him well or not at all, and luck smiles on him if it's mentioned that he's in a devoted relationship. I know he doesn't realize when he's flirting, and that he's working on it, but when it gets bad enough that he confuses a girl with his flirting with her and then mentioning me, then I just wish he could control it better. I know I have. I only flirt with people who know that I have Dave, and who know that nothing will ever come of the flirting. And I've mentioned this, but it hasn't yielded many results. Which makes long breaks away from each other that much harder. I'm afraid that "absence makes the heart grow fonder" usually doesn't apply to me, and I'm deathly afraid that it'll breed the same results with Dave. With the three weeks apart, he'll see all the flaws I have, and that he won't want to deal with them anymore. That someone will come along, someone he previously loved, and remind him why they were together, and he'll leave me for them. I've seen it happen before.

But I guess I'll just have to wait and see. These aren't the first misgivings I've had about him, and the other ones proved to be false. Maybe after this I'll learn to trust like I haven't trusted in four years, like I've been scared to trust for the past three years.

Back Here

Apparently this blog is just going to be a spring semester type of deal. And I'm done with the ship metaphor, because that was just too hard to keep up. Anyways, I wanted to get back to blogging because we actually had to for a class, and I started wanting to do it again. So here I am.

Lots has changed since I last was on whatever land mass I was. Summer came, and with it my single status. It was my own fault, and even then I knew it was for the best for all involved. It was starting to devolve, whether he knew it or not, and I thought it best to abandon ship before we were both deeply scarred.

This summer I also grew up a lot. I realized that I invest too much time and effort in trying to make someone want to be with me. I found last semester that I didn't have to do much to produce the same effect I had on previous occasions. So I came into this new semester with a new idea: To not actively pursue anyone, to try not to take an invested interest in someone. Generally, it leads to pain.

So I didn't. I came in eager to see those who I hadn't in over three months, and ready to make amends with the one who's heart I ended up unintentionally damaging. I tried to, but I'm not sure it succeeded. I think his heart was still invested, while mine had already moved on and was at the time floating around. We eventually got to an unspoken agreement of avoiding talking about the past, and that ended up in drifting apart.

I really am sorry I hurt him. I never meant to. I guess I truly do embody the traits of a Gemini. I need change in my life. Gemini's generally are always going from one project to another, and can never be satisfied with one thought occupying their mind. It was safe with him. I had nothing to worry about with him. Many would love that sense of security, but it wasn't what I wanted. There wasn't even a perceived threat that wouldn't happen in the whole time I'd know him. We are also both Geminis, which means we probably have more personality traits than is advisable for a romantic relationship.

But traits for a great friendship was what we shared. I also think that, had we not been eager to try the relationship and had I thought a little clearer, that he could have turned into one of my closest male friends. I'm just not sure if we can get past the past and be able to talk to each other as freely as we did before we started dating. And I'm not sure if our current romantic interests would like that either.

Which leads me back to the beginning of this year. The first week I got a dancing lesson from a cute boy and a date with said cute boy. Thing is, I didn't realize it was a date until about halfway through. Call me oblivious. Anyway, I went into it not expecting anything to come of it, since we were just getting to know each other. But in the end, something did come of it. He is now the first person who I have dated that I wasn't friends with first. It allows for some interesting introspection, and it's going along swimmingly.

Other things this year, not so much. I had a paper take up most of my time this semester, seeing as it turned out to be 125 pages, and between that, other classes, and friends here, something had to give. It was my best friend from home. We didn't talk as frequently as in the past, and she blamed it mainly on me. Thing is, we started to run out of similar interests, and it was my fault I don't like fishing for topics that I can deal with reading about. So that's been slowly degrading, but it's not quite gone yet.

Those are the main updates. Now that everyone's been briefed, I'll probably go through and examine all of these topics in the coming weeks.

Beautiful Liar

Reflecting on the Truth, we stumble upon another inlet, this one seemingly leading into a vast continent called The Rest of Your Life. (Sorry, I'm running out of seaworthy expressions.) We disembark upon the country of MisRepresentation, Capital City: Ideal Bodies. The locals know it as the Media's Perpetuation of Unrealistic Ideals.

