Once More A Question Of Identity :

Do you know what I hate the most? When someone does something so hypocritical, but you can’t say shit because you yourself do the same thing. Defining yourself… it should be a pretty simple and easy thing. But it’s not. I don’t know why it isn’t. It just isn’t.

Here’s the thing. There’s a label for everything. And don’t get me wrong, I am not necessarily someone who has issues with that. Labels can be helpful. You can understand what you are and what community you could possible relate to through them. But come on, y’all. They also make a lot of things hella difficult. And that’s even if you understand what they all mean.

I certainly do not. At all.

So the issue of today’s confusion? Ethnicity and nationality. I mean someone sends me a clip of an American youtuber getting Kpop stars to guess American stars ethnicity and the result is like eeh. I mean since when is American and Canadian an Ethnicity? I’m pretty sure last time I checked those were countries made up of many different ethnicites where the native ethnic group is not the representative majority. Israel? Pretty sure it is a group of similar ethnic groups with one common cultural heritage point or religious ties. There is no indication of mixed heritage at all with the answer choices. It just seems really hypocritical. You should use the chance to have them guess the right information? I mean if there’s going to be confusion it should at least be confusion about the right labels, no?

I don’t really think I would call myself an American/Canadian if you asked me how I identify as an individual. I mean that’s just my nationality. I am a proud little Jewish girl who wants to maintain the right, whether its bad or good, to make clever white people jokes. I ain’t about to let mis-education take that away from me.

I don’t know. I think I am being over sensitive, because of other issues.

I.L. Knight

america and canada

Kpop Stars Guess Celebrity Ethnicity

America And Canada Clip – Hetalia

 

Les Misérables :

I think I was sort of lucky. G-d was giving me a sign I need to put more effort into my social life again. A friend I met a first year, who I haven’t talked in like three years, messaged me to tell me she had an extra Les Miserables ticket and would love to catch up. If that ain’t a sign for something I don’t know. So it was fun. Let’s give a crack of review.

Here are the entire list off the cuff nicknames I have for the first half:

Why You Gotta Mashup

25 sec A Song A Thon

Rush Rush Baby

Character Ain’t Singing That Now

Glee Version

I Am Seriously Not Getting Invested

A Spin On A Classic Ain’t Always Great

We Know Les Mis Is Long. Ain’t Need To Be Short

To put it shortly, as much as it is impossible to do bad at Les Miserables there version stopped me from getting invested in it the way I should. That being said… The second half was completely different. No longer were they shortening songs and trying to only sing parts of songs. We got the full songs. The epic moments of a failed revolution and love…I could finally start getting invested again.

To absolute delight I got my On My Own Moment. It was all I was waiting for the entire night. It has been my favorite song since I was a kid (tied with God Help The Outcast of course). It was also a song I had forbade myself to sing in three years, because of my last memory attached to it. It was an ironically scenic night, a beautiful black lake, a nice open bench, a clear view of a sere starry sky, and the perfect amount of breeze when I heard the song. No matter how bad my voice was I just had to sing. There was pain. A new meaning of the song attached to a very unhealthy love. It made me committed to not have that memory when I left for college. I was after all committed to not having anymore attachments. It was wonderful. Thank you to the talented cast.

Also, thank you to production. You allowed me to become absorbed enough to cry my eyes out at the enviable tear rendering, heart piercing moment, of the death of our beloved Jean Valjean in the church. I was never that big of a fan of Cosette (let’s be real I wanted Eponine to not die and find love, because her life turned out much worse than Cosette’s). However, you have to love that moment. The way the story comes to fruition and finds it denouement. It made me cry for something wonderful for once.

I think the best part of this play came after though. As a rare Montreal night became something even more special. The nice silence of a late night in the city. The rare moment where the snow in Montreal is high enough and clean enough to sparkle as if embedded with crystals. The perfect cold breeze to uplift you as you walk the three blocks home. The conclusion of walking with a song you haven’t heard in three years. There was the perfect serenity to On My Own. There was no recall of sadness or an attachment. It was just a warmth I had when I first listened to the song.

