Because English-ing Is Hard

Everyone has always said that English is one of the hardest languages to learn. I highly disagree. I thought it was extremely easy. I "mastered" the language and got rid of my accent in two years (accent comes out the more I drink). Grammar isn't hard, English isn't hard. It's not hard. So it baffles me when native English speakers A) Suck at their own language and B) Ask me to tutor them.

Oh yes, you read that correctly. People who have been speaking English their entire lives have asked me, an ESL, to teach them how to properly English.

I know English is not a verb, but with the ways some native speakers use the language, it might as well be.

Here are a few lessons

You're and Your

A lot of people have problems with this one. I don't know why. It's not hard. If you're trying to describe someone, are at a place, etc., then, for the love of Hey-sus and all that is holy, use "you're." If you're still confused, then say the whole sentence. Don't even try to use your/you're. Use "you are." If you can say "you are," then you're safe to use "you're." Anytime you can say "you are," you can write "you're." Make sense? It should, because that's super Lamen's terms right there. 

"Your" is possessive. Most people don't own pretty or blue or pink. I mean, I'd like to think I own pretty, but I don't. You can't say, "your pretty," because no one owns pretty. It's "you're pretty/funny/awesome." 

Use "your" when you're saying, "Dude, your dog just bit my leg," or "your bike is pretty awesome." 

"There is a moment of victory when you realize you're your group's best speller, even though you're your group's token foreign kid." That, right there, is awesome grammar. 

Too and To

If you don't know when to use too/to, just think, "If I can say 'as well' or if something is of abundance, then I must use 'too.'" As in, "there is no such thing as too many bikes" or "that person sucks at grammar, too." 

I have a coping mechanism for this one, though. Every time a person uses "to" instead of "too," I always think that they're going to a place. For example, if someone writes to me, "Oh yeah, I had to much coffee," I always imagine that person going to a town called Much Coffee. In my head, I just see someone saying, "Onward to Much Coffee!!!"

If you confuse either too or to with two, then you need to go away. 

They're, There, and Their

They're is "they are." Just like "you're," if you can say "they are," then you're safe to use "they're." 

Think of "there" as more of a physical way of using it, such as being at a place ("over there") or how much of something you have ("there are five puppies"). 

Their is much like "your." They effin' own it. Own. It. "Their pony just pooped on my garden because I have shitty grammar. Even a pony has better grammar than me." (Every single pun has been intended.)

A Lot

I'm not even going to try to be cute or funny with this one. A lot is two fucking words, okay? It's not alot, allot, alaut (seriously!?) or anything of the sort. Seriously, people. It's two damn words. Always has, always will be. I promise that "a lot" didn't get changed into two words by some asshole just to fuck with you. It's always been two words. Two. You never say abunch, alittle, or afew. Nope. You say "a bunch," "a little," or "a few." It's simple. It's two words. Stop being an asshole and use "a lot" properly. 

Every coping mechanism has failed for this one. 

English is Hard :(

I understand that I'm very picky about grammar, but dammit, if I learned how to speak the language at 12-years-old, a native speaker should have a firmer grasp than me on grammar/spelling. That's not the case. It seems that people who are ESL know more about the language, history, and geography of this country. Get your shit together, guys!

I'm probably writing this entry because I kind of have a writer's block and I need some material to write about. I should ask people what I ought to write about next. Plus, I can draw pictures. 

Now, go study your English and quit sucking at grammar. 

Watts

Training with power has to be one of the most frustrating things ever. I look down at my Garmin and numbers are jumping all over the place. The first time I rode with the power meter was extremely distracting. I kept staring at the numbers, which was a bad thing because I was riding around Lake Tahoe. The jumping around made me go "wtf?" so I had to ask one of my buddies, a very experienced rider who knows what the hell he's doing and has trained with power, what the hell was going on.

Here are the main reasons why I get very frustrated:
1) I keep fucking up my zones because, apparently, I forgot how to math.
2) Numbers are jumping all over the place.
3) I don't have the attention span to keep focused on a zone.

