really sick.
my throat is a gravel driveway, my lymph nodes those
irritating granite boulders that the moderately wealthy use to denote
their house numbers.
but seriously. looking down my throat is like that scene in alien [1-5]
where our flustered heroes are faced with these immense pulsating eggs that, really, can only mean imminent doom.
i have a fixation with lymph nodes that often alarms people, i tend to prod at them.

maybe has something to do with my one hour of pseudo-sleep last night,
or my having [unintentionally] survived off of one meal a day for the past three days [which
isn’t atrocious given the state of starving orphans and such, but still].
or having been modeling in a cold, drafty building for past two days, with my
hair constantly wet and wearing poor excuses for clothing.
these elements conspire to kill me.

re: modelling, i will say this much: my body proportion is so warped.
i am a size 0-2 all over
until you come to my breasts and suddenly i’m 36C/D.
stupid lactating sacs, interrupting my streamlined boyish figure.

school is going well.
my health is [outside of an ulcer and related pain] stupendous.
have taken up swimming and dragonboating [lazily, as i tend to approach these things].
my father is...well, my father. the ulcer is essentially a response to what he put us through this summer. am trying to keep him out of my mind, otherwise antidepressants are merely a placebo.
jon is love. he just is. we're wonderful.
bioethics is, at times, redeeming in the satisfaction it brings me. it's also extremely difficult, not only in terms of the workload, but also the content itself. i wake up at 8:30 a.m. two days a week and spend three hours in a course titled 'death and dying'. exemplary is today's class in which we viewed a video about a man named austin bastable, suffering from chronic progressive MS who was a primary media figure in the mid-1990's in the fight to change legislation to permit assisted suicide. obviously a highly biased piece of journalism, but nonetheless moving to see his family attempt to rally around him. cheerful stuff, considering that our topics of discussion rarely stray outside of suicide, euthanasia, terminal illness, palliative care, etc.

i often feel like the academic bifurcation that i underwent in choosing both english and bioethics utlimately bisected me as a person - i am the poet who carts around a massive collection of 17th cent. verse; i am the philosophy student who argues vehemently for the rights to die of the disabled. i am, maybe, a future hospital consultant or a future lawyer. i am also attempting to be a loving daughter, to my mother [which is effortless, given that i love her more than life], and to my father [which is difficult given that i can't bear to have him touch me, speak to me, near me]. also, the loving girlfriend [easy, given that jon makes it so easy, and that when we have a fight, which happens like twice a year, we inevitably make amends within the hour].

i don't know.
things are good, and am unfalteringly grateful for this.
cheers.