I think tonight was wonderful. It was like someone pressed a refresh button on me and said you know what you can be productive and learn.

This is the power of plays. Of Les Miserables.

I.L. Knight

eponine

On My Own – Lea Solanga

On My Own – Movie Version

Yesterday Was About Promises :

I think I may have a problem. I was never very good at setting goals, so I avoided making them. Kept my head down and said I had to follow the path chosen for me. Then all of a sudden I became a person that made too many of them. I don’t really know where I am looking as I make them… Just that there seems to be so many.

Yesterday I really hit on quite a few. I was lucky in that the morning class to hell I had was cancelled. This meant I didn’t have to leave early or miss a class to get to my big promise to myself: Follow through with registering with the OSD (Office of Student Disabilities). I was going to keep my promise and actively fight against my remaining sin of pride and my anxieties. I was going to accept that people needed help and that wasn’t wrong or bad. It didn’t matter about silly things I remembered from being a kid. That it was wrong to expect a kid to be able to sit in class with a hundred and four degree fever, not get caught and be sent to the nurse’s office, to let it affect me in a way that would require my parents knowing of this, all for the sake of the paper official pride of our family’s last name. These silly little things I carry with me and allowed to shape me.

The thing is I didn’t quite realize I was incapable of realizing how much it would hurt to be there in that office. From the second I notified the front desk I was here for my appointment a panic attack made an intense stabbing pain in my chest. I had my eyes trained on the floor as I waited there for my turn. I had chosen to get there 20 minutes early in case of fear of being late, so let’s just say my head had been hanging low for quite awhile.

The first problem, or fear of my promises, was when I looked up for the first time. One of the counselors was in a wheel chair, had limited range of movement and a slight speech impediment. And he was happy. Very happy. Smiling so widely one could think he was on drugs to be that positive. I mean McGill is equally hellish on staff. I don’t think I’ve ever been that happy in my life. Certainly, I wasn’t really happy since all of this began. but he was, so goddamn happy. I wasn’t like him. Nothing kept me in a chair everyday, made my occasional slur that bad, or was a constant mobility challenge. That was the first sharp needle to my chest.

The next one came when I met my counselor. She was a beautiful woman who could literally be the picture example of chipper in the dictionary; even started the meeting with an adorably unfunny joke. When I met her I was thankful about one thing, one skill I had: I was never someone to stare. I had grown up around a lot of crazy. I had seen people do a lot of things to stare at. I had volunteered at a special Olympics and been someone who hadn’t ever looked at them like something damaged. I felt proud about that; like i had retained some sort of of a kindness among everything that made up me. And I didn’t stare. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was this beautifully woman was marked with a scar from her mouth to her chin. An obvious speech impediment from the moment she opened her mouth. Yet, she was the pictorial example of chipper.

I sat there explaining to her that I had no idea what I was supposed to say or what I was supposed to ask for. She smiled as she took my medical records for me and read through them. The first things she came up with was a general outline of things people usually requested for similar issues. Me, in all my awkward forced type a pride, immediately responded to her I probably wouldn’t need most of those things. I could get to my class on the hill if I left an hour early. I had teachers who were willing to work with me, and had two to three breaks to help with staying focused in class. I could manage my sleep and focus issues well enough with ritalin and ZzzQuil. Then I went silent at the sight of  a lack of pity. She was only smiling more as she took my hand. “A lot of the students who walk through this door are recently diagnosed and in a state of confusion about what they’ll need and how to handle it. You have what we call an invisible illness. It’s something that can be hard to understand sometimes.” My anxiety was the only thing that kept me from breaking down into tears…And my unconscious decision to pretend I didn’t know what an invisible illness was.