I've wondered how my coach deals with me. The simple fact that he can deal with an athlete with the attention span of a humming bird on crack is amazing. Add the fact that he actually helped me achieve my goals for the year. All of them. I think he deserves a medal.

The most frustrating part it probably having to keep the focus to stick to a zone. Since I'm in base miles right now, I'm mostly riding at endurance pace. I basically have to go faster on the flats and slower on the hills to keep my watts in the correct zone. Basically, I'm riding the parts that I'm better at (flats) faster and getting them over with at a quicker pace and staying on what I hate (hills) for longer, just suffering. Forever. Or until the hill is over, but it feels like forever. Plus a half.

As of right now, I'm not sure how much training with power will benefit me over not training with power. I've only done base miles with it. I'll admit that I'm pretty excited to see the numbers that my sprint puts out. My coach says it'll help a bunch, so I'll have to trust him.

The Non Fair-Weather Rider

I hate cold weather, and by cold weather, I mean that I hate anything that's below 85 degrees. I shiver too much and I'm miserable. So, when it comes to winter riding, I definitely have to put my big girl bibs on and ride my bike anyway. Apparently I'm not smart enough to be a fair-weather rider.

Most people have the sense to ride the trainer. I feel that the trainer sucks the soul and happiness out of you, so I avoid it, even if it means that I have to ride in the rain. I'll ride in a storm (unless it's a really bad one), I'll ride in wind, I'll ride in heavy rain or freezing temperatures. The only time I won't ride is if the wind is going 80mph or if there is thunder and lightning.

I know that when I ride in the rain, it's going to be miserable. One of my cunning plans was to pre-soak myself. If I was going to get wet, I'm just going to beat the rain to it. So I grabbed the hose and hosed myself down.

It back-fired, because the weather man lied to me. I was just soaked and cold. It was windy and cloudy, but it never rained. Fuck you, weather man.

That taught me a lesson on trying to outsmart Mother Nature. I then got a rain jacket. California doesn't give me much of a chance to use it, however, so I always end up misplacing it and not wearing it for the first couple of rainy rides. That also sucks, because I end up looking like a wet rat.

Actually, I think I end up looking like this guy:

At some point, I realize that I'll never be happy in cold and/or rainy weather, so I might as well make the best of it. If I keep saying that I love to ride in crappy weather, I'll eventually believe it, right? It worked for climbing (I always remember my friend, George, saying, "I love to climb!") so it should also work for crappy weather. One of the problems in crappy weather, however, is that the wind tends to blow me around everywhere. That's slightly terrifying. Another problem? People cannot, for the life of them, drive in bad weather. Seriously, Californians. What the fuck is your problem!? So, I'm afraid for my life. I'm already afraid for my life in great weather when I ride on the road by myself, add the poor weather to it and I'm pretty much asking for my death. Clearly, death doesn't stop me from riding my bike. Genius. 

After the ride, I'm cranky and squishy. Have you ever ridden in pouring rain for a few hours? You get squishy, you gain 23 pounds, and you're so cold that you start stripping in the garage because those clothes are making your life miserable. Why would we do this? Are we really this stupid? We don't actually love a hobby that much to suffer through this crap, right?

We run to the shower and make it as hot as possible, and in the shower (since we know that that's where we do most of our meaningful thinking) we say that we'll never do a stupid ride like this ever again... except that when we get out, we start getting our kit and bike ready for the next day, because as shitty as it was, we always have a good time on our bike. 

Distance Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

Someone asked my why I didn't believe the saying "Distance (or absence) makes the heart grow fonder." I'll tell you! People think that time apart will make you miss the other person, whether that person is your partner or friend. That's not entirely true. We experience the saying's untruthfulness so much in our lives yet we're still blind to it. It makes no sense, right?

There are things that make the heart grow fonder, otherwise people wouldn't start forming relationships with others. Welcome to the proximity effect. The more we see and talk to a person, the fonder we grow of them. Of course there is more to this; you don't just fall in love with a person you talk to every day. I talk to a lot of friends every day but I'm not in love with them. However, I'm a lot closer with the friends whom I speak to every day, whether it's via social media, in person, or text/phone.

