Self Conscious Stupidity

As a girl, for some stupid reason I am pre-programmed to have embedded body image issues. Every girl seems to. Something in our brains tells us our skin is too pale, or our butts are too big, or that our stomach is too flabby, that our nose is the wrong shape, that our ankles are too fat, that stretch marks are ugly and shameful, or that our thighs are too big. I personally struggle with that last one. It is an aspect of myself I tend to try to hide, that I think everyone notices, and not in a good way... My thighs take up more mental thought than any body part should in a normal humans brain. They are the first aspect I worry about when I put an outfit on in the morning. It's hard for me to find any pants I like to see my thighs in. I can't seem to not be self conscious of them. Even though I know they are normal sized, and frankly look fine in jeans to anyone else with a pulse on this planet! And the crazy part is I know I'm crazy! Deep down I know the other people at the gym, the other people at church and in class don't care. I am aware how stupid it is to hate my thighs even after my sweet boyfriend says he likes them as he grazes his hand over them when we sit next to each other. I want to embrace my thighs the way he does, but can't seem to. Shouldn't his assurance be the ultimate affirmation that there's no reason to be self conscious about them!?

Why can I know a thought I'm having be stupid, yet proceed to think that hurtful self image sort of thought on a daily basis. Why can I not see myself the way my boyfriend can? Why do I allow the crazy to overtake the logic? 

I KNOW I'm not the only girl who struggles with this. I would venture to say every girl has their own "thigh" issue. It just may not be their thighs per say. 

It's annoying being a girl sometimes... I hate that I hate parts of my body...

I dropped my pen...

Today in history class I dropped my pen, entering into a battle I am not unfamiliar with as this sort of thing is a regular and usually uneventful occurrence. So here is a detailed description and over dramatization of my thought process and act of getting my pen back in the middle of class.
I sit here staring at the pen, I can still hear the echo of the pen crashing to the ground, as if it took up the room and now everyone's attention is now diverted to me and my disobedient writing utensil. I survey the peers around me and none seem to even notice this momentary cataclysmic event that just took place… phew… The pen sits there, looming nothing short of 12 inches away from my foot in front of me. Just laying there beneath the obviously hung over frat guy seated in the seat in front of me. My initial reaction is to extend my left foot out to violently retract the pen back to my vicinity so I can scoop it back up into my hand. Forcefully drag it along the ground as if to punish it and make it regret its costly misstep. But as hard as I try my leg can't stretch that far… I curse all those nights I spent complaining about growing pains as a kid, I obviously didn't have enough of those nights! There is this stupid desk protruding my abdomen and stoping the mass portion of my body from leaning far enough forward to even get my foot in the pen's region. With each failing attempt it's as if the space dividing the pen and I grows, the air between us becomes thicker. Time passes and at this point I've stopped observing whatever the teacher is lecturing on… The slides on the board whiz by and all my mental energy is held captive by this piece of ink incapsulating plastic that fell prey to gravity's unforgiving ways. I take a moment to regroup my frantic left lower limb and take a minute to examine my right hand, questioning its usually dependable grasp on objects I so trustingly place in it. Mentally blaming it for all this trouble I am now dealing with…
I am forced to remove the notebook and empty coffee cup from atop my desk, and awkwardly juggle those items while I lift the desk portion of the chair out of my way, leaving it to balance upright in the tight space between me and this blonde kid next to me. I then proceed to bend my torso down and lean forward enough to get my hands on the pen. Initial contact is made with the rouge possession. This is one small step for hand, but one large step for hand kind. (I couldn't help myself there, it was an achievement to say the least) With the pen barely balancing between my middle finger and index finer I resurface victorious. Mission complete.

Yes, I was that bored in class today that I wrote this after I got my pen back :)

Cadaver Lab Adventures

So I touched a dead body yesterday… I touched it's skin, pealed that back and touched its muscle, pealed that back and touched the bone and the attachment sites of the muscles. I touched the tendons, and the once critical-to-life arteries.
It was terrifying, gross, humbling, nauseating, and sadly required… As a kinesiology student in Anatomy we have to participate in cadaver labs as part of the class. This was our first lab out of four over the course of the semester that we will do. We looked at all the posterior muscle of the body.
It was the most stereotypical cadaver lab you can think of… We walk into the sketchy basement of the medical building, walk into a room full of body bags on tables, crowd around the designated one in the middle, unzip it, and have the instructor dig right into the lab, casually unwrapping the muscles and having us examine them. My instructor was way to excited to do this lab… Nobody should be that excited to open up a cadaver… The smell was probably the hardest part of it all, I get sick just writing about it, so I'm jut going to leave it at that.
Thankfully it was only an hour of my day. I was able to book it out of there and go take a thorough shower! I do not enjoy those labs… I never will. But it is something I just have to get over and do in order to get through this class. School is more and more becoming full of things I have to do just to get through than things I want to do. Cadaver lab just puts a face to that fact, literally…. :/