Cattle are weak, clumsy, defenseless things

The word “cattle” is borrowed from French
but it doesn’t mean “bovine”.
It means “personal property”.

Cattle were a form of currency
Valued for its milk and meat
Can we really call them animals
When we’re blind to their heads and feet?
Butchers see these parts as “waste”
The rest is a collection of steaks
Chucks, briskets, flanks
Ribs, plates, tenderloins
Rounds, sirloins, and shanks

No body parts, just sections
Such is the case with artificial selection

Domestication leads to
deformation and degradation
manipulation and exploitation
Obesity and heart disease
Sick employees stuck in big cities

Cows aren’t quite as far as we think they are
If you can count x disparities, then I can find 4x similarities

How can you deny the metaphor
When we drink from the same teat
Fed the same grain feed
On our bones, the same meat
Because you are what you eat
And cattle are weak, clumsy, defenseless things

I thought I had a small heart. I thought I had a significantly higher tolerance than most people for disturbing events. Most of the things that make people cry don’t bother me. I thought I was invincible.

I thought I could euthanize a house mouse. I read that carbon dioxide poisoning was quick and painless. It’s how labs kill laboratory mice. I thought I could do the job like a scientist might. I thought I could kill a mouse gracefully and emotionlessly. I thought it would be easy.

It was easy. I transferred the mouse to a plastic food tub. It was transparent so I could check on the mouse’s conditions without opening the container. I poked a hole in the base,  and I poked more holes in the lid. I used saran wrap to ensure an airtight seal between the lid and the container. I flipped the container upside down. The carbon dioxide would enter through the lid, and the excess air would vent through the hole I poked in the base. This container would sit on top of a bowl of vinegar. After I added the baking soda, I quickly sealed the bowl and the container together. My hands were shaking the whole time.

The reaction was too quick. Bubbles were coming up through the holes. I quickly gripped the bowl and container together in case the reaction broke the seal. I could see the mouse panicking, and running away from the bubbles. After a few seconds, I knew there was no more air left in the container. Only carbon dioxide. I sealed the vent, and gripped the container again. I gripped it hard, and I didn’t let go, even though I wanted to. I watched the mouse stand on its hind legs while it gasped for air. It took only two deep breaths before it fell on its side. Its eyes were half closed, but it was not dead. I watched as its belly moved up and down. Half a second passed, and it stopped moving. I stopped breathing. Its eyes were half open. I never closed mine.

I watched it die. I started breathing again. Deep, slow breaths. And then the tears came.

We’ve all killed an animal at some point. A few fish, maybe, but probably on accident. Insects and bugs, always on purpose. My brother and I used to torture them to death. We tortured other things, too. When our babysitter came home with a live crab, we’d kill it for her so she could boil it without getting pinched. We didn’t always kill it completely, because we were actually torturing it for fun. When it stopped moving, it wasn’t fun anymore.

The mouse wasn’t moving. It died in seconds. It was a quick death, but was it painless? I don’t know. Its eyes were half open.

I’ve never cried for an animal before. I’ve never cried for the animals I’ve tortured, or any pets I’ve lost. I did not cry for Cleo when an owl snatched her up and killed her. I did not cry for Joe, who was my favorite cat, when he died of old age. I did not cry for Manu because I didn’t notice he was dead. But I cried for this vermin, who I spent one night with. It’s dead now, because I killed it.

I thought I was invincible. But I killed a house mouse. I killed a small rodent. I killed a fellow mammal. And I cried. I am not invincible.

I’m making myself into a tool.

It’s a painful process. I beat myself up if I waste time. I beat the human out of me. I try to be productive, because in the future, I will do nothing but make products.

300,000 tons per year. That’s the capacity of an ammonia plant. I wonder what my capacity is.

I’m making myself into a tool. So I can feel significant.

Poverty has an ugly face
but Affluence…
beating the weak with a mighty fist
Which is the loathsome monster?
Which is the small rodent
.                    with the ugly face?
Which has the uglier face?