The truth was since I walked in there all I did was feel ashamed. First, I was ashamed about needing help. I wasn’t supposed to have to change my life or do things differently. Then I felt ashamed for needing such help when the people around me seemed to need it more and were so happy. Ever since I’ve had this moment in my life I’ve finally come to the point of pitying myself again. Having to recognize all these things about yourself hurts. I was weak, damaged, unfit to move as expected, full of mental health issues both inherited and nurtured, fat because of bad decisions when in decline, alone because of an an inability to connect properly with people or the willingness to even try. I was me, and I hated that.

I remember walking home from the meeting in a haze. Everything seemed to swirl around me. My eyes were stinging and my fingers and knees hurt. I even wondered if the pain in my chest would cause a heart attack. Wondered if finally I would go to sleep and simply just not wake up. Would I be able to find some sort of relief in this… I don’t even remember arriving back into my apartment.

The next thing I remembered was it suddenly being nine at night. Nothing accomplished. Nothing done. I was still in the nicer clothes I had put on for my meeting. The day before I had promised myself I would be productive since I had a lucky day off. I clearly hadn’t been productive. I clear hadn’t really been anything. The realization scared me more then anything. Not only had I been so okay with not achieving a minor goal of trying to be productive, but I was having a weird relationship with time. It was either moving agonizingly slow, or moving in a way I wasn’t even aware of, It made me so scared.

Not only was my brain no longer working the same. Not only couldn’t I remember things the way I used too, connect dots the way I used to, not have my head feel like it was splitting open, or be able to picture things so clearly in my head it was like a scene matched with perfect words. Now, I couldn’t even recognize time properly. Was I more depressed then I realize? More crazily scattered? More hyper focused? More anxious? More of anything? Maybe I was getting worse with age like my family dead. There were so many crazies in my family. So many with a mental decline. Would I be able to remember anything of the languages I learned at this point? Everything felt like it was slipping away from me. Understanding and memory the most. I couldn’t remember half of the things I used to, and the things remaining were mostly things that hurt. What a duechy selectiveness my brain was having.

I don’t know what I am becoming, or what I will become. I don’t know how to ask for help. Certainly, I don’t even know how to accept the help offered to me when there exists someone who might understand what it like for hell to be invisible. The more things I don’t know are increasing every day.

I think there exists a lot of promises I’ve made to myself that I haven’t been able to keep. Yet, more and more are being made and asking for resolution. I don’t think they will get that resolution. I don’t think I am capable of giving it.

I think I am falling. Deeper and Deeper. Faster and Faster. There is no end in sight, but a certainty that when I fall it will be painful, excruciating and then finally nothing.

I.L. Knight

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Mighty Long Fall – ONE OK ROCK

Fan Fiction Update & Moms !

Hi Hi Y’all ヾ(・ω・o)

So I have been an absolute slacker about actual school work the last few days to finish seven chapters of my Twilight fan fiction for my mom. So, yay for being a caring daughter. Am I right?

Anyways, please check out and hopefully enjoy the beginning of a really bad and stupid story. Because the characters are going to be OP and have stupid love triangles like my mom loves.

Character Profiles

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 7

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Twilight Overture – Carter Burwell

cullensintro

Let Me Love You :

I have to admit it. I am sadder than I thought, Two days of unconsciously reversing my day and night schedule. The denial of how much I’ve slipped so far in 2018. A set of days spent with an obsession of finishing Twilight Fan Fiction because of remembering to take your Ritalin and guilt towards your mom. No more interest in Bravo or slow Jrock ballads. A Saturday of a youtube worm hole featuring Lorde related playlists and glee clips.

I am a sad person, who get scared every time she looks at the door and realizes she’s supposed to be walking through it. Scared of having to actually face the tiny tasks of entering adulthood. Or becoming actually okay with a body that feels like it’s refusing to work. To somehow become okay with the fact that after spending four years to lose weight and maintain it you are fat again. To wake up and not see the weak and rotten person you have become. To try and summon up the will to see people.

I’m just so fucking sad right now.

