...it kept me quiet and inside this weekend, which lead to me watching mindless TV on Friday. Friday night, horrible sleep. The OTC, not great.
Saturday, or the day after the migraine, which it always takes me two days to recover, I fluctuated between wanting to throw-up and being ravenously hungry, (which one will win the battle????) I also had a really strong urge to paint.
Off to the art store. Purchasing several small canvases and new paint colors later, I spent yesterday with paint on my hands, fingernails, and a few splotches on my forearms, all in the name of creativity. However, the quite time also made me realize and remember some more things. It was good, productive quiet time.
Due to the migraine I canceled my plans last night and spent another night watching mindless movies and still painting....well into the early morning.
I tried the sleeping pills again, I took them WELL in advance of going to bed (several hours in advance) so when I went to bed after 2, I fell fast asleep and slept all night. One pee break, otherwise a full night of 8 hours of sleep...with another hour trying for a ninth..no such luck.
However, I slept so soundly that I have a kink in my neck, but truly, ask me if I care. (Hells no.)
Today will be spent finishing the many paintings I started yesterday, watching mindless TV, and hitting the books...sometime...today.
This is said without any sarcasm what-so-ever (brace yourself) even with the migraine, the day-after effects of a migraine, and a kink in my neck, this was one of the best weekends I've had in a very, very long time.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
the therapy begins
Today I met with my therapist. I think I'm going to really like her and the sessions will prove beneficial.
Good news, the sessions are "free." The reason for the quotes? Well, they are not really free, they are part of my student health fee, so I would be paying for them whether I was using the services are not. So, I plan to take full advantage of the free-ness.
I just hope I am "cured" by May. That's when I graduate. And those quotes are because, are we ever cured? Doubtful.
I've already had a few mini-little-breakthroughs. Actually, that's not the right word, perhaps connections is a better word, as to why I do what I do. Which is comforting.
She told me today that we will work towards discussing the rapes and she will push me in that direction. I thanked her for that. I confessed that I'm pretty good at talking about everything but whatever the problem might be.
I have a standing Friday morning appointment with her for the semester. That alone I find comforting.
Unfortunately, the migraine I've felt coming on all week, finally made head-fall today. So, today was beneficial, productive, and then came to a crashing halt.
On the insomnia front: After having a whiwind of emotions yesterday, ranging from silliness, happiness, breathing after my CBA test, and then running head-first into anger, the night ended in another night of not sleeping (falling asleep a little after 3 and waking-up at 7:30.) So, this morning I bought some different over-the-counter sleeping pills. I will try them tonight. Here's desperately hoping they work. I bought them before my session this morning. My therapist told me if they don't work, I really need to consider a prescription. Yeah, I agree. The insomnia is beyond ridiculous. Not to mention: not productive, adding fuel to the emotional fire, and effecting other aspects of my life. Enough already.
So, just a short update on the progress that will commence henceforth.
Good news, the sessions are "free." The reason for the quotes? Well, they are not really free, they are part of my student health fee, so I would be paying for them whether I was using the services are not. So, I plan to take full advantage of the free-ness.
I just hope I am "cured" by May. That's when I graduate. And those quotes are because, are we ever cured? Doubtful.
I've already had a few mini-little-breakthroughs. Actually, that's not the right word, perhaps connections is a better word, as to why I do what I do. Which is comforting.
She told me today that we will work towards discussing the rapes and she will push me in that direction. I thanked her for that. I confessed that I'm pretty good at talking about everything but whatever the problem might be.
I have a standing Friday morning appointment with her for the semester. That alone I find comforting.
Unfortunately, the migraine I've felt coming on all week, finally made head-fall today. So, today was beneficial, productive, and then came to a crashing halt.
