Disclaimer: This entry doesn’t really make sense. I’d say it’s stream of consciousness but the term “stream” makes it sound so lovely and poetic. It’s less “stream” and more…”spitbubble.”

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Aforementioned: My fight-or-flight switch is turned permanently to flight. Also? I’ve added a new sector to the acute stress response, “bite,” wherein I repond to stress by eating everything in my line of sight.  Lately I’ve been eating so much KFC that even the Colonel is like, “Woah. Slow down, darlin,’” so I’ve cut myself off from drive-thrus. Most of the food in my house is local and organic, but did that stop me from eating a POUND of roasted asparagus just now, no, it did not.

I can only think of one time where “fight” may have kicked in, and that was when we threw a party in the Villas and  a gaggle of boys got into a fight on my couch and we had to kick them out.  (I would link you to my really old blog entry about it, but the more I read my archives the more embarrassed I am by them. Even though this event occurred a mere five years ago, I read my college Self as a different person altogether.  I also learned the hard way that no matter how adorable and naive your Old-Self seems, people will STILL MOCK YOU FOR GOING TO THAT HOWIE DAY CONCERT. And my old entries are like little sisters - I can mock them all I want, but the second you judge them, I get very defensive. That said, I’m sure you will enjoy the following excerpt, with golden phrases like, “drinkin’ Jimmy’s rum” and  “drinking from the tap because they are ghetto” and other, like, various colloquialisms, like.)

March 3, 2003

I’m drinkin’ Jimmy’s rum, and trying to numb the fact that this is an incredibly lame party. So Heather’s like, “hey, when the first keg gets tapped, let’s call it a night and get out of here.” (it was that bad.) Then these really young looking kids walk in. And I point it out to Brad: “hey, that kids looks twelve.” And he agreed. So these SAME guys start drinking straight from the tap because they are ghetto and don’t have a measly three bucks to contribute. Heather is watching them do this, as one of them remarks, “Hey, don’t two bitches live here?” To which she replied, “YEAH, one of those bitches would be ME. Cups are three bucks.” They shrug her off and continue, and some guy tries to defend us, like, “Hey, man, that’s not cool.” The fifteen-year-old put on his sunglasses, which just invited mockery from the other guy, and they start pushin’ each other around on the back porch. So we yell at them to take it outside, and they disperse and reassure us that it’s okay.

It wasn’t.

Next thing I know — there’s ten guys brawling on our couch. There’s blood everywhere, and the two young boys have blood allllll over their faces. It was disgusting. My heart racing, my fighting reflexes kicked in as Heather and I are screeeaaaaming at the top of our lungs for them to get the hell out of our house.

So that was kind of “fight,” in that I didn’t run away like a little bitch, but really, I was just worried about getting blood on our couch.

For the most part, though?  I’m all about flight. Right now, the break-up has got me itching to travel the world on a solitary journey, which is probably the most cliche thing to feel at a time like this. I’m kind of obsessed about renting a villa in Europe.

Also? Whales. The whole origin of this entry came about via the following pathway:

“I need to find a source of strength.” –> “Hm. I wonder if I need to find a power animal or something.” –> *Googled “how to find your power animal* –> “Power animals apparently come to you in dreams, sometimes. I dream about whales alot. Maybe whales are my power animal.” –> “YES, DEFINITELY. THE WHALE IS SOOOOO MY POWER ANIMAL” –> *somehow gets to whale videos on YouTube* –> “I want to go whale watching.” –> “I HAVE TO GO WHALE-WATCHING, LIKE, NOW.”

Which, sure, I like whales and all, but I have never felt this URGENCY for whale-watching, like running away and whale-watching was going to solve my problems, and make me less sad, and make my stomach not feel like it’s eating itself.

I am so going to read this in five years and laugh at myself.

THE END.