Another attempt at a diet

I happen to have a test coming up this Saturday. Pharmacology. 8 chapters. And I haven't even started. All I seem to be thinking about is Mom's arrival, and how she will decide to hurt me this time around.

I want her to look at me and feel happy, at least this one time. She worries too much, and stops eating. Why she has to make everything about herself, I don't know. She decided to stop eating sweets because I was putting on weight. Does she think she can guilt me or blackmail me into losing weight? It only makes me feel more like crap. I wish she'd stop doing stuff like that. I don't need more negative energy in my life.

I'm going on a diet. Starting today. The lines that have repeated themselves throughout the course of my life, every single day. Here's to hoping the plan works out. Cheers.

(I've added a BMI tracker to the blog somewhere on the right.)

"So, what's your name?"

I was coming back to my room yesterday, around 11:00 pm, when I saw one of my classmates on the phone. You might ask me why I find this worth mentioning. Because she had been on the phone since 6:00 in the evening.

And no, she wasn't talking to anyone she knew. It was a prank call. Some guy somewhere who had nothing better to do than waste his money by dialing random numbers and waiting for a girl to answer. And the funny thing is, most girls consider it a privilege. Privilege, my foot.

So, here's a bit of the conversation I heard.

(giggles)
"No, I don't have a boyfriend."
...
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
...
(giggles)

"So, how old are you?"

5 hours into the conversation and she didn't know how old the guy was. What on earth do you talk to someone for 5 hours??

"No, I don't know where she's from...wait, I'll check. Hey!", she called out to me.

I looked up. "Yes?"

"Where are you from?"

I was irritated. I mean, to go around talking about herself to complete strangers was one thing. To involve innocent bystanders was totally uncalled for.

"Why?"

"My friend wants to know."

"Ah. Where is he from?"

"I don't know...(into the phone)...hey, where are you from?"

And here I am, contemplating the vastness of human idiocy.

People can be so annoying!!

I'm thoroughly irritated.

For all practical purposes, let's call the reason of my irritation a female named L. I happen to be on the Editorial Board of my college. If anyone has had previous experience, you'd know how difficult it is to get people to complete their work on time. If not, well, trust me, it's harder than it sounds.

L just happens to be a good poet, and she has been working on a poem for 3 entire weeks. I'm not complaining here. I gave her all the time she needed to come up with her best work. When she was finally done, she gave me the hard copy, and asked me to mail it to the official magazine inbox as soon as possible. I even got her email address so I could send her a copy as well.

That evening, I sent the mail as promised, and alerted the other 2 Editors from my class that there was a new entry for the magazine. Late that night, I got a message from her. The following conversation took place.
L : "Plz don't send the poem to the Official inbox yet...there r lottsa corrections...wait up...i'm working on it right now..."
Me : (WTH! I sent the mail 4 hours ago!)  "Juz lemme know the corrections. I'll make the changes the next time I log on."
L : "OK, fyn, open the Inbox and delete the poem. There are errors in words and punctuation."
Me : Yeah? Let me know by 2mro.
L : I'll bring it 2 u now after I'm done.
Me : (You kidding me?? It's midnight already!) Or you can make the corrections and send it yourself.
L : Ok. But delete the one that you sent.
Me : (I was pretty mad at her by now.) Look, only 3 people have access to that account. And the other two are travelling right now. I'm pretty sure they wont check the Editorial Board mailbox tonight.
L: Anyways, do it.

You can imagine how mad I was. I was already in bed, watching my routine episode of House MD before going to sleep. Grumbling to myself, I logged on through my mobile and deleted the offending mail. I thought that was the end of it, but no. There was more to come. The next morning, I met her downstairs.
L: I sent the mail.
Me: Good. Did you make the corrections?
L: Yes. You had put in a semi-colon instead of a full stop.
Me: Er. Was that the only correction?
L: Yes.
Me: (Deep breath) Right. I'll see you around.

It wasn't over. I just received a text from her saying, "Check if the poem reached the Inbox. Also, I want the poem to be aligned to the margin. I prefer that to central alignment. Make the change. Thanks."

I need to break something. Now.

Mom's coming to visit. Somebody kill me.

I don't know why I keep doing this to myself, but every time she calls, I get irritated. I get it, I'm ugly and all, but she doesn't have to rub it in during the course of every single conversation. That's just mean.

Turns out, she's coming to visit. Sometime next month. Next month?! I wasn't ready for this.

The last time she came was like having a gun to my forehead for 3 days, not knowing when it would go off. I actually thought it would be different. She didn't say anything when she saw me. The second day, I was relieved, because she hadn't made a single remark about the way I looked. I actually took efforts to try and normalize things between us. Watched a movie with her, which, by the way, I've never done before. The last day of her visit, I was quite pleased with the fact that she had also tried to make amends. But, hey, she wasn't going to let that last.

As I was getting ready to see her off at the airport, she looked at me, "Remove that handbag. The strap makes you look ugly."

I was shocked. I thought things had been going well. Yeah, my mistake.

"But I like this bag ! " I whined.

"Just remove it. You look like a hippopotamus," she snapped.

Exactly what every daughter wants to hear from her mother. I broke down. I hadn't realized how vulnerable I was till that moment. But I wasn't going to let her see it affect me. I ripped the bag off, threw it into the cupboard, and walked out of the room to compose myself.

5 painful minutes later, throat still burning, I went back, changed my handbag, and walked with her to the car, pretending nothing had happened.

Story of my life.

Who said "Never trust a stranger?"

Well, whoever it was, I don't agree. Not completely.

I'm surrounded by friends, and yet, the only person I truly open up to is my penfriend. Well, he's not my penfriend per se, but we met on Facebook. Which is not a suprise, considering we had about 40 mutual friends. Turns out he was 2 years senior to me, and all my classmates knew him in person (all of them were from the same school).

We used to chat about mundane things, like videos on YouTube, How I met your mother, White Collar. Atleast, that's how it started. And then, over a year, as the conversations became longer, we started talking - actually talking, about college and stuff.

A few days later, we had just started chatting, I sensed something amiss. When he said he had work to do. I knew he was lying. I didn't push it. Politely told him to get some sleep and signed out.

The next day, I knew he was still troubled, his messages weren't as...cheerful...as usual. All of a sudden, he opened up, and told me stuff he had never told his best friends. By the end of it, he sounded much better. I felt good too, for some weird reason.

A week later, I was one of the first 5 people in my class who got the chance to watch a Caesarian Section (did I mention I went to Med-School?). When we finally came out of the OT, all the others rushed to call their parents.

Me, I just wanted to leave a message for someone on Facebook.

I hate my life.

Yes. You're right. The reason I started this blog was to rant. So if you have anything better to do than listen to a teenage girl list out all her problems, you should probably do it.

Right now, my life is a mess. A BIG mess. And it's all probably my fault. Don't ask me how, it often always is. Oh, and I had a fight with my mother. Yep, definitely my fault.

So, what is my problem? I'm fat. And ugly (isn't that implied?). And my mother spends all her time telling me that. Which is the reason I'm mildly suicidal at times. Every time she brings the topic up, I tend to burst into tears, simutaneously screaming how much I hate her. Trust me, I'm not proud of it.

I'm never mad at her. I'm mad at me. For looking the way I do, for being the way I am. And everytime I see her looking concerned, I feel guilty. I can never tell her this, (which explains why I'm sitting in front of a laptop), but I love her. I wish I could reduce some weight to make her happy. To see her smile when she looks at me. To make her proud of having me as her daughter.

But I know it's not possible.

Sigh.

I hate my life.