A (Biological) Clockwork Orange

During my post-finals "I refuse to leave my bed/couch" stage(a beautiful, beautiful thing), I rewatched "Someone like You," starring Ashley Judd and that hot guy whose name I can't think of right now. There was one scene in particular that resonated with me for reasons to which most people my age won't be able to relate (fortunate for them). The sister and her husband are at a dining room table. The husband futilely attempts to jab an orange with a syringe - after the wife exasperatedly grabs the objects from him and completes the task, we learn she is taking fertility drugs which require jabbing a syringe into her ass. 

Now pause. What is the connection? Animosity towards citrus fruit? Needles in my ass? (No to the first and a "I hope not" to the second. "Yes" to the Can-this-post get any-more awkward?)

You see, cancer and its partners-in-crime chemo and radiation do a funny thing to fertility. Apparently, this is supposed to worry me. And make me want to either take some period-suppression pill or rip out some ovaries and freeze 'em for Sunday dinner (no, not actually, ya weirdo). As a 20-year-old girl just trying to graduate and uh, stay alive, I am less than concerned with procreating. Actually, (most)(sane) people (not on MTV) are trying to avoid that uh, miracle of life bit as much as humanly possible. 

So, what to do about babies? To this dismay of all desperately awaiting (grand)parenthood(ie my mother), egg harvesting (stowing away eggs for a rainy day) clinics haven't exactly figured out how to uh, jam 'em back in after the fact. Still waiting for that one. So, I was given an option with an actual success: in vitro fertilization!!! (get the egg fertilized first, and then freeze it.)

Oh great!

But wait. One problem: who is fertilizing this egg? I'm not exactly set on bearing anyone's children at this current point in time. And I doubt my boyfriend would be at-all surprised by that revelation.

Which brings me to my next point: Can we just dwell on how not-age-appropriate this topic is? Ok, so with the awareness of "Sixteen and Pregnant"/"Teen Mom"/girls who got knocked up at my high school,  the I'm-too-young argument doesn't really fly. But what else do I have? This is inappropriate for my current stage in life? I already have finals and you want me to worry about SPAWNING ANOTHER HUMAN BEING? (About that...) Maybe I'm just refusing to be an adult. Be mature. Truly consider my future. To which I say: Fuck it. I'm a college student.

Now back to the syringe-in-ass. Due to the doses of fun I've received over the past semester/are going to receive over the next (because it didn't really work the first time around - just found out ya'll!!), I'm on track for the Charlotte York storyline instead of the Miranda (for those unaware of the reference, one is a woman desperate for housewife of the month/small versions of herself and the other is a workaholic who gets knocked up by accident), which perturbs me. 

Priorities can change over the course of life. We may find ourselves seeking top preschools as avidly as we once sought  top summer internships. (gasp!) And as much as I may dismiss it now, I may find myself struggling with infertility. Despite this plausibility, I can't help but think I'll be okay. As long as I have my person by my side, willing to jab a syringe in my ass. 

So there you have it folks. Love is finding someone willing to jab a syringe in your ass. Eloquence. 

Ode to Willow Smith

I brushed(whipped) my hair(back and forth) for the first time today. 


And by "hair" I don't mean the $500 haircut that requires constant upkeep - I mean my actual, inch-long, strands. Weeks after chemo, I've finally reached the stage in which I don't feel a sense of revulsion when I touch my scalp. Because for the first time in a few months, the hair (mostly) stays in place when I touch it. More importantly, I've had the audacity to try.

I never thought I'd ever appreciate the resilience of a real head of hair. Sure, I've tested its limits in the past (a chapter in my life we will refer to as "sibling throwdown" or "don't touch my socks"). But after many an episode after a shower or nap, resulting in clumps of hair on a pillow or in a drain(sorry housemates), I had forgotten the wonder that is brushing one's hair - without the concern it will leave with your brush. I won't be overly boastful - it's not planning on making any Rogaine commercial endorsements anytime soon. But at least it lacks the look of sparseness it once possessed. I can no longer clearly see my scalp through the individual strands. My spring, when everything else is winter. Things will grow, things will blossom, things will return to their desired state. 

Radiation intends to revert the forest back to scrawny saplings it was composed of (trying to hard with this, I know, run with it). But I think I can handle it; knowing that there is, in fact, a spring. 

And no matter what the groundhog says, it always comes.

"It's My Bar of Chocolate"

I am drowning in thought.


Time limits capability. Yet it does not limit the willingness to accomplish, the desire to attempt. There has been much discussion on the notion of being "merely human" - the restrictions such a notion implies. A quote on a Dove chocolate wrapper: You don't have to do it all.

But what if you want to? Pick your battles, they say. But what if you don't win the war? And to that: who defines the terms of engagement? Who says when it ends, and the next begins?

What is worse: physical or mental exhaustion? What causes more frustration: the fatigue of our limbs or our minds? Be good at something. But what thing? What is the right thing? What if it's the wrong thing?