According to the media, to be beautiful you have to be either stick thin, blonde haired, blue-eyed, but with disproportionally big breasts, or you have to...Wait, that's it. If you have a body that generally does not occur in nature, you are beautiful. If you have curves, you can't do much. The average real woman is not portrayed in many of our media outlets: many housewives are slim, even after having however many children, and generally have decently sized breasts. No baby fat is seen on them, yet we see them eat unhealthily and rarely exercise. And then, they decide to go on diets to lose the "excess weight" they've been carrying since they had children. Why? And the others, the girls who are adolescents, are the same way, perpetuating this myth that in order to be beautiful, to be successful in life, you have to be a size 0, and if you're not, well, you need to correct it.

We look to celebrities for our examples of beauty. Many of them are unnaturally thin, eat right, have personal nutritionists as well as personal trainers. They can afford to do this. On the other hand, our generation feels like we need to measure up, or in this case, down, to these standards, without any of this at our disposal. What happens then? Eating disorders occur. Either one eats too much when she feels depressed, and as such gains weight, and many who go down this route will turn to vomiting to lose the excess weight (hence, bulimia nervosa), or they will literally starve themselves to achieve the glorified size zero (anorexia nervosa). We struggle with this every day, the constant pressure of fitting in, and no one does anything about this.

Sure, Tyra Banks has attempted to, but now that she is no longer an Angel, the only ones who pay attention to her are desperate teens attempting to be models, or middle aged women who have the time to watch her television show. Yes, she went on her talk show after non-flattering pictures surfaced of her, but she was 161 pounds, and for her height that is ideal. Yes, she encourages "plus sized" girls to try out for America's Next Top Model, but it took ten seasons to have a "plus sized" winner. She advocates this, but to affect the whole industry, or even a small section she must do more, and her attempts have fallen flat.

This idea of a "plus sized" model is ridiculous. The restraints for a "normal sized" model are even worse. But "plus sized" is anyone who is a size 8 to a size 14. The majority of women are this size. This is not "plus sized" at all. This is normal. This is how I look. I am not fat, I have an hourglass figure, and yet I would still be labeled as "plus sized." And to achieve either modeling requirements, many will turn to destructive means, such as bulimia and anorexia. It's an epidemic that the media continues. No matter where you fall, you can't fit. You're not beautiful because you don't fit into this model of the perfect, beautiful woman. Don't have curves, or you're "plus sized," and plus sized models don't get nearly as much attention.

This trend in the modeling industry has only been around for a few decades. Before the emergence of Twiggy, in 1966, models were fuller figured, voluptuous even. At 16 years of age, Twiggy only weighed 90 pounds when she emerged as the new body of fashion. Designers saw the practicality of this, and the beauty and grace that Twiggy embodied, and decided to plan their fashion lines around thin models. Because of this, the media has come to see thin as beautiful, encouraging young girls to strive for the same thing.

I feel as if I'm being redundant, but this is something I'm passionate about. I don't believe that we should be concerned about this. I know someone who is 19, a size five, and about 5'4" who believe she is fat. She has no fat anywhere on her body, and weighs less than 120 pounds. I know another, 19 as well, a size 7 or 9 (I can't remember correctly), about 5'6", and she believes she's fat, all because she has curves. She eats healthily, exercises, and has both breasts and a butt. She has added pressure because her mother was not even 120 pounds when she was pregnant and in her 20's.

And that's just the female side of things. Males have the pressure to have muscles, to be a certain height, to have a six pack, and to be a man. What does this entail, besides for the physical muscle tone? Be tall, dark, and handsome, clean cut, clear skin, the whole nine yards. They have to be a certain weight, but in this case it is muscle weight they worry about. No six pack abs-you're not a man. No arm muscles-not a man. Scrawny-not a man. No muscles, but still 200 pounds-not a man. Not taller than your girlfriend-not a man. Cry-not a man. So many requirements for them as well. And they struggle as well with eating disorders, even if it is not as widely broadcast.

