…life really is pointless? What if we have all these expectations and rules set up for absolutely no reason other than to justify to ourselves that we are doing okay? What if humans are not the superior race after all? What if ants are the smartest, and we just think we know so much about everything? Who are we to decide what is an intelligent being and what is not? We only use 10% of our brainpower anyways, so why are we measuring intelligence the way we are? Instead, we should measure how much of the brain is used, like how much electricity the brain generates. I’m sure we wouldn’t be the smartest then. We have so much locked-up potential, I think. Maybe we have the power to read minds or teleport or move objects with out minds, but we somehow can’t access that. Maybe too much brainpower is not good. Maybe the people with the most brainpower have slowly died off, and those with less and less brainpower survive longer and have more children, and that’s why we can only use that 10%. I feel so restrained, like I could do so much more and be so much better. It’s also weird to think that one slight switch in your genes could make you such a different person. I mean, your genes dictate everything about you. What if my skin produced just a little bit more melanin? Would I still be insecure about how pale I am? Even if I was genetically mutated to be perfect, would I still find flaws in my appearance? Or would I be unhappy on the inside?
I’m very disappointed in what the media is doing. They exploit the insecurities of women of all ages; for the young, it’s acne, for the old, it’s wrinkles and age spots. They make sure that we are never happy with what we were born like. They give us the urge to constantly alter our appearance, and for what? Money. It’s all about money. If cosmetics were free, they wouldn’t be nearly as pushy with their advertising. Oh, yes, you want this, because it’ll make you pretty and people will like you and we’ll be rich! I’m really fed up with this need to be perfect. Guess what? No one will ever be perfect. Not even Cam Gigandet, although he’s pretty dang close… In 5 years, that pretty, petite blonde will not be the greatest thing since sliced bread. She will have herpes from sleeping around, probably be pregnant, might be an alcoholic, she might even be a crack addict. In 5 years, I will have a career, a degree, and a brain.
I feel better now. I know I’m making the right choices with my life.