On the insomnia front: After having a whiwind of emotions yesterday, ranging from silliness, happiness, breathing after my CBA test, and then running head-first into anger, the night ended in another night of not sleeping (falling asleep a little after 3 and waking-up at 7:30.) So, this morning I bought some different over-the-counter sleeping pills. I will try them tonight. Here's desperately hoping they work. I bought them before my session this morning. My therapist told me if they don't work, I really need to consider a prescription. Yeah, I agree. The insomnia is beyond ridiculous. Not to mention: not productive, adding fuel to the emotional fire, and effecting other aspects of my life. Enough already.
So, just a short update on the progress that will commence henceforth.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Polaroid snapshots
So, why is alcohol an upper until it becomes a downer? There are the obvious reasons; the hangover, the cry-fest, the drama and the trauma that could and would be otherwise avoided if it wasn't for the fermented cocktails and beverages...and I'm sure so many other reasons. However, for me, it's all about a fateful Saturday night a little over a week ago. Did anything tragic or traumatic happen in the world, that depends on how you look at it.
A little background:
I had spent most of August sitting by my pool by day and drinking with my guy friends at night. Insomnia was still a beast I could not conquer, so there was little to no sleep happening as well. Basically everyday that was the story. There was a nine day in-a-row streak of drinking every night. Not a big deal until you factor in what was going on with me psychologically and emotionally. Mix it altogether and it was a potent cocktail that did not need to be shaken or stirred.
What was the cocktail?
Equal parts:
* I never cried over the stress, disappointment, and frustration that was Brazil.
* I did not want to return to Small State U city, because I hate it here and I do not feel like I fit in with any of the other students.
* I want to smack most of the other students just about everyday because I cannot identify with them. I blame it on age. There's, not mine.
* My best gal and I were on the outs. Also known as the only person I felt close to here in City I Hate and Program I Stress Over.
* I had shared my feeling with her a few times over the summer in terms of me worrying that we were drifting apart and I didn't feel she took it seriously. Why was this a big deal? Because just about every time I have ever had the courage to tell someone how I feel about something, in terms of relationships whether they are lovers or friends I am almost always ignored and what I worried and tried to prevent from happening through conversation, then comes to fruition.
*Being the gal to go out and drink with, but not feeling important enough to do anything beyond getting drunk with.
* Still being bombarded on a daily basis with memories I had tried to forget, had forgotten, and epiphanies that I was thankful for, but could not handle on my own.
*Feeling lonely and out of place for the first time in my life.
* Fucktard telling me the things he did. (Short recap: sexy, but need to lose weight, my life goal is pointless. Beautiful, but... Sticking his tongue down my throat and a hand in my crotch...both not welcomed or appreciated..and on and on
* Oh, and more days of no sleep than with sleep.
* Self-doubt a constant plague in terms of grad school.
..and on and on. (Truly depressing.)
In August I discovered I have self-destructive tendencies. No, duh, right? Sure, but I was ready to throw it all out and throw it all away and fuck the consequences. I was ready to sleep with my married guy-friend, end my friendship with my best gal, drink my way into oblivion and smoke as much pot as I did when I was 21 (Or what is all of Mexico.) because, fuck everyone, I need no one. (Another thing I am famous for.) The self-determination, or stupidity, that I need no one in this world but me and only me. Fuck-ya-all. (This is said to myself, not out loud or to anyone at all, just all said in my head in a very self-determined sort of way.) (Cause, that makes it seem less crazy and much more healthy.)
My best gal and I patched things up one night outside a bar. I was very thankful and it was a turning point.
A turning point into a very deep depression and sadness.
Here's the cocktail of reasons:
* My best gal, after only dating one other person in her life (which happened last year at the age of 24) met someone over the summer and she is ridiculously happy, and I am happy for her. But. I am also sad. Really, 25, dated two people, and you're done? What-the-fuck-ever.
* Epiphanies, epiphanies, epiphanies.
* Memories, memories, memories.
* Stories, times, relationships, ugliness that no one...no one...should have to endure all came rushing back to me.
