Current Events (in many, many words)

So a friend told me that I needed to update my blog. I suppose it was only fair because she updates hers fairly regularly and I read through it and learn all about her life, even though she's a bajillion miles away.
That's a lot of miles.
At any rate, she said I should write something personal or heartfelt or something, anything, with some insight into my life. I know I'll at least have part of it here, but as to the completeness of it, I can't make any promises.
I'm also a very spontaneous writer, so I don't know what's going to come out at the end of this, and it'll probably go off on some tangents, and everything will probably be a jumbled mess. I guess that's what happens during stream of consciousness writing.
Okay.
So.
Yeah.
Like basically every single person in the entire world, I have insecurities. If you're one of the lucky ones who do not suffer from this debilitating disease, I applaud you. I am probably jealous of you. But you are probably lying to me when you say you're completely happy with the way you are.
LIES AND SLANDER, I SAY.
Seriously. I don't care if you're basically perfect, you are struggling with something. Maybe not all the time, maybe just in little blips here and there, but you are almost guaranteed to be questioning something in your life at some point in time.
I just wanted to make sure you understood that before you get into my head.

Back to me.
I have a really crippling fear of being alone forever. It doesn't even matter if it's about friends or romantic relationships, I truly believe during the majority of the day that I'm going to have a cat, live alone, go to movies alone, eat alone, and pick up the rice in the church where a wedding has been, Eleanor Rigby style.
Again, I know I'm not the only one who feels this way, and that there are people who really are alone, but I can't get over the fact that I feel it so strongly.
Plus, I'm only 22.
According to most people, my life has only just begun and I've got all these great things ahead of me and that my future is full of possibility and everything else you could possibly put on a Hallmark card for people who are moving onto something new in their lives.
I don't care.
Tell me why I've never had a boyfriend? Or why I've never felt good enough for a friendship to last? Or why I'm so concerned about my friends when they don't show me they care. Tell me why I always feel like I'm somebody's last choice, no matter what. Tell me why I get jealous of people sharing text messages that I'm not a part of. Tell me why I get jealous, period.
I sound like I'm on my high horse, but seriously, when is it going to be my turn to be loved and appreciated the way that I love and appreciate the people around me? I am by no means perfect, and that's okay, but can't I be nearly perfect to and for someone? I'm nice enough, I'm not completely terrible looking (maybe more on that later), I'm caring, I can be hardworking, I'm funny, I'm slightly smarter than average (also, maybe, more on that later), and though I've got bad qualities, I know I'm not the worst choice in the world.
Maybe I'm just average. That might be okay, but it doesn't help that I've set my sights to someone above average.
I think I'm off the friend topic now, and really onto the boyfriend thing.
So, my mother told me a little while ago that maybe I should get a boyfriend (she was nice about it though, promise). I've told her that I have a hard time with friends and friendship in general, so I wasn't sure if the boyfriend thing would be good for me since romantic relationships are like regular relationships on crack. She just smiled wisely (and she would, since she dated my dad for 9 years [and started when she was 15, I might add] before they got engaged and have been married for 23) and said "No, it's very different." I believe her, but I've had no such luck so far.
Maybe it's because I want to be pursued.
In this technological day and age (I sound so well-informed when I say that, or I sound like a smarmy douchebag), it's difficult to know what anyone is thinking anymore. I talk to friends, impersonally, on Facebook and people are so attached to their phones that it's hard to have a normal conversation with some people without being interrupted by a cat video that they must immediately show me. Again, I'm not immune to this, but I feel like it's seriously affecting my life and that I find it hard to have a conversation with people, boy or girl.
Also, as much as I love women suffrage and rights and "yay feminism," I still have a lot of traditional values. Oh, like what you ask?
LIKE BEING PURSUED.
I will make you a sandwich, just the way you want it and give it to you while I'm cleaning house and coddling a baby and doing your laundry and all these other 1950's housewife things, AS LONG AS YOU TELL ME THAT IS WHAT YOU WANT.
You need to come up to me, tell me that you want to get to know me, tell me that I am pretty or that I'm funny or smart or whatever, and then I will consider you.
Because as much as I understand why people won't put themselves out there, I won't do it at all.
It's probably a fear of rejection. I've led a relatively sheltered life and I've pretty much always gotten what I wanted and needed, so failure was never in my vocabulary.
So, by not putting myself out there, I'm never going to fail.
My life will be quite boring, but I'll never fail.
And heaven knows I need to fail something else. Maybe I'll be put on a higher dosage of my current medication.
But anyway. I don't want to have to play a guessing game... as long as you tell me first. I'll be up front with my feelings and emotions (because, to be honest, I like most people), but if you're not feeling it, then I'll just make a fool out of you and me because I'm assuming things that shouldn't be assumed. Then it's awkward and I'll never want to try again and everything goes to hell and I end up with ten cats, living in a fusty basement somewhere on the outskirts of town where no one comes to visit.
Scary, I know.
These are the things that haunt me before I go to bed.