We may be only limited by our imaginations. Isn't that a nice thought? For those with minds confined to the apparent and the expected: try a little harder. Then again, they might have the right idea. They may never have to know the frustration that can only come from the want of something more; the very realization that it exists. It has been asserted that managing expectations is the key to contentment. The dreamers must fool themselves, a ruse to be maintained and practiced. There are of course, nuances in the realm of happiness, but contentment in itself seems unsatisfactory. It reeks of settling. Then again, there are cards dealt that we often cannot evade, cannot alter for greater benefit - or any benefit. It is said that it is irrational to allow sunk costs to influence future decisions. Chase bad money with more money - but what about chasing wrong use of time with more time? A defined assembly of choices; a distinct path? Do the same stipulations apply? Some choices are less reversible than others. And being wasteful is rarely considered positive - even if the discarding of a certain assembly of choices could lead to a better path. This requires one to first be aware of said path. And then the more frightening aspect: making a decision about it.

Apocalypse COW(s)

Preface: 

This passage is based on a very loose grasp of the topics/events/concepts of basic mathematics covered. A good, solid ramble.

Further, I reserve the right to keep my room stocked with Godiva, Hershey's, Apple Jacks, other super-healthy items. I understand that my uh, "preference" (euphemism for: obsession) for chocolate(errr crack) may appear to undermine my support of healthy eating, but let's role with it. 

Major issue with Mobama healthy eating campaign: LEAVE MY BAKE SALES ALONE.

Bake sales were the go-to fundraiser at my precious high school. Science club? BROWNIES. Drama Club? BROWNIES Italian Club? cann-BROWNIES.

I reserve the right to raise money for often purely social events under the guise of "being educational". And to make 7th period slightly more endurable the best way possible: a sugar high (not to be confused with other kinds of brownies and other kinds of highs, ahem).

Despite this, I have to admit that some regulation of cafeteria slop (sorry slop) is in order. For the kid with the choice of fried this, fried that, and salad, what do you expect? (And no, it shouldn't be salad. Fools.) Kids need better options to make better choices. Obviously suppliers/budget-tight school boards aren't the most incentivized to go this route, which is why they could use a little push. 

Sarah Palin, at least to my understanding, is vehemently opposed to Michelle Obama's campaign against eating unhealthy food. Another step towards big government, legislation infringing upon the citizen's right to be fat, doomsday. The mindset I am referring to adheres to the belief one of the four horsemen was an alleged Muslim whose wife suggested kids eat their damn brussels sprouts. Call me statist, but I can't help but think that the government may have incentive to protect its interest in this arena(which it is constitutionally permitted to do...probably?). In less PC terms, fat people are expensive. Fat, poor people are expensive. Junk food is cheaper, more convenient, all-around more attractive to the busy(or lazy, if I take the elitist tone) barely-making-breadwinner that is depicted by politicos and people who actually care (the charitable, activist sort). 

Ways to tackle a problem in my imaginary government handbook: economically or socially. (Militarily is also on the list but I don't feel it is relevant...at this time. There's an Onion article for that.) Sure, they can make soda more expensive and provide subsidies for apples. But who wants a fucking apple? So, the social approach: leverage popularity(read: influence) to change behavior. I like apples > I am cool > you should like apples. To be fair, Mobama's penchant for J Crew hasn't been the most adopted in inner-city circles. I think we may have a better shot with items that aren't marked up 400% of their original value, no? (The validity of that number is questionable, as is the assumption that this isn't the case with produce, but go with it.) Probably-more-accurate assessment: those cardigans are 5x the price of a cardigan at Conway. Beyond demand, there is also the issue of availability (or scarcity, in this case).  Shop rites tend to lose out to corner stores in the areas in question. 

But ah, the loss of flexibility. And the ability to actively choose salad over fried this/that. The decline of trust in the notion that the average American possesses and actively uses the ability to discern what is good for him/her/spawn of him/her. Should we not give them the chance?

Maybe they'll surprise us.

Yellow Paint

Recent events have had a bit more shock value than usual. Shootings, stranglings, flashings - All within a few block(to few mile) radius of our bubble. Speckling the otherwise smoothly pattern-esque splatters of sex, drugs, and power-play. The conspicuous specks are such because their inherent outsiderness. They behave differently, and as such, are suspicious. 

And from that, frightening. 

And from that, sensational.  

What to make of it? They taint the scene like any other splotch on a pristine canvas, yet they strike a different cord. They're outsiders.

The shooting. 

What shocked me is that the suspects are(were?) 18. An 18-year-old old was shot dead because his idea of a good time on a Saturday night is a car jacking. Thinking about the stupid shit my friends and I pulled in high school, car jacking just wasn't one of those choices. I guess we were pretty fortunate in that regard.

Sometimes I forget about the state of things outside of my little bubble, and then gun-toting teenagers storm the scene. What world do we live in? Well, I suppose it depends on your idea of a good time.

Then I remember this bubble is supplied with its narcotic of choice from boys in frat bedrooms, dorms left unlocked. The motivation? Just getting by, perhaps. Something to do. The cost-benefit analysis of getting ahead vs. getting caught.

Not so different, after all.