Imagine your life coming back to you. Things from your past that you thought were over, done, dealt with. Memories that had been shoved and stored away are slowing, one-by-one being pulled out of their shoebox and shown back to you in a Polaroid snapshot. That's what this summer has been for me. Random flashes of my forgotten past.
Memories in the form of:
Verbal and emotional abuse from my father. (Things said, things done, fights, words, yelling, screaming.)
Verbal, emotional, and physical abuse from my first boyfriend at 16 and a guy who was supposed to be my best friend at the same age. (One day I remembered that the "friend" had tried to suffocate me. I was lying down and out of nowhere he just put his hand over my mouth and nose. The reason? To see how I would react.) (So, so many mind games they played. So, so much betrayal.)
More friends than I can count or remember who left, betrayed, lied, cheated, and simply did not care about me, how I felt, what I said, or friendships I was trying to save.
Being raped at 17 and 23.
The consequences and ramifications of both rapes that followed and still do.
So many throw-away relationships and I was the one being thrown away and letting myself be thrown away, because I didn't care. I was just out to have fun. So, who cared.
(It's depressing just to type out and read back to myself.)
Which led to the feeling of: For the first time in my life wanting love from a man. Not sex, or a fling, or a distraction, but really wanting to be wanted, loved, from someone, not just anyone.
....Sadness swept over me.
Depression kept me in bed.
Which all lead to:
A little over a week ago, after spending all day in bed, I went out with friends to celebrate one of their birthdays. I did not want to go, but knew it was the right thing to do.
I drank, and I drank, and I drank. Not cocktails, but shots.
I. Did. Not. Care.
And worse, I was not getting drunk, I was only getting more sad. All kept neatly tucked inside. Laughing and having a fabulous time buying drinks for the birthday boy and being sociable with everyone, but inside wanting to go home and be alone.
At one point I went outside where some of the group was sitting and I tried to talk to them, tried to interject, I felt completely invalid.
Back inside the bar.
Fucktard who put me down a week before, asked me what was wrong as I was being distant from him. In a very calm and direct manner I told him what was wrong, how he talked to me, how I was not going to put up with it and I had put up with it enough in my life and I was not going to do it anymore. I had been through enough. I was mad at him, but more so, I was mad at myself. At this point I was not going to be his friend anymore. This conversation happened as I was about to leave with my best gal. (Her driving)
Which lead to: (are you still with me?)
In the car, with best gal driving, I lost it. Tears, emotions, feelings, words it all came pouring out. I thought it just had to do with that night, but I am pretty sure that random Saturday was nothing more than an outlet for the past 34 years. Thirty-four years of crap. Thirty-four years of crap, put-up-with-ness, letting things slide, not wanting to deal with them at the time and so now they are all coming back to me. The past and the present all colliding into my future and it's a mess. Not to mention ridiculously inconvenient timing. Really? Grad school? Not the best time to try and deal with shit, ya know?
So, after thinking about it, I've decided I need to seek counseling and therapy and really deal with my past. Not sugar-coat it and say I want to talk about it, but then never bring it up. No, it's time. I'm tired. I'm tired of the same self-destructive tendencies and the only person who is left in the end is me. I'm done. I'm tired of my past dictating my future. It's time to deal and then move on. I know I've said this before, and I am better at breaking bad habits and such, but I need to really dig down into the ugliness and delve into the deep end of the emotional fucked-up pool. I'm done. It's time for love, no more distractions.
A little background:
I had spent most of August sitting by my pool by day and drinking with my guy friends at night. Insomnia was still a beast I could not conquer, so there was little to no sleep happening as well. Basically everyday that was the story. There was a nine day in-a-row streak of drinking every night. Not a big deal until you factor in what was going on with me psychologically and emotionally. Mix it altogether and it was a potent cocktail that did not need to be shaken or stirred.
What was the cocktail?
Equal parts:
* I never cried over the stress, disappointment, and frustration that was Brazil.