All I really want is someone who will kiss me goodnight. He must be attractive to me and smart and funny and wise and sweet and caring and loving and intensely passionate and everything that doesn't seem to exist in people, unless they're already taken.
Are my standards really high? Probably. But am I worth it? Yes.
If this is what will, most likely, make me happy, why wouldn't I hold out for it?
I've never been one to settle, but I know a good thing when I see it, so I don't want to settle for anything less than what I've mentioned above (and that list is non-exhaustive).
But what if it never happens?
What if I'm too ugly or too dumb or too heavy or too silly or too much to handle or too dramatic or too emotional or too terrible for anyone to love me? What if I'm not really great and what if I'm not really a catch and what if, when people look at me, they see someone who doesn't deserve love because of reasons x, y, and z? Am I not good enough to be loved? I, in general, take people as they are, so why can't someone do that for me? Am I just reaching for a ten when I'm only a four? Should I be lowering my standards because I'll never be with someone who's probably better than me? I'm really frustrated that I've never even experienced what I would even remotely be interested, either. This whole never been on a date thing is really terrible because I don't even know what I would want. Maybe everything above has just been implanted in my head by friends and society and I really want a bad boy or something.
I just want to know what it feels like to be important to someone.
I've always felt pushed to the wayside and that I'm not important enough to even consider. My friends take advantage of me because I'm caring and I get hurt and jealous really easily. I've had people ignore me and treat me like I'm nothing and make fun of me and gang up on me and just really make me feel like I'm a waste of space (thus another reason why I'm medicated). I feel so useless and worthless to people that I wonder why would any man in his right mind want to put up with me. I'm not good enough for friends, so why would anyone want anything of a romantic nature with me?
It kills me to say this because all I've ever wanted is a family. I've always wanted to be a mom and a wife and caretaker and lover and partner and companion and friend, so it hurts to see others getting engaged or having relationships when I would literally drop of out school if the right man wanted me to start a family with him.
Maybe I'm too willing to succumb to the whims of someone else.
Maybe my weaknesses shine through before any of my good qualities.
Maybe I'm not meant to be married and happily in love or what have you.
But why would I have something like that in my heart and mind?
If it's not meant to be, why not just banish it?

People, no matter what their beliefs, have some general idea of what they would like to do with their lives. Of course it changes yearly, weekly, monthly, whatever, but people mostly know where they would like to end up someday. So if I was meant to be alone forever, why would I be so concerned with falling in love? I like being alone, it's something I relish in every day, when I have time to unwind and think about the day, so it's not super terrible for me.
But then I start thinking about how much happier I could be with someone who really cares for me and my hopes and dreams, and I for his.
Maybe this is my way of fixating on something, instead of concentrating on myself.
OH BOTHER.
I don't get it.
Why has it not happened?
People tell me I'm pretty great, but why hasn't anything good happened?
They say I just need to wait for the right time and the right man and everything, but when?
I hate to say I'm getting impatient, but I really am.
When?
At least let me know what it's like so I don't have to wonder anymore if this is really what I want.
Maybe I'll have a change of heart if there was a male in the picture, but I won't know until it happens!
I just want to know this.
It's not to much to ask for, is it?
Nearly everyone can get a boyfriend, except me, it seems.
Pretty much everyone can at least get a date, except me.
And I don't want to be forward. I don't want to waste my time with someone who isn't interested.
Why does it hurt so much?


