emily blakely

emily blakely
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self efficacy

Friday November 09, 2007

Im having another weekly occurance of despising every characteristic and physical feature about myself. Thankfully, rather than taking any responsibility and accountable action, I can simply lay the blame at my parents feet for these crippling states, (since I have undoubtedly adopted their leftovers.) Anyone reading this has to understand I am by far the most critical person you would/ will ever meet. And naturally, my criticism is expounded when I decide to turn it on myself.

So the hate is not limited to but lends itself to the following:

my brain
-I feel I am limited in its capacity and feel like an idiot for posting this post to the world

my composure
-I let people affect my mood far too easily, its a shame really.

my voice
-rather manish if I must say, someone recently described it as, authoritative…I’m sorry but how awful. Do I want to be a mouse? of course not, but somewhere in the middle would be nice.

my hair
-right now the cut is beyond awkward, I can’t elaborate too much for fear I will remind myself just how awkward it is and cripple myself to the point of immobility, thus preventing me from finishing my hate-tirade.

my nails
-always short and far from anything remotely elegant.

I love my cat Pushkin, this doesn’t have anything to do with anything Im writing really except for the fact he is laying right next to me looking excessively cute. I also want to add he is a mighty adorable little tiger. Im hoping he was delt a nice batch of kitty-karma in this life. (that is, if karma exists)

my teeth
-this requires essays full of adjectives of which I currently do not have the necessary wherewithal.

my feet
-certainly is not in proportion to my height.

my hip bones
-they protrude far too much and I always seem to run into tables, leaving them horribly bruised.

my bum
-there, I said it.

I should be forthright in also saying I don’t completely hate myself altogether, I just come pretty damn close. I still will always love my wrists, tummy, birthmark (on my tummy), and my clavicles, so, yes, I can find a few features to pull myself from the physical doldrum-pit.
Of course, I feel shallow, self-absorbed, exposed, and plainly human for having written all of the above. Im hoping this will somehow be cathartic in the end.
mmmmmmm…probably not I will more than likely finish off the hate list by conclusively hating the very essence of my being and myself and its entirety altogether.
Props for my consistency.

On a more serious note, I have obsessive compulsive needs to find and collect various charts, graphs, bookcovers, patterns and beautiful color theory piTures.
And rather than provide a picture of myself with this tirade, better to provide something unique, beautiful and inspiring…

etre deux
photo by:source

andres segovia
photo by:source

colorful post-its
photo by:source

petit
photo by:source

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