Take for example the bus experiment. People who took a certain bus at the same time every day were observed. People saw each other every day, even if it was just that, seeing the person. There wasn't much communication between people and most didn't have a relationship outside of being bus-mates (is that a term? It is now!), yet when one of them didn't show up, that person was actually missed by the others. All because everyone on the bus saw that individual every single day.

  

Now, if a person can be missed just because he/she is simply seen every day, imagine how much we'd miss a person whom we interact with every single day. A person we text, call, ride bikes, walk, run, hug, etc. with. We'd really miss that person.

However, after a few days of the bus person not showing up, the others missed the individual less, and eventually didn't miss him/her. Distance didn't make the heart grow fonder at all. Distance made that person out of sight, therefore out of mind.

Obviously the "out of sight, out of mind" would take longer than a few days to happen with a person we have a more personal relationship with than just being bus-mates (we're going to make this term happen, people!), but it's still the same logic behind it. Eventually, the distance will make the person go out of your mind. Ever been friends with someone serving in the military? A lot of them lose their significant other due to the distance (but that's a deeper issue than simple proximity).

We're social creatures. We need interaction, whether it's emotional, mental, or physical. However, if you have a spouse that has to be gone for weeks or months at a time (think military), then that's something you have to work out with your spouse. It's more than doable, you just have to be willing to work at it.

Exposure also eventually leads to someone's "true colors." Sometimes you meet someone, they're extremely nice, treat you like a gem, and, six months later, you realize that the person puts batshit in batshit crazy.

Crap.

That exposure eventually leads to you not liking that person, therefore breaking off whatever relationship you have with him/her. Remember, this works in any type of relationship, though a lot of studies have been done in the proximity exposure of love. It's as if psychologists are trying to figure out why our common sense leaves us when we meet someone we fancy.

Without exposure, we never know. Even if it's simple good morning or good night texts, or a hello, movie nights, going out to a beer tavern, or walking around downtown, it's a matter of knowing if you can get along with the person, whether it's romantic or platonic, and you can't get to know a person unless you're frequently exposed to them.

This, of course, is all in Lamen's terms. Nothing is this simple. Just being exposed to someone isn't going to make you hate or love them; it's just the start of a something much deeper than a kiddy pool.

Pink Helmet

I love obnoxiously bright colors. I like them to be as obnoxious as me. My helmet was a gonner when I had an intimate three-way with the asphalt and my bike at Fast and Furious earlier this year, so I took that as an opportunity to get the helmet I really, really wanted; a hot pink Rudy project. I debated for a while if I wanted to get a helmet that matched my bike or my kit. Obviously, I decided to go with a helmet that matched my bike.

After a week of riding with my cracked helmet and racing with a borrowed one, my new helmet finally came.

I took my bran-spakin' new helmet out of the box and it nearly blinded me. Perfect. It was just as bright and obnoxious as I hoped it would be. I don't know of many people who get really excited over something bright. I guess that when you have a simple life, simple things make you really, really happy. And this helmet made me really happy.

With the pink helmet comes a lot of exposure. Everyone recognizes me. People can probably see me from miles away, in the dark, and with their eyes closed. Not only is my helmet recognizable, so is my bike (there are 3 pink Grammos in this area). On every ride, I hear a lot of "Hey, Kasea!" or people (nicely) honking at me on the roads. Not only that, I've had a few people actually pull over to cheer me on or to say hello to me. The support is awesome.

I mean, really. How cool is it to have someone pull over just so they can say hi to you? I think that's pretty awesome, but then again, the little things are what make me ridiculously happy.

Hey, at least I know that if a car ever hits me, the "I didn't see her" excuse won't fly.

I'll also admit that being called "Pink Helmet" is a lot better than being called "Bad Touch."

Thanksgiving

Well, it's Thanksgiving. I could have sworn that this year was shorter than past years. Every year seems to go by faster. Whatever.

I decided that I wanted to write this because I have a lot to be thankful for. Even though there have been some really hard moments, there's always something good in them. I don't want to seem like an ungrateful prick and I want to give thanks to those who have been so awesome in my life.