Okay, I don't really know what happened there at the end, but it is what it is. This is what goes through my head on a pretty regular basis. It's kind of awful and sad.

How to Be Average and Other Thoughts

Let go of high school, where it was easy to get more A's than anything else on your report cards and have friends and tangle with a job and maybe be on a team sport or two. You are not a teenager anymore and you are not living with your family. You are not allowed to look back on your days of so-called, blissful, unimportant glory and tell people you used to be a certain way, that you used to do it all and you're not sure what happened.

Don't complain about your mediocrity. If you're used to the good life, then it is going to hurt when you lose your chance at a promotion or that you don't understand the difference between grapes grown in Napa Valley or in Sonoma Valley. You can't be good at everything and if you hate it that much, your time spent fishing for compliments that you are a special little snowflake could probably be better spent doing something different to make sure that you can do some sort of preventative technique for next time. Unless you truly think that aliens abducted your brain, you should probably rethink your choices. Either work harder or figure out that, maybe, what you're doing isn't best and get out before it's too late.

Accept that, statistically, people will be better than you. It is impossible for everyone to be above average. Unless everyone in the world has the same level of achievement, or same level of perfection where we all get a Good Job sticker on our work no matter what, there is always going to be an average. And, for the most part and depending on the bell curve, there's usually going to be more than you will ever realize. For now, let go and let math tell the truth; that's one thing it's good at.

Stop comparing yourself to others. Stop going on Facebook and reading about people who "did so average it hurts" (completely true) and who go to California all the time and have a best friend and a boyfriend and go school in any other state but yours or have jobs with paid vacation time. Sometimes, mediocrity is okay and you have to accept that even if you don't have twenty-three friends, you do have one or two, and that you do have a job that pays for your life and you can afford things that you need. Because, even if there are people that are better than you, there are those who have less too.

Focus on what you can do. Don't think about all the times that you could have passed that test if you had just gotten one more question right. Stop thinking about the one time you did fail and the one time you did make a mistake. Think about all the other times that you've done something right. Think about that person you hugged or that ice cream sandwich you shared with a friend (but don't think about high school. That breaks the rules and, let's face it, high school doesn't count). No matter what you believe or what anyone else believes, you are here for a reason and can do something, no matter how average.

Don't let people drag you down even further than you already think you are. If someone is telling you that you are a failure, even in jest, don't let it slip by you. Don't let them continue to bring you down, saying that you're good for nothing, that you're dumb, that you're awful, that you suck, that you're not a good friend. After you don't invite your friend to something and they tell you that you're an awful person because of it, it allows them to slip into your heart and tear you apart from the inside out. While it's okay to be below average too, it's not okay to feel so low that you don't deserve to even be alive anymore. Even the lowest end of the bell curve goes on forever and doesn't hit zero: you shouldn't have to feel like one either.

On Coffee Cups and Growing Up

Through my brief, fleeting college years (which have yet to be completed), I have acquired two coffee cups. Officially, I have doubled my coffee cup count and am proud to say that this very minor accomplishment makes me smile. For anyone who has come into my life, one of the first things they probably find out is that I love cats (albeit somewhat irrelevant) and coffee. I make it every morning and, as many addictions go, I get headaches if I haven't had the black caffeine with half and half within an hour of waking. So to have more coffee cups is really something spectacular.

