Why I absolutely hate the saying "Carpe Diem"

I have been a quite paranoid person ever since I was a small child: being a hypochondriac I am constantly convinced that either my family/friends or I have different types of cancer, I worry that people I love will die in car/plane/hipster bike-crashes, I worry that my apartment will catch fire when I'm not home, I worry that my cats will somehow hang themselves in my dirty laundry - to keep it short, I worry. I've spoken of my worries to a lot of different people, friends as well as professionals, and they all say the same thing: Carpe Diem - capture the day. However, this has never been a comforting help; on the contrary, it just pisses me off. Saying things like "Live like it's your last day" doesn't really help my fear of death - it fucking exacerbates it! Telling me "So, I heard you're afraid of death, so I want you to believe that you're going to die within 24 hours" IS NOT A GOOD IDEA. It's like the worst episode of 24 ever - If I would live each day as if it was my last, I would spend it all crying, rocking back and forth in my shower, eating everything in sight. I would be a complete mess, not in any way liberated. I wouldn't only capture the day; I would capture it, keep it locked up in a well and go all "It puts the lotion in the basket or it gets the hose again" on it. And regarding Carpe Diem - there are things you really shouldn't do, capturing the day or not: people use it as an excuse to do all sorts of stupid things, as if it would be some sort of an enlightened path to inner peace.

- "What? You don't want to use mescaline while babysitting because you might accidentally but the baby in the oven? Come on, live a little! Carpe Diem!"
- "What? You don't feel like trying that new choking-yourself-whilst-touching-yourself-with-mayonaise-game?  Dude, Carpe Diem!"
-"What? You're not into human extermination using a combination of Cyklon B and contained spaces? Mein freude, Carpe Diem!"

OK, I might be exaggerating just a teeny tiny bit, but I just can't stand some of the things people call "living life to the fullest". I know I won't be happier by staying indoors, stay away from all sharp objects and only eat veggies, but I really don't - anyone who's seen me eat half a kilo of marzipan in an hour knows I won't have a very long life, but taking giant risks is not part of living - it's part of dying prematurely for absolutely nothing. I live everyday to the fullest by spending time with my best friends, doing stupid things that won't lead to me lying dead in a gutter and I'm happy - I know I could die tomorrow, and I fucking hate it, but I can still be happy today. I don't need to be told to go skydiving, bungee-jumping or try food that might kill you or at least insult your mother: today, I'll buy a different brand of pasta. Watch me live on the edge.

I'm like Terminator. If Terminator had lactose intolerance.

I've had the worst tooth-ache for several days and finally got a dentist appointment, only to find out that I will have to replace two of my teeth with porcelain replicas. Not something in gold that might give me that sexy pirate-with-pmt-vibe, but porcelain ones. I feel like a cyborg, but not the cool kind - more like the one they use in schools to practice CPR. Anyway, the reason I've been absent from blogging for a while is that I was kidnapped. By terrorists. Or by awesome cable TV and being constantly semi-sick, I can't remember which one. The problem is that films have implanted an idea that diseases in some way are romantic, dramatic and capable of making people painstakingly pale and beautiful. This is lies and boulderdash: there is no way that one could be sexy whilst having vast amounts of mucus cascading out of one's nose and throat, and instead of the Victorian noble woman exhausted by restrictive corsets fainting on a divan, you lie curled up under six blankets yelling at your boyfriend to fetch you some more chocolate pudding because YOU ARE FUCKING DYING. I've always wondered how the traditional romantic "the hero is dying from a chronic disease that only makes him paler and turns him into Val Kilmer" disease-films would look if you simply switched the sexy diseases for the less sexy, more realistic ones - how would the romance in Moulin Rouge turn out if Satine was plagued with stomach flu instead of tuberculosis? Would Philadelphia be as heartbreaking if Andrew was dying from pancreatic cancer? Would Rain Man be so sweet if he suffered from tourettes, or the Phantom of the Opera so hot if the reason he was hiding his face was due to the fact that he suffered from bad acne? Would Baudelaire still be as mysterious if he had obesity fat flaps instead of syphilis? Would the fainting ladies of the 19th century still be as daunting if they had incontinence? My point is that sickness is incapable of being sexy, and that's how it should be: diseases kill us in the end, and dying isn't sexy or romantic or noble, despite how desperately we want it to be that way.