The Rich and the Poor
The Poor can become rich
The Rich do not become poor
Then why is The Rich so few
.                     like elephants?
Poverty is the small rodent
.                    (multiplying)(multiplying)
Maybe some become elephants, but
that population
does not swell

The Rich and the Poor
Hard to know the other
Elephants don’t remember
.    their rodent lives
Elephants don’t understand mice
.                                           Still
.   no reason to leave them
.                     in the mouse trap
Flaunting elephantine mass
by stepping on rodent tails
Must be deaf    :    They scream so loud

A good life is one
that money can’t buy
I might have large ears
but what I hear
.    pierces deep
.        mutates my spirit
.            makes a sad heart
.               no peace for my mind

.                           Elephant family,
You step on tails. It hurts.
I wish to be
.    a sister…
.                    …no longer
Buy my life
Have me undone  (It can be done)

Is that another scream I hear?
.          or is it
in my mind
.                   again?

How to feel beautiful:

Things You’ll Need:
-Higher self-esteem
-Supportive friends
-Better camera angle
-Tons of makeup
-Blurry mirror

Instructions:
Step 1:  Stop focusing on your flaws. There are enough people who notice your flaws already. Don’t join the club.
Step 2:  Stop saying you’re ugly. You’re just making yourself look uglier to people who have to listen to your crap.
Step 3:  Sleep more. You’re probably not assessing yourself in a mirror in your sleep. If you do, then that’s just pathetic.
Step 4:  Stop assessing yourself in the mirror in your sleep!
Step 5:  Stop crying… Stop it! No one looks good when they cry. Especially not you.

2008 weight and intake: 115 lbs, 1500 calories
2010 weight and intake: 120lbs, 2500 calories

We could either do some math, or we could just point out that my metabolism finally caught up to my enormous appetite.

I think any normal person would be delighted, but I’m disgusted. First off, no matter what the scale says, I’ll still think I’m gaining weight. Logically, a petite female eating like a growing boy is gonna gain a few, yeah? So the whole “But my metabolism is high!” excuse ain’t gonna work.

But I mostly feel awful because as long as I’m eating over 1500 calories a day, I’m killing some hypothetical starving child. And after taking Native American Studies, I just realized that this hypothetical starving child could be on a nearby Indian reservation, not some third world country.

Good thing I’m a stress eater, not an emotional one, otherwise I’d be going on another 1000 calorie binge.

First, you will experience weight gain. But it’s just water retention. Later, you will gain more weight because of an insatiable appetite. No amount of physical activity will stop the gain, because it will just make you hungrier. You will get fat around the midsection.

First, you will experience dizziness. You drink some tea, maybe take a pill, but it won’t go away. The dizziness slowly morphs into nausea, and the next thing you know, your head is in the toilet, and you’re releasing a half-digested, low-calorie meal. The nausea will go away after a few more vomit sessions. You’ll be hungry again soon.

First, you will experience some moodiness. This is natural, and accompanies any hormonal imbalance (regardless if this imbalance was naturally induced). Later, the  moodiness subsides. You’ll pray that it doesn’t come back, because if it does, it’ll be more intense. You’ll feel like crying, screaming, throwing things, breaking things, and stepping on small animals just to hear their spines crack and internal organs pop. You try to relax and take a nap, but it doesn’t work. You eat.

First, you will experience a response to stress. Responses to stress in other individuals usually result in nervousness and anxiety, but for you, this will result in 3000+ calories a day, a heart rate of 80+, and hyperventilation. Your system is too saturated with ethinyl estradiol and etonogestrel for you to flush out with 10+ cups of water a day. You’ve developed adrenal fatigue because your hormone levels and excessive cardio exercises are overtaxing the adrenals. You cry on the inside, and eat some more.

Throughout high school, I had been at a steady 111 pounds. No exercise but PE, and on an unhealthy vegetarian diet. Now, I’m exercising my ass off, and I eat all the right foods. Guess how much I weigh.

121 lbs.

What the fuck.

So here’s what I think happened: either I developed a binge eating disorder once college started due to elevated stress levels, or it’s my birth control. Apparently a lot of women have had either increase or decrease in appetite, but most of the stories I read sounded pretty much like mine. Skyrocketing appetite, weight gain, and high intensity cardio workouts but to no avail.

So my theory is that I am, in fact, not a fatass. It’s just my birth control which makes be behave like a fatass. So to test this, I’m going to go off  birth control for a month and see if I can lose 4 pounds and/or stop binging on a daily basis.

I figured I don’t have that much to lose if I go off birth control (aside from the obvious). I mean, either I can be a slutty fatass who has a lot of fun, or I can just be a fatass, in which case I’d go see a therapist, cure that shit, and then go back on birth control as a slutty skinnyass who has a lot of fun.

Sounds like a good plan, right?

Wow, am I hungry already?