The first one I obtained toward the end of Fall semester my sophomore year. The Honors Program had a small get together with faculty and students and as a TA of these classes, I was invited. There were sandwiches and crackers and fruit spread across the table of a classroom and after we'd all had our fill, there were small gifts for everyone to choose from. Two different colors of coffee cups, stuffed with candies and tissue paper; I naturally chose the dark blue one over the other (it was so unappealing to me I can't even recall the color), ate the candy inside, washed the cup and set it on my shelf for future use. It's a lovely shade of navy blue, one of my school's colors, and it's the type of paint that, when wet, shines and dries in splotches, so slowly that you can see evaporation taking place beneath your nose. It's got a white inside and writing on the outside with my university name and an Honors program logo. It holds a decent amount of coffee, about 3 cups according to my carafe, and I admit I do feel quite sophisticated when drinking from it. I really was excited for this because it would mean I would be able to go an extra day without having to wash my coffee cups.

My second cup I got as a Christmas gift from two friends in my hall a few weeks before winter break in 2011. It also came with candy inside, hot chocolate mix, a homemade Christmas card sending their love from down the hall, and a small stuffed cat wearing a Santa hat. The cup itself has red, green, and yellow squares (with winter designs) in a patchwork style, alternating between red poinsettias, holly berries, and green winter leaves. It's porcelain and white with a yellow and green stamp on the bottom that says "Holiday Seasons" still partially obscured by a stubborn price sticker that won't come off. I remember getting it and feeling bad that I didn't have a gift for them in return, but they assured me that it was okay and that I hoped I liked the cat; I said I did and it is still displayed though Christmas is over. In retrospect, I believe it was the cup that I was most happy for. It's a smaller cup and I use it on days where I don't feel as though I'll be busy, that the extra jolt of caffeine that comes from my bigger cups isn't needed. I also enjoy making tea of the green variety in this cup when nightly homework is at a standstill and I need something to help me focus; after that and putting on some classical music, I am set to go for as long as necessary.

I like to think that I am growing up as I get more coffee cups. Not just because coffee is such an "adult drink" but because it means I'm getting things of my own. Things that I'll use everyday with significant meaning behind them. Not to say that clothes and school supplies are not important to me, especially when I buy them on my own. I didn't even buy the cups; they were gifted to me. But there's just something about these coffee cups that really signifies aging. All my other dishes are from my family, things that are mismatched and will be shown proper usage with me rather than at home. By getting these cups, I feel I'm just one step closer to my own job, my own place, my own family, my own things, becoming more and more separate from my current family. It's a scary thought though, that someday I will have to be taking care of myself, living a life further and further from what I used to know. But maybe my thoughts will shift, that I'll look on the things from my parents with greater appreciation and nostalgia. Plus, eating and drinking are important things in my life and I have mused that maybe this important life force is influencing my admiration of things as simple as kitchenware.

I would like to say that I will be this reflective when I get my own dishes and silverware, but my mother and I have bought and been prepared for that part for quite some time now. So, I will stick to coffee cups for now. I will continue to add to my collection as often as possible and remember fondly each situation in which I have felt a little older through these physical, fragile manifestations of my memory.

I will definitely drink to that.

How to Let People Use You And, Subsequently, Let Them Down

Tell people you have a car. At first, it may seem as though these people are just asking for rides, willy-nilly, maybe even apologizing after, saying they don't want to use me for my car. But then they tell their friends and suddenly, there's a party in my car and I have to clean up the leftover Target bags and the errant French fry, stowed away between the seat cushions. Soon, the apologies stop. The offer to pay for gas money stops. You start to justify it with, "Well, I mean, I needed to go shopping too," even if it was at a really inconvenient time for you and you didn't need milk for at least another week and you didn't even get a change to look at the ad.