I'm not sure what purpose this post is supposed to have, I'm just sick and depressed and fed up with having to see the film and book-industry feeding off of depression and diseases - Goethe was a big attention whore who ruined the calm sanctity of depression for everyone.

The worst thing is that my sadness isn't heartbreaking or deep or eternal, it just makes me crave a lot of white bread. This is so going into my screenplay "Loathing and bread loafs" - a 19th century drama between a poor, dying painter and his carbohydrates. I'm going to be rich.

Yes. Our relationship is exactly like game of thrones.

Me after watching Game of Thrones too many times: Wow, Daenerys Targaryen eats an entire horse heart in order to prove her love for her husband.Why won't you eat an entire heart to prove your love to me?
Boyfriend: Hang on, I ate mozzarella last night for you.
Me: You are truly a dothraki soldier.
Boyfriend: I really don't like cheese.

The sacrifices are endless.

This is what happens when I have Game of Thrones-abstinence, boredom and access to photoshop at the same time.

It's one of those days

I do like to watch skinny girls cry, but this is just silly.

So, I just watched the first episode of Top Model Sweden. I can honestly say that I've usually watched Top Model with a combination of morbid fascination and glee (cheering when yet another skinny beautiful girl is thrown out of the combination, completely unaware of the fact that I myself am sitting in my sweats with french fries dripping from my mouth), but this time, it's just silly. The jury forces the girls to compete against all sorts of odd obstacles that you supposedly will encounter in the world of modelling, with a questionable content. Seriously, how likely is it that you will be forced to rollerblade down an aisle whilst posing like a constipated giraffe? I'm afraid this will escalate to something in the line of "The world is ending in four minutes. Only you can stop the nuclear bomb from going off by disarming it with the help of only a hairpin and five grapes. Also, if you don't pose like a model whilst doing this and convey the theme of 'Moon whore with attitude' with your skin pores, one of the jury members will maim your mother."

Come to think of it, I think I would make an excellent TV-producer.

My liver is like a tired hooker lying back and going to its happy place

So, I am hungover. And wearing a Pikachu-costume. These facts might be related, I really wouldn't know. All I know is that my head hurts and that my new cat is seriously afraid of me - but she is pretty much afraid of most things, as the situation at home with a female cat and a young male cat involves a lot of nervously slow movement, staring contests and hissing - it pretty much resembles the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1962. You know, if Kennedy had gone on a poop-strike until the enemy left Cuba/the goddamn sofa and if the Russians had reciprocated by stealing all the toys and then hid under the bed for three days. I'm hungry but I'm too tired to actually get up and start cooking - Oh, my goddess Nigella, how do you do it? Every time I attempt to do some food porn, I just end up saying "me love you long time" to a pack of pasta. I would really make the worst food show host in the world: "Tonight, I will show you how to reheat leftovers your grandmother leaves outside your door  because she's worried that you will get scurvy otherwise. Later, we'll discover just how good a flavoring cat saliva is for your stew!". Thank god I have a boyfriend who doesn't know that he could do much better and four seasons of Doctor Who to look forward to.

Quick monthly summary:

Basic tasks I haven't accomplished this month:
- Study enough to pass my exams
- Clean the apartment
- Start exercising
- Stop putting bacon in everything I eat
- Apply for a job


Basic tasks I have accomplished this month:
- Vomited whilst wearing a Pikachu costume. What every mother dreams of for her little girl.

I'm seriously starting to question whether I have understood the idea of how one lives a bohemian lifestyle correctly.