- My parents. They've been there for me in the best of times and the worst of times. They've been the support and discipline that has shaped me into the person I am now. I know that my most recent decision scared them at first (Master Plan... I may explain that once it's actually settled), but what good parents wouldn't be nervous when their child, no matter what age, drops that news onto them? They thought about it, saw my point of view, and realized that it's a good move for me and supported a very difficult decision.

- My best friends, Asa and Frank, and non-intimate life-partner, Dan. When I need help, someone to lean on, or a shoulder to cry on, they're there, and they know exactly how to put a smile on my face within minutes. They also put up with my shenanigans. A lot of my shenanigans. I'm sure they know that I'll always be there for them whenever they need me.

- My bike for keeping me sane and in shape.

- Socks.

- Puppies. They're so cute!

- My hockey family. What would I do without them? Without them, there would be no drunken movie night shenanigans or fun hockey games to go to!

- My horse for being the best thing that ever happened to me.

- Even though I had to say good-bye to my dog, Sierra, I'm thankful that I was able to have her as a best friend for 14 years. She was an amazing dog. No one will replace her.

- I'm thankful that I was smart enough to realize that burning some bridges is a good thing. 

- Cupcakes.

- All of the amazing people in my life.

- Coffee.

- Cuddle Puddles :)

- The people I've met through cycling and the people I have yet to meet. 

- Electric blankets, because I definitely love them in the winter. 

Okay, I know this is just a bullet-point entry and there's not a lot of pictures on it, but I've got food to eat and the people I'm supposed to entertain are going to get here soon, so I should probably get dressed and make myself look somewhat decent. I have a lot more to be thankful for, though. Just because I didn't mention it/them doesn't mean that I'm not thankful for it/them. Thank you, to everyone, for making my life so awesome!

Just so you don't think I didn't try at all, here's a picture of a turkey:

You're welcome. 

Research In Africa: Sleep Deprivation

(Note: I wrote this when I was extremely sleep deprived. I kept it to see if it made any sense. I think I was on to something. I'm not sure what, but I was on to something.)

Late nights are difficult. I haven't been able to sleep for some reason. I like my sleep, I was getting good sleep for a long time without any sleeping aids (Insomnia sucks, kids. Stay away from it!), but lately it's been a lot more difficult to get good sleep. And it's not as if my body says, "Oh, dude, you couldn't sleep until 3am? We'll wake up at 8. At least you'll have five hours of shitty sleep." Nope. My body keeps its 5:30am wake-up call. Prick.

The most difficult part is when your brain decides to bring up the past. It's as if it wants to you remember everything that happened. Why? What's the point, Brain? It doesn't do any good, it just brings up memories that won't let me go to freakin' sleep. It's almost as if my brain thinks that I will benefit from thinking about everything that has gone right or wrong in my life at 2:30am... because I can do so much about it at that time.

My brain decides to say, "Hey, remember that one time back in like, 2004, and how much it sucked? Let's think about that again."

"No, Brain. Shut up."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

The whole night is like that. My brain won't go away. It keeps talking to me and bringing up stupid memories that it doesn't know are stupid, because it's just a stupid brain that doesn't care about anything but keeping me up at night. Hey, Brain! I'm a college graduate. There's no reason for you to keep me up like you used to before a huge midterm. 

"You know what you never did? You never went to Africa to do research!"

"Why are you so obsessed with Africa, Brain?"

"Fuck you, you suck. Go to Africa and do research!"

It's a back and forth banter that never ends. At least it doesn't until I get too tired to reply to my brain as if it were a completely different person than me. I blame being tired on that. 

Of course, when I finally drift off into a half-sleep, the house alarm computer thing decides to start beeping. What? Why, alarm? Why did you wake me up? It wasn't even good sleep, so there was no reason for you to hate me or whatever alarms do to slumbering people. Nope. It was a half-assed sleep that I couldn't get a full hold of. 

Then my brain started another celebration or something until it finally got tired. It was like a 3-year old child on too much sugary Red Bull who then crashed. I don't remember falling asleep and I don't remember what my brain was panicking about; I just remember that my brain wanted to make me nostalgic for some odd reason. Or telling me that I suck because I didn't do my research in Africa. (Seriously. Why does research in Africa always come up!?). 

