A High School friend of mine died this week. Her Memorial service is tomorrow afternoon, and I don't know if I want to go. No, that's not accurate, I want to go, I just don't know if I should.

I haven't seen Emily in about 5 or 6 years. We were the type of friends that you are in a group, in those locker lined halls. The people you hang out with, invite to your parties and never quite know them well.

I need to get dressed and go pick up Sara for the afternoon/evening.

You know something? This is the third one. The third person I know to die at an age that people just shouldn't die at! Phil died at 17. Chad was mid-twenties, I think. Emily was younger than me by a couple years, so she's probably 24.

Too young.

Ok, so I've been thoroughly mocked for my insistence on having furniture for this new apartment. I admit freely that when I get fixated on something, I'm obsessed and overwhelming.

But, shit.

I want a dining table and chairs. Because then we can eat together, have dinner party type things AND it would be the end of spreading a blanket on the floor for a 'picnic' meal... every meal.

I want a couch, a couple comfy chairs, coffee table and end tables. Beacuse I like to bomb out and read on a couch and I'm sick of having friends over and sitting on our bed to visit.

I want Dressers. Because hanging up all my clothes has gotten OLD.

I just want a home. A real HOME. Not a space that I live in, mark time in. I finally got a sense of home in this tiny room built to suit me. But that's what it is, my room built for me only. Now I'm sharing my life with Mike and I want a home that fits both of us. Individual space, and comfortable shared spaces as well.

Part of the reason then want/need for furniture and a home is simply, I haven't had it for a very long time. Even when I was living with Fors, most of my stuff was still packed away, and what wasn't packed was tucked into corners. I'm sick and tired of living hidden in the corners.

I'm also 26 now. In my world that's a bit too old to be living the impoverished student role. I didn't do that role when I was 18 and *really* impoverished, why the fuck would I now?

Bah. I'll get my way. *grins*

No more Lucy! No more Loft Bed! No more cramped space! No more dishes in bins! No more stepping over boards across doorways! No more Sara sleeping in a living room! No more cooking on a hot plate! No more apartment hunting!

I can USE my new pots and pans. The beautiful dish set can come out of the box! I can set up the hammock I bought 6 months ago. Yes!

We just got approved for an apartment, now we just have to read and sign the lease and it's ours as of June 1st!

Almost finished washing the laundry. As soon as this load is finished washing and I get it out on the line, I should head out to get my licence renewed.

I got the 'renew before your birthday!' notice about 2 months ago, and I kept putting it off. My birthday is on Saturday, so I'm running out of time to do this. *shrugs* So I go today.

So like, yeah... it's my 26th birthday on Saturday. I have *no* idea what to do for my B-day, at all. I'm tired of it being just another day, as it's been these past few years. I'd love to have a big party... but... well, my social circle is rather small and there's the slight problem of space.

*shrugs* Oh well. I was considering finally getting the tattoo I've been thinking of for the past 5 years. Slight problem, tho. I don't know what I'd want to have branded on my body for the rest of my life. Heh. I know I want a tattoo, now the debate is What. *shrugs* Suggestions appreciated.

Maybe I could liberate some cash and go away for a couple days and adventure. God, I don't know.

I think turning 26 is so anti-climatic compared to last year. Last year was "OMG. I made it to 25! I'm not pushing up daisies!". This year, it's more "oh. it's my birthday. Already?".

Oh well.

School, Beauty and Anxiety.

I didn't go to the University yesterday. Just as I was heading out the door, I decided to pop upstairs and see if Richard needed anything before I went. (Richard broke his collarbone on Tuesday, so he's home until he regains movement in his arm.) He was just about to come downstairs to visit with me, so we sat and talked for a while, after which I decided that I *really* didn't want to leave him home alone and hurting.

So, we cracked the plastic on my new copy of Breakfast at Tiffany's, munched on snacks and mellowed. We have a date to go tomorrow to the University together and wander around. Plus we'll probably kidnap Mike for lunch as well. It's all good.

I'm still really nervous about going to the university. It's almost terrifying to be even considering life beyond the confines of the past several years, and my 'disorders'. *shrugs* But on the other hand, I don't want to be disabled my entire life. I've worked to damn hard to give up when I'm just getting started.

I just finished speed reading through The Beauty Myth, and it's a timely read. I've been very quietly struggling with my weight the past several weeks. I feel very *fat*, and by extension, unattractive. I worry about how I'm walking. I fixate on just how big my tummy is. It's one of the worst feelings in the world. Especially since most of the time I'm very opinionated and vocal about Body Image, Dieting, and *fat*.

One of the things I've seen proven in my own life is the basic fact of a balanced natural weight for each person. My body will regulate itself to a healthy weight if I eat and exercise in a balanced manner. I think dieting is not only *stupid* but unhealthy and harmful. I *know* that for me to be my ideal BMI, I would basically have to kill myself. The people around me don't give a flying fuck about my weight. To quote Richard from just this morning "You're not fat! You're healthy and pretty."

But that doesn't matter. Not to the voice inside my head that has been whispering "you're fat, god you're ugly, people will look at you and mock you." That started when I put on a pair of jeans that a year ago were falling off of me. Now, they're to tight to wear comfortably. My logical brain reminds me that a year ago I couldn't eat anything without severe nausea, I was having blackouts from stress and walking myself into exhaustion daily. No shit I lost weight.

*sighs* I don't know. It's a war inside my head right now. One part knows better, the other, christ, is ripping me apart every single time I see myself naked, get dressed, go out the door.

Finally, Anxiety. Heh. I've been drowning in the quiet kind. I'm starting to think I really prefer the big, overblown panic attacks. At least then I know what to do with it. Ground, breathe, work my way out of it and then figure out where it came from.

The quiet kind is the one that has me in my room for weeks at a time, lurking online but not interacting. It's a weight that sits on my back and slows me down. The quiet fear. I don't even notice what's happening until someone else points out. I end up hiding from the world, and worst of all myself.

I haven't written anything in weeks. That means online and off. I haven't put pen to paper, and that's one of my 'signposts' of me slipping into my little glass box, caged in by fear of unseen monsters. I've been in my box, and I haven't noticed. *sighs*

I forget about it, you know. I forget that there *is* a reason I'm considered disabled. I forget about what happens to me when I'm not doing ok. That's why I can understand the friends that can't understand what's 'wrong' with me. Heh, if I can forget occasionally, how can I expect anyone who doesn't know to know?

Anyways, this is long enough.