Male or female, the media dictates how you must look. The pressure to fit into this ideal mold is sometimes too much to bear. Constant worry abounds. I want to leave this town, leave this country of MisRepresentation, and forget it exists. But we're only at the coast, we have a whole lot of ground to cover before we can escape. For now, my crew continues forth.

Trust Me

After wandering around the truth for quite some time (since the last entry, and indeed I feel like I will continue to do so), I spot something brown looming in the distance. Not sure what, I direct my crew cautiously towards it. I don't want to lose my head, not now that it's been gone for quite some time. I take out my telescope, and peer ahead. A bridge. A bridge to where? We must get closer.

As we sail on, a feeling of great warmth spreads over me. I still don't know where this bridge leads, but I feel like it could be more than truth. And then, a sense of understanding washes over me. It leads to beauty, because the bridge is more beautiful than any I've seen before. So why is it here, leading from truth? Does beauty equal truth? I would like to explore, but am afraid. What if I can't get there? What if only the beautiful can make it to Beauty? I am not beautiful, inside or out, and I feel like the beauty inside is what will allow one to pass. I am not beautiful on the inside in any conventional sense. I am jealous, flighty, distracted, selfish, lazy, and slightly horrible. Occasionally I enjoy others' pain. I have no claim to being captain, not when I've already let others captain the vessel that is me.

So I send you, the pure one, the visually stunning one, to go ahead and see what happens. And there she walks, across the bridge, until we can't see her. We have told her once she gets to the other side, to come back so we could all explore whatever is at the end of the bridge. We wait for some time, hoping that my hunch is right, hoping I don't have to add "murderer" on the list of tragedies that mark my life. And then, a faint voice calls over the ocean. She can't get back past the bridge. We wonder at this strange occurrance as we sail over to pick her up. To go on, or to turn back? We go back to truth, because with this new development comes a new desire to know all.

And then I realize, as I separate myself from the rest of my crew, why she couldn't get back to Truth: because all beauty has a part of truth, but not all truth is beautiful. In that case, is a true depiction of a horrible event beautiful? If, for example, an artist decided to recreate the horrors of war, it would be beautiful, no? Or rape, or abuse, what have you. And is there a difference between the art being beautifully done and being beautiful as a whole? This is what I and mainly my Humanities class grappled with. If the content is horrible, but it is beautifully done, then can we still call it beautiful? I believe so. Beauty does not equal something positive. Otherwise, most of our literature would not be considered "beautiful." Poems dealing about a dark past-beautifully written, yes, but beautiful, no.

Beauty does not equal something positive. This is what my class struggled with the most. They decided that there was a difference between beauty as a whole and beautifully done, and ascribed the intent of the artist to be a major factor in deciding whether or not the thing is beautiful. The example of the cruxifiction was brought up, and because we all know that Jesus died on the cross for something he believed in made it beautiful. But I believe that, using the example of abuse that we dealt with in class, that it can be distressingly beautiful. It is not just beautifully done, it is innately beautiful.

But we were operating under no definition of beauty. According to dictionary.com, beauty is the quality present in a thing or person that gives intense pleasure or deep satisfaction to the mind, whether arising from sensory manifestations (as shape, color, sound, etc.), a meaningful design or pattern, or something else (as a personality in which high spiritual qualities are manifest). Which means that those depictions we were using are false. Also, a great part of literature is false. I disagree, dictionary.com. Despair can be beautiful, when it is truthful.

True to Your Heart

After returning from the extremely rejuvenating break from the college life, my wending journey through this thing called life recommences. We sail forth from port, looking back on the friends I've left behind, passing the land of monogamy and polygamy, skirting the rock of the Sirens with beeswax stuffed into ears, and gazing upon the island that houses Azkaban. What's that ahead? I can't see anything for a few days; I know something's coming, I just can't tell what.

Squinting through the mist, I realize where we are heading, minutes before we get there: the whirlpool of truth. Questions I generally avoid thinking about, even when in the comfort of my own mind, in my own bed, late at night when no one cares what I'm doing as long as it's quiet, spring up next to me. I look around, and it doesn't seem like everyone is affected. Quite contrarily, only a few people look as uncomfortable and preoccupied as myself. Maybe the others are so close-minded they haven't thought through it, or maybe they don't see it as worth their time.