Everything feels better once I wake up, however, because I know my brain is just doing late-night ramblings. I think that next time I'm going to sedate it with Benadryl... 

Why One Shouldn't Date the Other

When you're as passionate about a sport like I am (in my case two, but I'm not here to one-up you or anything), you realize that if you want to have a healthy romantic relationship, you either have to date someone who shares the same passion or date someone who is understanding of your complete psycho addiction to your sport. That person has to understand that you have to put hours and hours of training, and when you're not training, you're most likely racing. Your partner has to realize that your bike is most likely going to get more ass than he/she is.

After dating different people, I've found that I definitely like dating cyclists. I like to be able to ride with my partner, go to his races to cheer him on, and go to cycling events together. However, after trial and error, I realized the type of cyclist I prefer to date. Well, have to date in order to have a healthy relationship.

I'm clearly a roadie. I love racing criteriums above everything else, though the occasional road or mountain bike races are fun. I've been told by many people that I'm a "roadie with the attitude of a mountain biker." I don't know what that means. I've chosen to take it as a compliment, so whenever someone says that, even if they mean it as an insult, I feel complimented. Because I'm a fairly Type B person, I tend to like fairly laid back people, though I've been known to get along with the Type A's. I'm pretty Type B unless I'm asking you to keep your bike out of registration.

It's no doubt that I like dating mountain bikers more. The last couple of times that I've dated roadies or wannabe roadies, it's been a disaster. Training is more about fun for me. I'm an amateur cyclist; always have and always will be, but these guys started training as if they were pros. Yes, I stick to my training program as much as I can and I have a coach, but I won't do it if it's not fun. For these guys, training got too serious, and when they weren't seeing results, when they weren't placing well, and when I started getting stronger than them, it became a problem. A big problem. As if I had just kicked their mother, killed their dog, and punched them in their manhood. 

Yikes.

So, it became clear as day that if I wanted to date a cyclist, I'd have to date either someone with the same mentality as me or someone who races a completely different discipline. Both work. If you have another super laid back roadie (think cyclocross), then you've got a good pair. A mountain biker works, too, because if they ever ride on the road, it's just to keep their fitness up. A cyclocross racer can go either way because that's how they roll.

But even though I like dating the chill, laid back type of person, I also enjoy watching my partner race in crits. It's fun to go to the same event and cheer each other on, and if you're like me, you can heckle the hell out of a rider. 

I'll admit, going to mountain bike and cyclocross races are a lot of fun, too.

I don't know how to draw.

Either way, the dynamic has to work. There has to be enough respect. If you're both crit sluts, then you have to realize that sometimes you have a good year and your partner has a bad one and vice versa. If your partner has a good year, though, you can't hold that against him/her. That's just asking for trouble. Encourage your partner and change your plan so you stop sucking.

Basically, I'm a low-maintenance roadie who likes beer and dirt. As long as we have that and enough respect and we cheer heckle each other at races, all is good in the world of Miss Kay. 

Oh... Triathletes need to stick with one another. No one likes them.

Birds and Trauma

Since I've talked about things I really dislike, such as raisins, I figured I would make another confession. I hate birds. Yup. I would much rather see a raisin farm (from really far away) than hold a bird.

That's not true. I think I hate raisins more. I don't know; it's pretty close.

It wasn't always that way. When I was a kid, I really, really wanted a cockatiel. I don't know why. Future me didn't realize I was going to regret wanting a pet bird. I underestimated how psychotic birds can be. Actually, I didn't estimate it at all because I was an ignorant child who stupidly wanted a pet bird.

In 6th grade, I went to Sly Park for a camping or whatever field trip you want to call it. A week long trip was a pretty big deal back then, especially since I still didn't speak very good English. My parents came to visit me and told me that they had a surprise for me. My mom started making chirping noises (my weirdness is making more and more sense, huh?) and I got all excited and was like "holycrapyougotmeacockatielthatissofreakingcool" except I said it in Spanish and not in those exact words because I didn't know that vocabulary yet, but I was all excited. My mom said no, that they were parakeets and they weren't tame.