* I did not want to return to Small State U city, because I hate it here and I do not feel like I fit in with any of the other students.
* I want to smack most of the other students just about everyday because I cannot identify with them. I blame it on age. There's, not mine.
* My best gal and I were on the outs. Also known as the only person I felt close to here in City I Hate and Program I Stress Over.
* I had shared my feeling with her a few times over the summer in terms of me worrying that we were drifting apart and I didn't feel she took it seriously. Why was this a big deal? Because just about every time I have ever had the courage to tell someone how I feel about something, in terms of relationships whether they are lovers or friends I am almost always ignored and what I worried and tried to prevent from happening through conversation, then comes to fruition.
*Being the gal to go out and drink with, but not feeling important enough to do anything beyond getting drunk with.
* Still being bombarded on a daily basis with memories I had tried to forget, had forgotten, and epiphanies that I was thankful for, but could not handle on my own.
*Feeling lonely and out of place for the first time in my life.
* Fucktard telling me the things he did. (Short recap: sexy, but need to lose weight, my life goal is pointless. Beautiful, but... Sticking his tongue down my throat and a hand in my crotch...both not welcomed or appreciated..and on and on
* Oh, and more days of no sleep than with sleep.
* Self-doubt a constant plague in terms of grad school.
..and on and on. (Truly depressing.)
In August I discovered I have self-destructive tendencies. No, duh, right? Sure, but I was ready to throw it all out and throw it all away and fuck the consequences. I was ready to sleep with my married guy-friend, end my friendship with my best gal, drink my way into oblivion and smoke as much pot as I did when I was 21 (Or what is all of Mexico.) because, fuck everyone, I need no one. (Another thing I am famous for.) The self-determination, or stupidity, that I need no one in this world but me and only me. Fuck-ya-all. (This is said to myself, not out loud or to anyone at all, just all said in my head in a very self-determined sort of way.) (Cause, that makes it seem less crazy and much more healthy.)
My best gal and I patched things up one night outside a bar. I was very thankful and it was a turning point.
A turning point into a very deep depression and sadness.
Here's the cocktail of reasons:
* My best gal, after only dating one other person in her life (which happened last year at the age of 24) met someone over the summer and she is ridiculously happy, and I am happy for her. But. I am also sad. Really, 25, dated two people, and you're done? What-the-fuck-ever.
* Epiphanies, epiphanies, epiphanies.
* Memories, memories, memories.
* Stories, times, relationships, ugliness that no one...no one...should have to endure all came rushing back to me.
Imagine your life coming back to you. Things from your past that you thought were over, done, dealt with. Memories that had been shoved and stored away are slowing, one-by-one being pulled out of their shoebox and shown back to you in a Polaroid snapshot. That's what this summer has been for me. Random flashes of my forgotten past.
Memories in the form of:
Verbal and emotional abuse from my father. (Things said, things done, fights, words, yelling, screaming.)
Verbal, emotional, and physical abuse from my first boyfriend at 16 and a guy who was supposed to be my best friend at the same age. (One day I remembered that the "friend" had tried to suffocate me. I was lying down and out of nowhere he just put his hand over my mouth and nose. The reason? To see how I would react.) (So, so many mind games they played. So, so much betrayal.)
More friends than I can count or remember who left, betrayed, lied, cheated, and simply did not care about me, how I felt, what I said, or friendships I was trying to save.
Being raped at 17 and 23.
The consequences and ramifications of both rapes that followed and still do.
So many throw-away relationships and I was the one being thrown away and letting myself be thrown away, because I didn't care. I was just out to have fun. So, who cared.
(It's depressing just to type out and read back to myself.)
Which led to the feeling of: For the first time in my life wanting love from a man. Not sex, or a fling, or a distraction, but really wanting to be wanted, loved, from someone, not just anyone.
....Sadness swept over me.
Depression kept me in bed.