Even as I write this, Jake’s let me love you is playing, as tears stain the pages I originally wrote this on, and images of the multiple times in your life you’ve been molested or raped. Wondering to myself when was it exactly that I lost my virginity. Which time? When was it that I officially lost my ability to be okay with my body. To be okay with myself.

Was it when I was locked in the closet? When I was alone in my house? When I went hunting for the first time and felt happy for the animal to be part of some circle of life? Maybe it was when I spent seven years of my life only thinking about a toxic person? Maybe it’s right now, hearing this song, realizing statistically I have a dismal chance of anyone feeling that for me. That I am alone in the world. Sad. Crying. Trying for scraps to sustain some shell of a person.

Because everything about is some sort of pain or trauma. I can’t even think of something that wouldn’t be. Never being poor? I think it is a sick joke in the world that having money alone doesn’t mean much. What is it even when you don’t have enough of it to spend it constantly as a distraction.

I could literally die right now, and it wouldn’t mean that much. Because every night I go to bed worrying about how this could be my last night and how that would probably provide me with some relief in just not having to wake up the next day.

Being broken is a pleasant description for people like me. Being a sad reflection maybe being the best compliment we can get. It’s not like we are never not sick at any time in our lives. G-d, I even have to live with snotty tears since fixing my nose. Even when I tried to fix it to help me breathe better. That, and again caving to some pressures of someone else.

Man, after twenty one years of my life I just wish I’d have some root as a living person. Because sadness alone doesn’t do it. It doesn’t sustain you. It doesn’t motivate you. It doesn’t connect you to anything.

You are just sad. And that is your existence. I wish I could admit to myself or to other’s how much I need someone to say they’d love me even if I’m not loving myself. Not that I would even be able to try and find it. I’d probably just become some sick joke of going from completely untouchable to touching everything in sight. And then what I even really become? Some peephole feature in a temporary pop up art exhibit in Japan?

I don’t even know how to end this…

I.L. Knight

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Let Me Love You – Glee Version

If I Were A Boy – Glee Version

I Managed to Update Chapter 2 :

HI HI y’all. I did manage to finish chapter two for my mom. Mostly by ignoring my actual work. but hey it counts. Anyways, click below to read chapter two of the Twilight Fan Fiction. Let me know if you can guess where it is heading! Because I don’t have a clue yet… I mean how do I write about Edward and Jacob and not change or affect any of their ‘perfect’ love dynamics

Chapter 2

Hope you like it,

I.L. Knight

twilightvolleyball

Bella and Edward Arrive At School Together

P.S. To Today :

Oh, I forgot to mention as a side note. I have decided to acknowledge my mom’s desire for me to not only write her Tinkerbell Fan Fiction as a present, but Twilight. My goal is for Twilight to be the first updated in a while, because she is going through a stressful time with moving. If you aren’t a fan of Twilight, or ambivalently neutral like I am, don’t worry. I have scheduled editing and adding of others on my day off, Thursdays.

Lots of Love My Fellow Nerds & Geeks,

I.L. Knight

Twilight_cafeteria_1502

Bella’s Lullaby – Twilight

So Here’s the Random Cup of Tea :

Let’s just I was in for a major shock. I went to my building’s office to pick up the one package I was expecting, and somehow ended up with six. [I am super thankful they collect by shipping packages though, because I would never be here in time to actually get them myself or want to walk to the post office to get them]. Now, I know what you are thinking…She must of had some crazy thought. Oh, believe it I did. I seemingly joke someone might want to kill me. When inside I was like oh damn, no one follows my blog, but if I offended that one person on the internet who’d somehow find my address and send me you suck mail.

I’m glad to report it was not that kind of mail. It was more confusing. I ended up with a bulk package my mom sent me. I had expected her here’s your attempt at getting your base vitamins (ironically choosing a Canadian french company for most of them) and I’m throwing in a thing of muscle milk, because you haven’t found the light version yet and you need to eat breakfast. Oh, and some turmeric tea, because you obsess over that yellow stuff. Now, the sunscreen I could make sense of. I have always cherished and been aware of the importance of a good sunscreen for your face. A girl must protect her skin. Especially, when she known people with skin cancer before. One family member lost the tip of his ears believe it or not…. He should of remembered to sunscreen them. Any who, I had thought I cancelled the order, but I guess not. I could always check it out tomorrow.

