Oh body, be glad. You are good goods.

What is the point of "what if"? Have had to imagine quite a few hypothetical situations recently, at the request of others.

Some serious, like "Hanna, if money and job was no object, what would you be doing right now?" Hate these questions. Oh those "I-will-now-perform-complex-psychoanalysis-on-your-character-and-this-will-elicit-a-bonding-experience" interrogations! First thought -- I'd be here I guess... I like math... uhhh... But at the risk of sounding boring and ambitiousless, I racked my brain for some hidden dream that everyone has and I should too. I suppose. Like wanting to save the whales, or start up a business, or go here and go there. So I start off on some incoherent tangent about how I wish I could live in a place with richer culture, diverse history, blah, blah blah. Unsatisfactory answer, nothing concrete, nothing that would provide insight. But I was bothered by the fact that this question had me so perplexed.

And then I realized, it's not me, it's that this question is implying a widespread underlying neuroticism. Why is it natural and so common to assume that everyone is unsatisfied? As if this is the natural order of life. That we are all bound up in chains and responsibilities, and everyone is secretly depressed and pining away for a great and filfilling future. Not me. Yeah, sure, there may be things I would change about my life. But minor. Minor. I don't have grand expectations, big dreams or wild fantasies. So shoot me. Does that mean I lack passion, drive, aspiration, a thirst for knowledge? That I am simple and limited? I live my life. I don't stall, I don't wait and I don't dwell. I savour. Why compare, why set myself up for dissapointment, why ask "what if"?

On a rather amusing note, I was also asked what my ideal chest size would be. My friends ask all the right questions, that's why I love them. The answer is mine, of course. Now my thoughts on this point would fill up volumes, but really, why is the body seen as a commodity? I am physical. I am not dissatisfied. My breasts have substance. That's all for now.

I have yielded

To the power of suggestion.

Seem to have more than usual to say lately, whatever happened to "better to be silent and be thought a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt"?

Ah well. I guess I can develop my newfound exhibitionist tendencies.