Which all lead to:
A little over a week ago, after spending all day in bed, I went out with friends to celebrate one of their birthdays. I did not want to go, but knew it was the right thing to do.
I drank, and I drank, and I drank. Not cocktails, but shots.
I. Did. Not. Care.
And worse, I was not getting drunk, I was only getting more sad. All kept neatly tucked inside. Laughing and having a fabulous time buying drinks for the birthday boy and being sociable with everyone, but inside wanting to go home and be alone.
At one point I went outside where some of the group was sitting and I tried to talk to them, tried to interject, I felt completely invalid.
Back inside the bar.
Fucktard who put me down a week before, asked me what was wrong as I was being distant from him. In a very calm and direct manner I told him what was wrong, how he talked to me, how I was not going to put up with it and I had put up with it enough in my life and I was not going to do it anymore. I had been through enough. I was mad at him, but more so, I was mad at myself. At this point I was not going to be his friend anymore. This conversation happened as I was about to leave with my best gal. (Her driving)
Which lead to: (are you still with me?)
In the car, with best gal driving, I lost it. Tears, emotions, feelings, words it all came pouring out. I thought it just had to do with that night, but I am pretty sure that random Saturday was nothing more than an outlet for the past 34 years. Thirty-four years of crap. Thirty-four years of crap, put-up-with-ness, letting things slide, not wanting to deal with them at the time and so now they are all coming back to me. The past and the present all colliding into my future and it's a mess. Not to mention ridiculously inconvenient timing. Really? Grad school? Not the best time to try and deal with shit, ya know?
So, after thinking about it, I've decided I need to seek counseling and therapy and really deal with my past. Not sugar-coat it and say I want to talk about it, but then never bring it up. No, it's time. I'm tired. I'm tired of the same self-destructive tendencies and the only person who is left in the end is me. I'm done. I'm tired of my past dictating my future. It's time to deal and then move on. I know I've said this before, and I am better at breaking bad habits and such, but I need to really dig down into the ugliness and delve into the deep end of the emotional fucked-up pool. I'm done. It's time for love, no more distractions.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
you go in for a massage...
feel completely re-energized, realize throughout the day that your slowly being covered in bruises, go to bed, sleep great, wake-up with more bruises. My ass and hips look like I sat on a bunch of raspberries. My right thigh is one big bruise. Two small bruises above each boob, one small one on each arm. But, totally worth it.
I've had a lot of massages, the fluff and stuff, the found a kink, worked it out kind, but yesterday I found a gal who when I said, "I want a deep tissue massage, full of elbows, and here's where it hurts." ...and she actually listened. Truly, I felt like I was on speed all day my body, besides the bruises, feels amazing.
On another note: Follow-up date tonight with the 26 year-old. Does that make me a cougar? I don't think it does, but you all would probably know more than me. Grrr. Bruises are hot, right?
However, thinking this one has a shelf-life. It may be expiring tonight. Could be wrong. He's 26 after all and talks like he's 26. Odd. I look forward to the day when there is no shelf-life, or at the very least, not feel like there is one.
Someday.
I've had a lot of massages, the fluff and stuff, the found a kink, worked it out kind, but yesterday I found a gal who when I said, "I want a deep tissue massage, full of elbows, and here's where it hurts." ...and she actually listened. Truly, I felt like I was on speed all day my body, besides the bruises, feels amazing.
On another note: Follow-up date tonight with the 26 year-old. Does that make me a cougar? I don't think it does, but you all would probably know more than me. Grrr. Bruises are hot, right?
However, thinking this one has a shelf-life. It may be expiring tonight. Could be wrong. He's 26 after all and talks like he's 26. Odd. I look forward to the day when there is no shelf-life, or at the very least, not feel like there is one.
Someday.
Friday, September 05, 2008
Just sayin'
VH1 actually plays music!
Although this discovery happened at 3:31 in the a.m. I am sure the music channel will resume showing music videos during regular business hours any day now.