So the other four packages? Well, one was apparently so large I couldn’t carry it myself , so I can see the prize tomorrow. The others was a box of power crunch bars, an eye cream that is known for being good for people with health issues or sensitive skin, and a similar make up remover. One: I’m pretty sure I have never mentioned my enjoyment for power crunch bars…because they are not gluten free or lactose free. Most of my posts on chronic illness choices tend to be more positive and strict. Not even my family knows I enjoy them. Two: I never ordered the beauty products. I was making do with my old, pointless, 100 proof sunscreen and Jean Coutu cheap brand product. Where did these two come from?

Well, my initial moment of cynicism and drastic thoughts took me to the random thought of is there someone out there who actually follows my blog and sent me a package out of no where. Because that would be both cool, and scary at the same time. But since no one can get into my apartment, hopefully, I can still go to sleep tonight and worry about it tomorrow. Perhaps, even finish my annotation of readings for tomorrows class. I have been strangely productive today with attire quality, physical therapy and socialization through study appointment at library.

Oh, and I know apparently have Amazon Prime….

What A Night Y’all,

I.L. Knight

blogpostimagemail fix

Applause – Lady Gaga

A Topsy Turvy Day :

Here’s the thing:

 

I can’t help, but write about my health. It’s one of those things that becomes an all consuming void…pride? Relationship in your life? Still, after 2 years I somehow have not managed to accurately explain it to anyone. The frustration of it all. It’s invisible, you know! You are a child about it, you know. You look fine. You must have anxiety? Must not be able to handle the stress in becoming an adult in a modern world? You’ve adapted your mother’s issues. Damn it all, man. Damn it all. How do you explain something that no one will ever be able to see. Except, when you have black circles under your eyes from extreme lack of sleep during a flare, or a rash from your skin deciding it likes to have temper tantrums. Even then. It’s all fixable with some magic cream prescribed by a doctor. The wondrous marvels of modern medicine.

Anyways, I’m not here today, not present in some form of anchoring, to rant about the invisible pain in my life. Well, not that specific pain or any pain to be exact. I’m strangely here to talk about something good. Shocking, I know.

Tuesday, I faced a massive amount of apprehension about walking back into a school environment with an unsupportive Uni and professors who seemed to hate me for taking a medical leave due to becoming unable to walk properly. Hence, the equally invisible frustrations. Anyways, back to the point. I somehow did it. I survived the anxiety, left an hour early to walk up a giant hill at eight in the morning all without having time to do my morning stretches. I was a fat robot who struggled for an hour to get to a class I didn’t even know I could do. I mean, I was totally out of it. I had stayed up till 4 am the night before to do the readings I was supposed to do for the first day of class. It was a riveting set of film theory on studio films and how it applies to the development of cinema in China. News flash, it was another sense of fetishing the ‘Oriental’ as somehow being a child like country that white people loved to look at as enticing. A conspiracy of a Lolita reenactment going on as some sort of expected lens. Feh. White people. Although, it isn’t really fair of me to say that…considering even my insistence on a Jewish ethnicity can’t cover up the fact my bastard of a father I’ve never met before is as white as you can be. A good old U.K./French mix that made its way to Canada to only end up as a wannabe redneck in South Carolina. Apparently, a yellow pick up truck and a lucrative business in drugs was quite the enticing offer back in the 90’s.

