In an attempt to beef up this blog's appearance before I actually tell anyone about its existence, and also to relive some of my wacky antics over on MySpace, I am archiving all of my old posts over here at The Slog.
Please, feel free to start from the beginning and move forward in roughly chronological order, as I am not trying to give some sort of Pinter-esque unfolding of the plot. I'd paste the link, like I have in previous entries, but Jesus, it's not like it's from like 50 entries ago. Just scroll.
Due to the intricate interlocking nature of my carefully scripted life, the first entry also doubles as a foreshadowing of the approaching sequel to this award-avoiding time waster -- MySpace Archive II: My Brush With Death.
[Originally posted on 10/24/2006]
Well, I'm suffering from full-blown hypochondria
Anyone who knows me well knows I am a bit of a nervous person. I'm skittish. I jump at small things. Actually, I fit the standard DSM IV diagnosis for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder pretty well (specifically Criteria B1, B4, B5, C1, C2, C5, C7, D2, D3, and D5). I think I was originally going to try to say something witty here, but honestly, I'm reasonably effed-up, and looking up the DSM IV criteria didn't help me stay on topic at all...
But deep inside myself, I'm usually tranquil over health issues. I'm not one to worry too deeply about the physical well being of my body. Sure, I get frequent headaches, and I have sciatica, have a history of benign polyps, get a 2-month cold every winter, etc. But nothing has scared me deeply about my long-term viability as an organism on planet earth.
Until I started looking great.
Reread that. I'm looking as good as I've looked in years. So of course, something must be wrong, right?
When I turned 25, something happened to my body. Something that permenantly changed my self preception. I lost my metabolism. Anyone who saw me (or even has seen photographs of me before that time) knows I looked like a scarecrow. I ate and ate and never gained weight. I was 30 pounds underwieght without any effort on my part. But that all changed in the summer of '01. I gained 45 pounds in a matter of months, and gradually ended up (by this March), weighing 211 pounds. I felt like the Michelin Man.
Over the past (maybe) three months, however, I have started losing weight. Dramatically. And this weight loss has been almost entirely without provocation. I haven't significantly changed my eating patterns (I am a slave to my appetite), and I sure as hell ain't exercising. At first, I figured "Okay, I'm single, I'm eating less, etc..." But I know for a fact that I lost at least 35 pounds before the last time I've used a scale (a few weeks ago). And since then, I've needed to add yet another hole to my belt (which now extends all the way to the loop on the side). So god knows what I'm weighing now. [Good news: I've gained 10 pounds since I wrote this. Yay...]
Anywhoo, I've got a severe paranoia going on, as I've lost at least 18% of my body weight [Yes, I actually did this math] without trying. Of course, I have no insurance and no job (see almost any other blog I've posted). And the free clinic hasn't returned my calls.So to recap: fat and ugly - must be fine. Thin and attractive - terminal case. Thanks brain. You're the tops.
Stirring, huh? It only got better later that day.
Well, I'm burnt out on sending resumes
My second bitchfest of the day:
I've sent what feels like thousands of resumes out today. The actual number is probably closer to 15 or so, but I'm talking subjective feelings here. So I sit here in my friend's [To anyone new to my universe, this friend was my then future, now current girlfriend Ali. At the time I was in massive denial about the impending relationship that was fated to occur] apartment (did I mention I don't have internet access at home?) frantically checking craigslist, the chicago reader, et al in the desperate hope that one of these will click soon. I'm starving and about to take a lunch break, but of course, it doesn't matter what I eat, I will continue to lose weight until I look like an unwrapped mummy.
Thankfully, my dad is mailing me a check to cover my rent. I'd like to point out that I would rather scoop my nipples out with a melon baller [rejected in draft format: "eat my own genitals with a knife and fork"] than ask my dad for rent money. He's an adjunct college professor who just lost 50% of his courseload this semester (because some freshly minted PhD with no real world experience is obviously going to be better at teaching business and management than a man with a Masters degree and over 30 years of industry experience both firsthand and consulting). He doesn't have the kind of money to toss to his 30 year old unemployed son. But he does it anyway, bacause he's my dad. Of course, I told him I got my hours drastically cut, not that I don't have a job. Because why be honest with your family? [So, my dad later discovered my MySpace blog (soon to be archived here). He hasn't mentioned this yet. Yet.]
But enough about that guilt-filled cul-de-sac. I'm mainly just writing to say that I have been extensively applying for jobs online all day (with a few 5-minute breaks here and there), and I am burnt out.
Somebody better hire me soon. I need a rest from job hunting. It's far more tiring than just working myself to death ever could be.
From the clarity that only gainful employment can bring, I can honestly say I'm not sure that's true.
The Unemployment Saga concludes here, as I managed to secure some temping
jobs. My Brush With Death begins in earnest next post. You lucky devils.
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