I think you can see where this is going.

Those birds were loud. I mean, LOUD. I don't know how else to describe it besides saying that they were fucking loud as hell. But whatever. I just lost sleep. What 11-year old needs that shit? None, except every child so they can grow up to be normal and productive members of society. (Thanks for making me into a weird and productive member of society, parents. You got 50% of it!)

On my 12th birthday, though, they decided to take me to a pet store to buy a cockatiel because I really, really wanted one. I chose the bird that was sleeping in its food dish because I thought it would be totally cool and hilarious to have a weird bird. I mean, c'mon, it was sleeping in its food dish. The pet store people put him in a paper bag with holes so the bird could breathe. The bird was hissing at me the whole way home. When we got home, I tried to take him out of the paper bag, and the asshole bit me. After getting bit several times by this hand fed and totally tame bird, I decided to go to Plan B and rip the bag so I could grab the bird. That worked. Sort of.

For a while he was pretty normal, except that he was afraid of sticks and his birdie jungle gym, would fight with fruit, and was afraid of the phone ringing. I had never owned a cockatiel, so I wasn't sure if this was normal or not, (just so you know, it's not) so I just went along with it. He was my buddy for a while; he'd sit on my shoulder while I did homework and then he would eat my homework. I had a lot of teachers ask me why my homework had chew marks on it but whatever; they just judged me anyway. Weird foreign kid...

The parakeets made Eddie really loud and obnoxious; he copied every noise they made. At that time, Eddie was a free-range bird, so every time that the phone rang he'd fly (or tried to; we clipped his feathers) in a panic. Or if he saw fruit, he'd try to COME AT ME BRO but would lose because when the fruit rolled away, he'd freak out and try to fly away in a panic again. Jesse and Joey were not free-range birds because they weren't tame. My mom would put their cage outside so they could make some Vitamin D or something.

One day, when I came home from school, my mother told me that a gust of wind blew Jesse and Joey's cage down and they escaped. I asked her if she thought that they would come back and she responded with, "No. They're probably going to die soon." (My mother has always been very frank about everything. When I asked her where babies came from, she told me it was from the butt [to keep it simple for a 5-year old]. My first sex ed. class was very confusing. All I knew is that the teacher had it all wrong. Don't worry... I figured it out.)

Things didn't get better with Eddie once Jesse and Joey committed suicide. Eddie kept freaking out about more things and decided that randomly attacking stuff was good fun. My German Shepherd/Chow mix was afraid of the bird. The other dog, Bandit, a Shiz Tsu/Toy Collie mix didn't care because he had the COME AT ME BRO complex, too. Eddie kept attacking everything and everyone. He also ate the paint off the wall. Maybe that had something to do with his craziness... I don't know. I didn't eat paint off the wall when I was a kid (or now). The bird was psycho; he even peacocked my horse! (This is a true story. When Eddie was still not as psycho, I took him to the barn when I was a kid one day to feed my horse his grain. My horse doesn't like feathers. Yeah...)

After several paint incidents, Eddie stopped being a free-range bird.

Fast forward a few years and a kitten was introduced to the house. The kitten was mesmerized by the bird because, duh, she's a fucking cat and she likes to hunt and shit. She jumped on the cage once. Once. Eddie had none of that nonsense and attacked the kitten. The kitten will no longer go near that bird. Even he's too crazy for the psycho cat.

Not only is Eddie psycho, likes to eat paint, attacks huge dogs, and scares kittens, but he's a chronic masturbator. No one believed me until they actually saw it for themselves. When you're 14-years old and you see this happening, it's not cool. Actually, it still isn't. I mean, what the hell!?

And it's not like I can just avoid birds. Birds live outside and shit on everything we love. I also housesit for a couple of friends, one who has an aviary with 12 birds and another one who has a single bird that I think was dropped as an egg or something because he's so weird. I don't touch the ones in the aviary; I just feed them. The single bird gets to come out of its cage when I housesit, but I use a chopstick. No way will I let a bird's clammy feet touch me!