Man, I’m really rambling on about all of this. I don’t know its like something is stuck in my head. Tuesday, was good though. I knew the professor very well. Three classes checked off on the list and it wasn’t hard to guess what his rambling was leading too. I had already learned he loves analytical metaphors, over zealous vocabulary and a hint of alliterations. Not that it is necessarily a bad thing if you have a writing style like mine: unorganized, spastic and completely dependent on the poetics of another fucking person. He’s a pretty great professor. Maybe that’s why the success in the class could only make me feel good. Not special. Not self assured. Not anything other than good. I had simply taken a step back into the stress pot of education at a pretentious Uni I hadn’t completely faltered on my first day. Yep, this invisible suffering outwardly bitchy female was doing good.

But Wednesday man, this day has been more than good. I fucking got away with only doing half the readings, falling asleep during the film screening and being completely silent during the actual lecture. I even saved enough coffee in my cup after 4 hours to be able to walk home. Ah, I hadn’t mentioned yet. I went to bed at 4 am on Tuesday. A friend I really need to keep at a distance due to her all consuming ability to extend everything to be about her self and her timeline made sleep impossible that night… I’m sure you are wondering, if you actually take time out of your day to stop by to this blog, how then did I seemingly do more than good? Well, not only did I never have this professor and she most likely heard terrible things with my somewhat destroyed reputation within my department, we managed to have a delightful conversation after class.

Part One a refreshing acceptance of the fact students can have disabilities or problems that you can’t necessarily see on their fucking face all the time. Even managing to ask what I might need during the year to make class actually be put on the same level as everyone else for me. Riveting, I tell you. Absolutely a fresh experience. Well known Unis’ often suck monkey dick.

Part 2 though is where I somehow managed to hit the nail on the head. I asked her about a simple sub point of a debate I had once back with the Professor from Tuesday about the difference between Modernism and Modernity. I told you over zealous and pretentious vocabulary works every time. Although, I happened to not agree with the insistent pop up of the word modernity everywhere. In case you don’t know the difference let me explain. Modernity is like a transitional movement where a culture or location goes from sort of point A to a point B. The transitional frame is colored in the ideals of Western industrialization and Western dipshitting around the East. Got to make people wear suits to reflect that they have officially entered into a ‘modern’ society. Modernism is not that. It is like the distinct choices one makes most likely within modernity to reach this point of ‘Modern’. An example would be the person moving from traditional work attire to a suit in order to display the new status of the individual within the society. Wow, even I think I sound smart reading this back… Too bad I’m not.

It was a total rip off, in a sense, of the fact Tuesday’s professor is crazy about the ideal and on Tuesday I watched the film Shadow Magic which is about the emergence of film in China. Told through fictional lens of course. Naturally, then I could pull out some off the cuff analytical bull crap about the locomotive movement of the story displaying an upward movement within society was actually a display of modernism and not modernity. The guy was going from the country side to an upcoming area of Tokyo. Now wore a suit to work and over the film was shown with foreign goods increasing around him as the plot went on. Modernism. The decisions made by a character within a transitional point of a narrative style of film.

I mean, the side readings were also annoying as hell. Western critics and their fetishing of the ‘Orient’ literally looks as the introduction of early film in Japan as some unique cultural experience. It’s really not that unique. Not for the people there. Think about it. Traditional forms of entertainment started as some form of silent moving spectacle that was than enhanced by a spectacle of music and a narrator to draw attention back to the silent spectacle in the background. So now the ‘silence’ was coming from tiny squares. No need to cause some pure film debates within society over it. Media changed not your cultural standards. And saying it was being used to police the environment? Please, whether it is the modern NHK or back in the age of Imperialism, Japanese authority has always used popular media to persist structured ideals within the common populace. It’s not even a unique Japanese method. Most states do it. Making an emphasis on how controlling it is, because now the films had more directly stated organized structure of social mannerisms versus cultural ideals isn’t a great argument. It’s annoying. It’s being over analytical to the point reaches several moments where people need to shout at you to just stop. An apple can be an apple. It doesn’t need to be a solid Cider or a solid juice…. My analogy sucks. Never mind.