Say, "I'm here for you." It seems like an obvious one, making sure people know that, yes, I would like to be a supportive friend, so let me help you get through this stressful problem where you have to consider your future. Got it. Then it turns into conversations that automatically get turned to the other person, where they ask you how you are, you say fine and start to recount some really big highlights of your day/week/month/life, but somehow, they interrupt and start talking about how cute their cousins are and how much they've grown and "look at their little baby feet I'm so sad they're not little anymore I miss it." When you say I'm here for you, you really mean that you're going to listen to everything they say but then expect nothing in return, leaving you loathing yourself and your relationship with this person.

Share your food with everyone. Someone looks like they're having a bad day? Offer them a piece of chocolate. If they mention they haven't eaten anything for seven hours? Give them your last piece of pizza. Do they keep repeating that they're so hungry but they don't know what they want? Open your fridge to them, recount everything you have, tell everything you could possibly make, search all restaurants in a five mile radius, or offer to go and get them something delicious if you don't have it or have never even heard of it because they look like they' had an awful week. Pretty soon, you'll be giving out your last Bowl of Noodles that your parents bought you from Costco because you are a hungry college student/unemployed worker/live in a third world country but you know that there are people that need the MSG more than you, so you make sure they're happy while you're stuck with something terrible from the cafeteria or the moldy lettuce from the back of the fridge. At least you ate something.

Make sure you say yes to everything. It starts small, with a "Hey, let's get dinner," and "Hey, will you help me with this math problem?" Then it turns into, "Pick up the phone every time I call you so that we can talk about nothing, sit in silence, and then let an hour pass by without as much as anything meaningful passing by our lips even though I know you have homework to do or have other friends to see or you feel terrible after talking to me," or  "Come see this YouTube video I think is really hilarious but you probably don't have time for, especially since I'm going to suck you in with at least ten more videos about puppies that look like celebrities that look like cats that look like my mother." It's hard at first to think about saying anything other than "yes" but once you get back to your place, it's one in the morning, and you have homework/cleaning/a job to do, you learn to wallow in your self pity and criticize yourself for not being strong enough to say no and feeling incredibly dumb for falling into the same trap of "I would love to help you." If you say no, you will disappoint them and nothing will ever be the same.

Commit to everything, feel guilty for being unintentionally flaky. This is a lot like saying yes, but it's yes for multiple people all at the same time. You need to be at the doctor at 10:30? Yes, I will do that for you. And you want to meet me for lunch at 11? Yes, I can do that. I may be a little late, because my friend is on the other side of town and I told her I would also take her home after the appointment after picking up her medication from Walgreen's. I may even bring her along and eat with a heavy heart because my other friend is waiting to go home but I haven't seen you in a while and I want to do both so badly but I can't because I'm only one person. It's okay, I'll be fine, I can't be stressed about it now, since I have another meeting at 1:30 for the Recycling Committee and another at 2 for a coffee break. I'll pencil you in my nonexistent calendar.

Try to be everything to everyone. Consequently, make sure everyone else is always happy. If someone needs a listener, be that and don't expect them to pay the same respect to you. If someone needs a gym buddy, go and workout with them even if you hate running because it's bad for your knees but you go because your friend really hates going to the gym alone and people stare at her funny and you really boost her self-confidence. If your friend needs someone to help her with taxes/homework/babysitting, you have to do it, even if you don't even make enough to keep track of your own finances or you really aren't all that good at interpreting Nietzsche or you think kids are satanic creatures, you are going to help her because someday, when the end of the world is nigh and you have a bunch of favors to call in, you're going to be able to ask for something like a hug or a supportive shoulder, so you've got to save up for that moment. You've got to make sure that all that you've done for everyone else is going to finally pay off for yourself in the smallest of dividends and it's all going to be worth it when the time is perfectly right. But only for the other person.

Magical Time

I've definitely been duped.

Someone has duped me and I don't like it.