Sure of it.
Although this discovery happened at 3:31 in the a.m. I am sure the music channel will resume showing music videos during regular business hours any day now.
Sure of it.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
inner dork: so that's where it came from
Ever wonder how phrases become part of our lexicon? You don't? Well I do.
Did you know:
The reason we call letters upper case and lower case is because printers kept (keep)capital letters in the upper case drawers and small letters are kept in the lower case drawers.
Honeymoon comes from the Babylonian era (say, 4,000 years ago) when it was customary for a father-in-law to give his new son-in-law a months worth of mead, a honey-based beer, during a calendar month, which was based on a lunar schedule.
Wetting your whistle comes from English pubs where a whistle was baked into the handle of a mug. When a customer wanted another beverage, they would whistle to the bartender.
Raining cats and dogs comes from the Middle Ages when a thatched roof was common. Animals and vermin would crawl into the thatch, but would often fall through the thatch. This is also where canopy beds come from, the better to protect the sleeper from falling vermin.
The reason the first novels are so dang long is because authors were paid per word, not per book. Ala, the longer the book, the bigger the paycheck. Hence, all those adjectives. Also, the reason for serial novels, all the better to keep the income coming in.
Minding your P's and Q's, this has a lot of variations, but the most common one is that it was bar lingo, for pints and quarts.
That concludes today uselessness.
On a side note: posts three days in a row?!?!?!!? Way to go PG!
Did you know:
The reason we call letters upper case and lower case is because printers kept (keep)capital letters in the upper case drawers and small letters are kept in the lower case drawers.
Honeymoon comes from the Babylonian era (say, 4,000 years ago) when it was customary for a father-in-law to give his new son-in-law a months worth of mead, a honey-based beer, during a calendar month, which was based on a lunar schedule.
Wetting your whistle comes from English pubs where a whistle was baked into the handle of a mug. When a customer wanted another beverage, they would whistle to the bartender.
Raining cats and dogs comes from the Middle Ages when a thatched roof was common. Animals and vermin would crawl into the thatch, but would often fall through the thatch. This is also where canopy beds come from, the better to protect the sleeper from falling vermin.
The reason the first novels are so dang long is because authors were paid per word, not per book. Ala, the longer the book, the bigger the paycheck. Hence, all those adjectives. Also, the reason for serial novels, all the better to keep the income coming in.
Minding your P's and Q's, this has a lot of variations, but the most common one is that it was bar lingo, for pints and quarts.
That concludes today uselessness.
On a side note: posts three days in a row?!?!?!!? Way to go PG!
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
I'm trying, okay?
So, last night I went out on a date.
The date went well. Lots of conversation, lots of laughs, provided by me, of course. I mean, I am hilarious. Just fyi.
Oh, and an insistence, by him, that I sing along to "Ice, Ice Baby" in his car. I, of course, obliged without much forethought or worry of embarrassing myself. He did not sing along.
I harassed him about that.
I'm sure there will be a follow-up of a second date. I'm working on getting past my first date dismissing technique. (Old habits.)
I ended the date around 12:30 claiming I had a big day of homework ahead of me. Although true, the real truth is that I was sitting with a lovely gentleman, but wishing I was sitting with someone else.
I know, I know. (repeat a million-thousand more times.)
But when your sitting across from someone and wishing it was someone else, is that fair to either person? Um, no.
When there are lapses as to what the person's name is, because you want to call them London, yeah, probably not good.
So, even though the date went very well, I found myself coming home very sad. Sad and mad at myself. (This seems to be a theme as of late.) (I'm working on getting a knew theme.) (Perhaps a theme song??)
Maybe it's because London was supposed to come and visit me this past weekend, planned since March, but the trip had to be postponed. And although I knew (KNEW) it would not workout because this is the third time in less than a year where it has not worked out, still, in the back of my head I had hoped. (I mean, c'mon.)
