I love bacon.

October 31, 2010 § 6 Comments

Post-vegetarianism, I kind of expected my diet to be more or less the same, only now eating meat occasionally while at a restaurant. Wrong. I eat meat all the time. And my favorite?

Bacon.

I don’t know what it is about bacon, but it just makes everything more satisfying. And (I might be stretching it here, but considering how much I love bacon, I’m just going to go for it) I would argue that bacon is healthy. Why?

a) Fat doesn’t make you fat. Too many calories make you fat.

b) Our bodies need fat. Even saturated fat.

c) Fat keeps you full longer than just carbohydrates.

d) Bacon is natural!

Okay, even if I couldn’t justify eating bacon, I would still eat it. On almost anything.

I hate negativity.

October 21, 2010 § 2 Comments

I’ve always been a pessimist. In fact, I’ve often thought of myself as being an eternal pessimist, which is pessimistic in itself. If you find your identity in being a negative person, it seems impossible to change that.

Every silver lining has a cloud, I would say.

You see, I’ve always been somewhat proud of my negativity. I would find satisfaction in reading studies about the benefits of being a pessimist (I can only remember one study), and try hard to prove to everyone that it took less muscle to frown than smile (I still believe that’s true, if your frown is more of a straight face). When people would tell me I look sad or angry, I would just tell them it was my “default face”.

But honestly, I’m getting tired of being negative.

The problem is, the transition between pessimism and optimism doesn’t happen overnight. This means that for all the optimism I may practice throughout the day, if I slip up and start acting negative, I berate myself all the more. Now, I’m just negative about being negative.

But, I’m not going to give up trying to be an optimist. And that’s optimistic in itself.

 

silence is simple, writing is hard.

October 6, 2010 § Leave a comment

“Writing is easy:  All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.”  – Gene Fowler

I’ve known nearly my whole adult life that I wanted to be a writer. At an early age I discovered my love of classic literature, and later on dabbled in writing fantasy short stories meant only for my own eyes. Now as an English major, whenever I complain of a paper due to a friend, I often hear them remark, “Oh, but you love that! Writing papers must be easy for you.”  But it’s not.

In fact, it seems that the older I get, the harder writing becomes. In part, this may be due to the literary techniques and devices learned in various writing classes. The expectations I have set for my own writing only become greater. But ultimately, I often do not think I have anything worth writing about. I’ve found myself delaying any spectrum of journaling because of my lack of inspiration. Writing, for me, is stressful. Exhausting.

Consequently, I’m afraid to write.

As a self-proclaimed wannabe journalist, this poses quite the dilemma. Certainly, everything I write won’t be good. Some of it will be terrible. But if I do not write at all, there will be no chance at writing anything good.

A professor recently shared these words of wisdom with me: writers do not wait for inspiration, writers write. Which means writing is easy for no one. It’s comforting, really, to know that I’m not alone.

In the end, all I can do is write. But I can’t promise that it will be brilliant.



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