Aren't I supposed to be living my dream life right now? I am in my twenties now, for crying out loud! Aren't I supposed to be living in New York City, writing a blog post a week, making enough to support my living in my studio apartment in Manhattan, right off of Times Square (I'm pretty sure my geography is wrong, but this is supposed to happen for me dangit!), walking around and seeing my name on every Barnes and Noble Bestseller List for writing my memoir on growing up on the west coast and feeling as though my soul was destined for something a little more eastern and foreign and how I ultimately overcame my insecurities and the parents and teachers and siblings and mooching friends who told me I couldn't make it anywhere because I just didn't have what "it" takes and that with just a little perseverance and an attitude of superiority I did; my face on every billboard and jumbotron (which sounds like a transformer) advertising my amazing product that cures every single ailment in the world while simultaneously distributing kittens and butterflies to all unhappy children in existence ever; my voice in all the concert halls and Broadway and the street corners with a guitar or cymbal or a record scratching kit getting just enough money in tips to dye my hair an overwhelming shade of red and buy a soft ironic beanie and plaid scarf (or is it plaid beanie and soft ironic scarf?) from American Apparel to show my complete disgust in the world and appreciation for all things alternative and supporting things like Occupy Facebook because I am completely justified; my eyes gazing up at my on-screen romance (who would obviously be Ryan Gosling because he's all about feminism) with just enough distrust in my features to show the audience that this is an intriguing movie because I've just starred in a Martin Scorsese/ J.J. Abrams/Peter Jackson flick that made over 200 million dollars in the first week and has been at number one since who can even remember but it deserves it because clearly I am the greatest actress in the entire universe.

Is it really that hard for my life to go this way? It's really not that complicated to just want summer vacations, fringe benefits, work from home, no work at all, a vacation home in Paris and Normandy and London and Thailand and Australia and the moon, a loving partner who kills the spiders and fixes me breakfast and repairs the cars and changes the air filter in our home and takes me out every week for a dinner just the two of us and a bathtub with jets and a swimming pool on the roof and an invite to all the exclusive parties and fashion shows and being accepted to Stanford Law School with a full ride scholarship and milk never getting spoiled and my favorite foods all on sale all the time and a personal chef and a dog walker and children who trust everything I say and never get into trouble and neighbors that never complain about the noise level when I have wine tasting parties in my uptown loft and girls nights to Las Vegas and no calorie Twinkies and love and appreciation no matter how I treat you, along with things and houses and cars and people and places and time and days and months and years and years and years to do everything, everything I ever want to do without any sort of consequences or learning and lots of fun all the time, nothing ever terrible happens, ever, and my life is just wonderful and everyone loves me and hates me at the same time because I am just so wonderful and beautiful and brilliant and amazing and cooks well and everything that has every happened.

Why can't this happen?

I'm actually really disappointed that I'm not getting this stuff right now. Along with cats. Lots of cats.

Unrelated, I'm really into long sentences as of late. And trying out new writing styles. It's rather fun.

Honesty

I feel as though I've been lied to. That all the old adages of "Opposites attract" and "Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger" are actually false, created to explain something that no one else could come up with scientific evidence to prove or disprove. I mean, really, opposites don't attract; if that were the case, I would be in a relationship with a no good, lying dirtbag who would probably spend way too much money on things and care too little about people around him. The only good thing about that saying is that boys and girls are opposites, which is considerably important to me. And while, yes, if I'm not dead, I must be getting stronger, I feel this only applies to workouts (which can actually kill you... a rarity, but still possible). Everything else just drains you until it's too late to realize that you've actually learned something from it and you're back to that uphill battle.

But if there's one maxim that really drives me bonkers is that "Honesty is the best policy."

It's just not true.

On the surface, it seems like a really great idea. Yeah, telling people the truth is always good. If you're lying to someone else then where does that leave you? With a story to remember and a secret to cover. Plus, if you're being truthful with someone, you have a very specific reason to have told that person your thoughts. They may want to know if that cookie is a good idea or if this outfit is acceptable for a date or if their bald cat really is adorable and so smooth to pet. All things that, when asked about, usually require a fairly honest answer.

I've learned otherwise.