There are several reasons why I dislike birds now. They're loud, they destroy things, they attack people/things, they have clammy feet, some are chronic masturbators, they bite, they have bird dandruff that fills the room and makes me sneeze, they molt, some have deep psychological issues, they shit on your stuff, eat your homework, mock you with their flying abilities, fight with you, threaten your safety, attack dogs, scare kittens, and eat paint off the walls. I think the biggest trauma for me was Eddie, though. That bird just fucked it up for every other bird in the world.

When it comes to birds, most people see this,

Thanks to Eddie, I see this,

Evaluations, Reevaluations, and Missiles

Every year, without fail, I have a birthday. No, bear with me. And every year, without fail, I have the "Shit shit, guys! I'm a year older and what the fuck am I doing with myself?!" While I'm not doing badly at all for a 25-year old, I still get the feeling that I could have gone to Africa or Europe (I don't know) and have done some psychological research or something. But I'm still in good ol' California, running my own business. Which is not a bad thing at all.

My brain likes to screw with me, though. It starts to freak out for no reason. For a few days, my poor little brain feels as if the world is going to collapse onto it. My rational mind tries to tell it to calm down because the sky isn't going to fall anytime soon, but my poor little brain just says, "Fuck you! Yes it is!" and begins to weep. (Or at least what I imagine a weeping brain would look like... I'm not really sure. What does a weeping brain look like? Gross.)

Still gross.

I re-evaluate my life at that point. I start to weed out the people who were not very awesome during the year. It's kind of an advantage to have my birthday at the end of the year (except for sports, enrolling in school, and pretty much everything else in life), because I can just be all, "Oh hey, for 11 months you were a really shitty person, so I'm just going to delete you from my life." I have eleven months of evidence, you guys! It justifies my decision. Deleting from my life really means that I just delete the person from Facebook and ignore any calls or text messages I get from the person. I don't know if that's the right way to go about it, but I guess it has worked in the past. I think it has.

Crap. Now I don't know.

I'm just going to go with yes. I'm pretty good at ignoring stuff. I blame it on growing up in a chaotic home and always fighting with my cousins (I mean punching and scratching and everything like that). It's helped me clean up my act in the past (the ignoring, not the fighting). You get rid of people who bring a lot of negativity in your life. Unfortunately, if you're like me, you tend to attract a lot of bat-shit crazy people. I blame the fact that I'm a psychologist, cyclist, and horsewoman. That's three types of crazy people and I don't know how much longer my poor world can take it. I'm sure it'll be another sixty years, but you never know. That's still a lot of crazy.

Then I feel guilty that I deleted and ignored those people. But if I keep them in my life, it's sensory overload and my brain starts to panic as if someone fired a bunch of missiles and we're all going to die!

So then I just delete and ignore those people anyway because my rational mind tells me that I'll probably get over it after a nap. So I take a nap and don't remember that I made any of those decisions until I open my laptop and check my Facebook. And my phone getting messages such as, "WTF Y DID U DELETE ME??? :( :(" I guess I could say because of your shitty grammar but I just go back to taking a nap or lol'ing at pictures of cats and ponies on the internet. 

I will never understand how people cannot laugh at pictures like that. 

Either way, after a few panicked days (and by panicked I mean that I ran around in panicked circles and hit my coffee table because I didn't know what the hell I was doing), I feel better. Sometimes I sit in the corner of my bed and sob uncontrollably for absolutely no reason, but I feel better the morning after. I then realize that I have nothing to freak out about and that I'm doing perfectly okay for my age. I have a few things I have to take care of for my future, but that stuff is in the works right now, and that's good; at least it's all going somewhere. Progress. 

This sometimes happens a couple of times before my birthday actually hits. It's kind of a panic --> panic --> panic --> shitshitshitshit --> sob --> calm --> yay! --> uncomfortable feeling --> panic --> [...]

I think you get the idea. You guys are intelligent human beings. I think that my brain needs to do a cycle like that every once in a while so it can refresh and continue being a productive organ in my life, kind of like my heart... or liver (who is a total champ). 

I've concluded that my brain is just a fucking asshole.