Damn. I really did leave that class on cloud nine though. It was like someone handed me direct proof that I can actually do this. That brain fogs and a struggle to be the student you used to be was not an inhibition. Oh no. I was right to take this challenge upon myself. I was a fighter destined to grow beyond my family and past life experiences. Even if I couldn’t remember when the dynasties were or the names of the movies I’ve seen I could still recall the beating heart that made me fall in love with the Asian continent. A lack of words to portray it or not. My ties to the continent were a life link in the blood and in the marrow. I couldn’t help, but smile on my way home. Try to call every single one of my relatives and tell them I got this, while I felt the light breeze of an enjoyable cool Montreal winter day. The world was alive and full of colors and I had hope to be apart of it all. To not just exist anymore, but to find a way to live. I know it was awkwardly optimistic of me. I didn’t even mind that much that the same friend showed up twenty minutes late to our appointment at the office of student disabilities and then made us go to her coffee shop and suddenly tell me at mine that she didn’t have time, because she actually had a class. Strangely optimistic. I normally don’t get over things in the way of my morning coffee.

Here I am. In bed. Still, slightly feeling the remnants of this wonderful Wednesday and of the new Boruto episode this week. Still, a part of me knows that my struggles have just begun. That a large part of me will remain invisible and un-understandable. That I have a higher statistical chance of not meeting this challenge and finding acceptance of myself than actually succeeding. I most likely won’t get the summer internships I need, because of my Uni being a dick and money makes the world go around. Study Away? FEH. Who will get approved for that. And god forbid if I try to lose the weight from NOT BEING ABLE OT MOVE FOR LIKE 4 MONTHS.

Fun fact. Did you know there is like no fat people in Montreal. Not even among the foreign students? Yet, here I am getting looked at because I am now one size away from having to shop at obese stores and all you can look at me is like I AM FUCKED UP AND EAT TOO MUCH. News flash. I gained my weight from a dead metabolism. I actually don’t eat that much and struggle to move. Yet, I can’t scream it at the top of my lungs. I’d sound insane. And in public. I am a good southern girl. I smile as best I can and not be caught with the matches. However, do trust that I definitely have those matches. As the same friend mentioned through out this point does lovingly refer to me as being a bitchy cunt who is a horrible human being. Well, it was my joke in the first place. Can’t necessarily blame her for that.

Here’s the take away of all of this:

  1. I am still strangely optimistic; although, it has returned to be mixed with extreme apprehension.
  2. I forgot I have no classes on Thursday, so maybe I can catch up on sleep and go the gym. *snicker*
  3. I still desire a semicolon tattoo on the side of my wrist, because I am fucking idiot about trends when it comes to messages. Especially when they are ‘poetic’.
  4. Intj are actually the coldest people in the world and Intp are the warmest robots…. I am Intp.
  5. All hail Slytherin and HP rps.
  6. I have legitimately no real friends in Montreal and should probable commit on improving myself for once.
  7. Can you fail a paid community French class?
  8. If I get to Asia I will definitely feel worse about being fat. Partly because I’m American and that can be an annoying stereotype to be labeled with. I already have to fight hipster and weeboo, because of dumb people.
  9. I don’t know anything in life. Not really.

So, before I go to sleep I need to watch the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Because some article informed me Jewish women were wonderful representatives on female representation and anti-discrimination within Hollywood at the Golden Globes. I didn’t even see the award show. Although, I saw Natalie Portman’s quip. Fuck yea. Ani ohev et Israel. You kind of cause a lot of problems, but you gave the Jewish community Natalie Portman. By the way did you know the Jewish comedy lead actress isn’t Jewish? I mean, she sort of looks more Jewish than the Jewish actresses that get cast more often than stereotypical Jewish images, so I get it. You can be a MOT that brings the hammer at the Golden Globes.

I fucking love crude comedy,

I.L. Knight

P.s. I have listened to Joseph King of Dreams and The Prince of Egypt way too much today. I might have to re-compartmentalize my internal angst.

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Demons – Imagine Dragons

 

** The singer is my brother in Chronic Illness warrior training. Respect.**