I heard you fuck through the wall

I wonder how many people do things that disgust themselves almost every day.

Example: I watch a lot of porn. "Pornogratherapy"* might be an accurate title for it. I watch it on a pretty regular basis, but I would say I watch it considerably more than the typical teenage female, though I can't be certain of that considering so few people (minus my close friends who all seem to be in the same boat as I) admit to watching it, or even admit to masturbating (but that's an entirely different rant that I could go on...). Anyways, basically: I've watched it often for the last nine or ten years. Whenever we started getting internet in my house and I accidentally typed in some words I saw on TV, then added ".com" and received intriguing results. And in the days of endless pop-ups, these inital websites always led to more. I was extremely curious in a semi-innocent way (because it was more of an exploratory type of thing for me rather than sexual). It was always exciting to see all these words that I didn't know yet and all these bodies doing things that I didn't quite understand, but I knew that they looked fucking thrilled to be doing whatever they were doing, so it had to be amazing and fantastic and someday, I wanted to do those things.

Anyways, cut to the future: I now still enjoy it, but in the past two years, I've occasionally experienced this peculiar feeling of disgust. It's not as though I get shameful of myself, but suddenly, I feel disgusted with the act of looking at pornography. It makes me sickened and feels filthy. I cannot concentrate on it and therefore move on to some other daily activity that's better suited to my conscience at the time. It's just odd that I am morally completely in favor of the production and distribution of consentual porn, but I very abruptly get sickened by it to the point where I get frustrated with myself for having included it in my routine for so long.

Odd.


*Thanks, ETID.



On a side note, I am getting rather chubby. And as much as I hate running, this may have to ensue. I've been an exact size 10 for about three years (with a few months of fluctuation in 2006), and I'd like to stay that size and not have to run out and buy new shit because I can't keep my hand out of the cookie jar. Meh, that's a little harsh, I guess. But basically: I don't really care what my weight's number is; I care that I can still fit in my own clothes and not feel like I'm going to burst. So, this spring break week, I plan on eating less (which shouldn't be hard given that I have no fridge and the dining hall is closed all week) and walking as much as possible. Plans, plans.

Speaking of plans, I'm driving up with Mike on Tuesday to Santa Cruz to visit Heidi (probably) and then coming back sometime this weekend. Word. I need to get some shit done before next Monday. Damnit.