Like, when you need to talk to a professor about how this class is going to be challenging, don't tell him that you're feeling really unmotivated for this class and would like a suggestion about how to really get into the material, expecting a helpful answer but being met with "You should consider a different major."
Or, if you are really frustrated with someone and have been for a while and want them out of your life and you start telling them all the little irks and pet peeves you have with them, from being attached or being too aloof, and then being met with extreme guilt afterward when you think about your actions and how maybe, just maybe, you shouldn't have said that because you're just justifying their actions and allowing for explanation and excuses and they really won't change.
Or, being sort of honest through a witty joke (which is a mistake to begin with) and having them react in a not so savory way and being surprised at their reaction because you always joke with them about these things but have been walking around on eggshells for a while because you were afraid of their explosive temper and thinking it was safe to go back in the water only to be met with contempt and an acrid face and one syllabic answers.
Or telling someone that you aren't doing so well in a class, hoping that they will relate, but instead going off on how they understand everything they're learning, solved a problem for NASA, and won Miss America and it's not even Thursday yet.
Or showing someone your true feelings about a subject or a person and then letting them walk all over you because they have something to combat your sarcastic remarks with something not so sarcastic and more realistic and painful, all because you trusted them to take your honesty to heart and not to betray you and possibly try to show that they are someone who you would like to be friends with because you share these things now but only end up being kicked whilst down.

I'm glad I can be so honest; some people even have trouble saying 'yes' when they mean 'no.' But it's really difficult when you are so honest and you do lay your heart out on the table and others just take a sledgehammer and pound it a couple of times as you watch your words and blood and compassion and thoughts get splattered on the wall, dripping slowly down as you sink deeper and deeper into self-doubt and guilt and depreciation. Morbid? Yes. But being honest? Even more so.

Things I Think About In The Shower

Today, like most Wednesdays, I took a shower. It was a nice shower, pretty typical of any other day, but I was sure to rinse the shampoo out of my hair really well since I usually forget and end up with greasy bits later on that I despise and wish I could wash out but then that would just be another shower so I live with it until I shower again which is usually every other day since showering a lot is supposedly damaging to your hair after all.

But I digress.

Today, as I recall, I was thinking about a lot of things during this little jaunt with the faucet. Here is my list of things I was thinking about:

1.

Prolific, yes? I could write a novel about it! Watch out Melville and Chopin, I am taking your books down!
But really, I can't remember a thing about that which I was thinking.

Maybe there's something about the feeling of water, running through your hair (greasy or not), caressing your brain, stimulating it to make it so that all the right areas are shooting off action potentials at the same time and leading to complete and utter understanding of the universe and how to solve illiteracy and how to make that boy in the grocery really fall in love with you and how to train a cat to fetch the paper while riding a skateboard. All of these incredible, life-changing thoughts that are just swimming through your head (pun partially intended) and you just know that you're going to remember them all and then you finish ridding yourself of all the soap residue and then... nothing.

I'm not entirely sure why this happens. It may be, as you step out of the little basin to fetch your towel, your brain telling you "hey, it's kind of cold out here," as if prioritizing how it's feeling. Doesn't it know that you just solved the impossible sudoku in the paper today that you hadn't even seen yet?! If my body can manage being exposed to the dreadful air for a few moments before snuggling up in a robe then it follows that my brain should take heed and do the same. Selfish. That's what I have to say about you, dearest brain.

So I propose to you, a theory of sorts. There is a possibility that showers in the winter cause more brain damage than those during the winter. I wonder these things (not while in the tub) and consider the idea that the air temperature is quite a bit colder in your presumably tiled bathroom (especially if your housemate/mother/dog likes to keep it at a colder temperature than it is outside), so I make the claim that winter showering is hazardous to your brain functioning because of the cold air. So my obvious solution is to shower only in the summer when you can step out into a watmer, more pleasant atmosphere.

I will test this theory out in six months. Hopefully I don't think of anything conclusive and mind-boggling when I'm showering.