My humanities class has phrased some of these questions better than I can, and this is the springboard from which I postulate. Is dishonesty the root of moral issues, as Hobbes claimed? Not only dishonesty to others, but also to yourself? It leads to distrust of others, especially if they find out that you frequently are dishonest to yourself. And being dishonest doesn't necessarily mean lying; it also means not thinking through things you need to think about. Things you avoid thinking of, because they are too hard, or make you question other views you hold dear, ones that define who you are. It may challenge your self-perception, and if you can't even trust yourself, who can you trust? It may very well be that dishonesty is at the root of moral issues-it seems like most other issues spring from it. Sex is bad-that's a dishonest generalization. Sometimes it can be. You can generalize almost anything, which in turn is dishonest.

The question that bothered me the most, and that is still bothering me, is whether or not people are genuinely true to themselves. Can you be true to yourself if you don't know all the facts? For example, you make a choice based on what you know, but what if you didn't know all the facts? You later find out about them, and realize what you once thought was a lie. Does that mean you are true to yourself? Maybe you were when you first made your decision. What if your choice is an action, and you don't regret the action, even after you find out the truth, and you know if you had known the truth you wouldn't have done it? Is that a lie?

The reason it's been bothering me so much is because to run from the truth, to run from thinking about whatever is on your mind, because you don't want to think about it, means that you aren't being true to yourself. And me, I've been avoiding this for quite some time. Thoughts pop into my head, unbidden and unwelcome, and instead of thinking about them, or why I have them, I ignore them. I change the subject in my head. And if I can be in company, if I'm somewhere I can talk to someone, I just start talking about something random, because otherwise I have to face it. If I'm alone, at night trying to sleep, I force myself to think of the next day. I can't face the truth. My truths are too painful to examine; they hurt not only me, but others as well. They must be kept hidden. Only twice have they come out, and to two different people who don't really know those involved.

This is a place I both want to linger in, and one I want to flee, never return. For now, I must return to my ship; there seem to be no supplies in this place. Away from these thoughts being forced upon me, maybe I can think clearly and determine what course of action I want to take.

The Space Between

Sitting in my room at midnight during Spring Break, talking to two people who I haven't seen since Christmas and probably won't until May, I heave a sigh. So many people have come and gone in my life, and I'm facing the ever-dreaded parting of the ways. The distance between everyone who was so close in high school. Empty promises are made left and right, with the intention of never following through. You look at someone you used to tell your secrets to, not knowing what's going on in their life. You find out how they're doing through Facebook. Hell, you forget where they are, and when you do see them, or they take the leap of faith and try to contact you, you check their profile to make sure you get the name of the school they're at correct.

Fake smiles abound. You're not that happy to see them, you just think that's how you should feel, that's what they're expecting to see. You don't try and keep in contact with them, nor they with you. They said going to college would be like this, and I knew it to be true, I just hoped that there would be more contact between some people than on universal vacations. Some of my friends, I'm disappointed in. Others, I didn't have hope for. Always excited when we get to hang out, the great divide is felt. After catching the other up with all the goings-on in our lives, we can't really relate. Those who stayed behind are those most eager to see "the ones who got away," to see what it could have been like. The only ones who have time for us.

Sometimes, people will surprise you. Most times, it's for the worse. Once in a blue moon, it's a nice surprise. First boyfriend turned to me for advice and strength. Our friendship's grown stronger over break, and he's not even here to talk to. The ones here don't care to see how I've been; they know I'm still alive, according to my Facebook. Would they wonder if I stopped checking it, updating it, just let it sit there? The real question is, would they care? Do I even register on their radar? I make mental notes on those who I was close with, but I don't make first contact; I've done that too often in the past. I'm done with forcing people to talk to me. Unfortunately, that means that they don't care to contact me. I'm left alone this break, not seeing anyone except for those who stayed behind. Supposedly I have plans with people who have gone, but I'm not getting my hopes up that it'll happen.

