So after the doctor told me that I'm over 25 pounds overweight, I've been feeling a little self conscious, eating a lot of Special K, fruit, etc. Well I've been "healthy" for about a week now, and while I have managed to lose 5 pounds I think I gained it all back tonight by eating most of an entire package of cinnamon-sugar graham crackers. Whilst doing so I rediscovered the part of myself that LOVES EATING.

Sara and I figured out that, according the doctor's calculation of my weight situation, I only needed to gain 5 more pounds in order to reach the "obese" level, since obesity is 30 or whatever percent overweight. I think it's a worthy goal to achieve, if it means that I can finally eat all the pies I've been staring at every day of work. And/or the ice cream currently beckoning me from the freezer.

I managed to watch Across the Universe (which, by the way, I bought used at Coborn's for FOUR DOLLARS) today with my dad without getting too depressed to my very soul, although it made me miss my roommates even more than I currently miss ice cream.

Why is it that it is so important for humans to feel needed? Isn't that weird? In the animal kindom the most important thing is to get what you need to survive. But we have this complex that we need to be needed in order to be happy. I don't know.

I had a dream last night that Barack Obama had a HUGE afro. I mean, huge, like Leonard the guy on Scrubs with the hook hand. HUGE. As part of a rally he organized this event where Sara would jump off the top of a 16-story building, and he would catch her at the bottom, to demonstrate both his dedication to saving lives and his superhuman strength. Well, he missed, and Sara ended up splattered on the concrete, but it turned out all she needed was to have her ankle wrapped. We then went to visit Crystal and Spencer Whitney, who had this ginormous tupperware container full of tampons in their bathroom. I stared at it for a long time. It was so tall it almost touched the ceiling. The end.