Change Your Mind

At this point on my journey, I must return home. It's Spring Break, and instead of joining the hordes of people traveling to exotic places, I've become a homebody and come back here to good ol' Illinois. It's good to be home; not having to eat burgers and chicken daily is a good thing. And yet, this has turned out, already, to be one of the strangest Spring Breaks I've ever had. It's a good thing my journey's paused, otherwise I'd be backtracking.

First off: my first boyfriend and his girlfriend of almost two years broke up right before I came home. Now, he and I were really close before he got this girl, and we were friends after breaking up. But when he and she got together, he stopped telling me things, which I guess I can understand because he had her to talk to. Lately we've been talking, more when we're off to college than we did senior year, and still he wouldn't really tell me much. And then, they break up, I tell him (on Facebook, no less) that if he wants to talk I'm there, and he takes me up on it. I didn't expect him to take me up on that, at least not to the extent that he has. He's letting me in again. I think I'm the person he's going to to get through all of this. And not only for emotional support, asking me for advice (which he's taking, which is incredible, because he never asks for advice), but for single-ness support, because I can't find another word to describe that. He's asking how to be single, how to deal with her since they're single, and asking me to boost his self-confidence after everything. Advice was given, and is still being given, and self-confidence was boosted. I even suggested a trip to see him, since his Spring Break is different than mine. He was incredibly excited about this, another very odd thing. And so, I'm planning on visiting him later this week, seeing if he's actually as excited to see me as he says, and I'll continue to ponder why the change. I may just ask him when I see him.

My most recent ex, the one I've been sailing away from, the one who hates me, has been talking to me. First, we met Saturday night, and he ranted and raved, but never actually told me what he's been telling me to my face, which I found amusing. Then we had an actual conversation, but he still didn't think we could be friends just yet, because he had to think about the time we spent talking. So that wasn't too weird. But then, today, he called me and asked if I wanted to get lunch with him. Still hasn't un-blocked me on instant messenger or Facebook. I was the first person who came to mind, and he offered to drive me as well. I denied, because I have things I need to do before I go see another friend for coffee, and because it was just so weird. I'm confused.

Second boyfriend hasn't talked to me yet, but he's said he wants to get coffee. And all of this happens when I can't see my current boyfriend this week. I am confused. This is turning out to be a very odd week.

Do You Believe in Magic?

So I've successfully escaped one Siren's lair. I've boarded my ship again, and continue to sail further into the unknown. Along the way, some of my crew mates tell me things meant to be private were not kept as such. Instead of stewing, as I was wont to do, I realized that in such a confined space it would accomplish nothing except unnecessary grief. I forgive him, and we continue on in relative peace.

We see an island up ahead. What's on it, we don't know. I can't tell from here; all I see are rocks and the silhouette of what seems to be a castle. The closer we get, the colder we get, until we've all huddled under blankets. Hearty explorers never pass up a chance of discovery, so I bravely disembark the ship and climb onto shore. I finally realize what that castle is: a prison. Not just any prison, but Azkaban, the wizarding prison from the Harry Potter universe (all things Harry Potter-related belong to J.K. Rowling, I'm just a lowly obsessed fan). Soon after realizing this, we board the ship again and sail away, fortunately not running into any dementors in the process. I wonder, though, about these foul creatures.

I wonder what my worst memory would be? Since dementors make you re-live your worst memories, I don't know which mine would be. I have a feeling I know what it would be, that it would involve a certain person and a certain activity, but what if I've repressed these memories, as I feel I have? Can dementors make you relive/remember repressed memories? And if not, I don't think I have many things besides for these repressed memories that I could potentially drown in the memory. I may feel like I'd never be happy again, like some of the characters, but I don't know if there is any memory that could so strongly affect me.

In Prisoner of Azkaban, I'm at the part where Harry is about to face the boggart, and he thinks of a dementor. This got me thinking: what is my worst fear? What shape would my boggart take? I know my greatest fear is dying unloved, but how exactly would it be able to show it? I'm afraid of lots of conceptual things, not really spiders and clowns and whatnot. Seeing these probably wouldn't scare me too badly, unless a huge spider like the one they made in the movie popped up. And then, I know I could easily overcome that, because that's more gross than anything. I'm afraid of heights. How would that be conveyed? Me falling off a cliff? Any ideas as I slowly sail back into the unknown?

Dreamweaver

My journey's going along swimmingly, until my ship decides to pass by the rock of the Sirens. This is where I must recant, where my past is haunting me. I step onto shore, knowing that I must face this sooner or later. The Sirens on this rock, however, are not entrancing; they are not beautiful; they in no way resemble the female form. They are from my past, calling me back, asking me to remember, never forget, see them again. And I, willing to give people chances to redeem themselves, go along with it. In my dream, I see the future.

I am back in my high school, and it must be somewhat warm outside, because people are running around in shorts. My band teacher has let me play with the band again, because I've missed it so much and have nothing to play. In the end, I remember that I had visited the gym and left my sweater behind, and asked the teacher if I could go retrieve it. He agreed, and for some reason unknown to me at the present, I had to bring bass drum sticks along as well. He suggested I take the ones that belong to the ex, the ever-bitter ex, the Siren that called me down from my ship. I take them, because they are just laying out in the open. When I get to the gym, I grab my sweater, and realize that he has left his notebook in the gym as well. I sigh and go move it, boldly writing his name on it, and notice that he has lots of scribbles with my name on it.

I don't know exactly why I had this dream, except for that I was in communication with him earlier yesterday. Maybe it's because I'm still playing the mother role, though with a different person. Maybe that's exactly how it's going to be from now on; he'll hate me forever. He's essentially told me this already, yet still wants to talk. I do know one thing: I really miss band right now.

Come Sail Away

So that title's now going to be applied to this blog. I'm going to sail away from the posts about the ex, and go sail away to this new horizon I've desperately been attempting to cast off to.

But where am I sailing off to? What new horizon awaits me? A philosophical one, where I delve deep into myself and into the workings of human nature? Or random thoughts of seemingly unimportant merit? Should I step away from the descriptions of my life, or continue on with stories from my past, present, and future? I don't know. We'll see where this goes, though.

Future is where it's heading. I don't think I'm the only one out there who feels this way, but I can't see myself being with just one person for the rest of my life. I know that I get bored with people easily; in fact, my current best friend is the only person who I've been close to for more than two years. I tend to lose those who are closest to me in two-year increments. As such, am I really going to be able to be married to someone for 50 plus years? I get bored with things easily, and I'd imagine after awhile there wouldn't be anything to talk about. Especially if you find someone who you just have a great initial connection with. So if you've already discussed everything, what's left? When you get up in your 70's, how much is there going to be to talk about? Retirement will have already happened, I'm sure, and by then there's not too much you can actually do but talk.

This question was raised in my humanities class today: are humans supposed to be monogamous, or is it a social constraint we've applied to ourselves? I'll admit, there have been multiple times where I've seen this idea of polygamy practiced: people cheat on each other. Even if I'm totally devoted to someone, I can't help but look at someone else and wonder: what if? Is it because we're not supposed to be with just one person for life? Look at the animal kingdom: there are only a few animals who are with just one mate. Penguins and a few others I can't remember right now. Wolves can only have sex if they are the alpha male; if another male wolf tries to have sex with a wolf, he is chased away from the pack. Same with meerkats, only the queen is the only female who has sex. If, in the animal kingdom, they are polygamist, then shouldn't that point to monogamy being a social constraint, and not nature?

I'm not sure. I feel like humans are naturally polygamists. That doesn't mean that I want to go out and practice polygamy; I'm too jealous for that. But I think if society hadn't pressed it upon us so forcefully, I may not be too jealous. But that's another blog for another time. I can't see myself being able to settle down with one person. I want to get married, but I have this serious aversion to being a statistic, so I'm not too sure if that'll ever happen. Slightly depressing, but I'm hoping that I can be with someone who I'll be able to be interested in in 50 years.