So, maybe that's why I was sad. That and all the bullshit from this past weekend with Fucktard and his comments, maybe all that combined made me sad last night.
Maybe.
Although during my bathroom breaks, I did tell myself in the mirror I am awesome, hot, and anyone would be lucky to date me. (Affirmations are the key to success.) (Just don't say them aloud, cause then you're seen as crazy and the other girls in the bathroom will tell their friends about you and they will point and laugh.) (Just fyi.)
I know part of the problem is that we never saw (London and I)(and still haven't seen) the worst of each other. It makes it easy to think two people should be together when you still believe the other person is perfect (or at the very least is virtually flawless) when you haven't seen (or had to put up with) someones flaws.
It's ridiculous, I know.
I feel slightly (or a little more than) pathetic about the whole thing.
I'm working on it, okay?
The date went well. Lots of conversation, lots of laughs, provided by me, of course. I mean, I am hilarious. Just fyi.
Oh, and an insistence, by him, that I sing along to "Ice, Ice Baby" in his car. I, of course, obliged without much forethought or worry of embarrassing myself. He did not sing along.
I harassed him about that.
I'm sure there will be a follow-up of a second date. I'm working on getting past my first date dismissing technique. (Old habits.)
I ended the date around 12:30 claiming I had a big day of homework ahead of me. Although true, the real truth is that I was sitting with a lovely gentleman, but wishing I was sitting with someone else.
I know, I know. (repeat a million-thousand more times.)
But when your sitting across from someone and wishing it was someone else, is that fair to either person? Um, no.
When there are lapses as to what the person's name is, because you want to call them London, yeah, probably not good.
So, even though the date went very well, I found myself coming home very sad. Sad and mad at myself. (This seems to be a theme as of late.) (I'm working on getting a knew theme.) (Perhaps a theme song??)
Maybe it's because London was supposed to come and visit me this past weekend, planned since March, but the trip had to be postponed. And although I knew (KNEW) it would not workout because this is the third time in less than a year where it has not worked out, still, in the back of my head I had hoped. (I mean, c'mon.)
So, maybe that's why I was sad. That and all the bullshit from this past weekend with Fucktard and his comments, maybe all that combined made me sad last night.
Maybe.
Although during my bathroom breaks, I did tell myself in the mirror I am awesome, hot, and anyone would be lucky to date me. (Affirmations are the key to success.) (Just don't say them aloud, cause then you're seen as crazy and the other girls in the bathroom will tell their friends about you and they will point and laugh.) (Just fyi.)
I know part of the problem is that we never saw (London and I)(and still haven't seen) the worst of each other. It makes it easy to think two people should be together when you still believe the other person is perfect (or at the very least is virtually flawless) when you haven't seen (or had to put up with) someones flaws.
It's ridiculous, I know.
I feel slightly (or a little more than) pathetic about the whole thing.
I'm working on it, okay?
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
random thoughts
I know, I haven't done very well at the "I will try to post everyday" promise. Although, if you count "try" then I have done well, you just aren't aware of it.
Anyway, I don't know if there is anything to report on the life of little 'ol me or not. There is a lot of randomness, so, randomness is what I will write about.
Classes started last week. Nothing to exciting there, except that no professor knows how to say my name and I have to repeat it several times in a row before they even get close to not butchering it. PAR-tee Girl. Say it with me. Say it with me at least 4 times.
Good, Professor.
This semester will be heavy on the papers. Lots of dead trees. I am taking 13 credits.
Nine credits is full time.
I went out nine days in a row. On the tenth day my liver rebelled against me.
I'm not sleeping. You know, something new and different.
I apologize for reading, but not commenting on all of your posts as of late.
I have the prospect of a date tonight.
Let's hope it goes well.
As a result of all my epiphanies from the summer I am still learning more about myself each day.
It has been an emotional and in many ways, sad journey. Oh, the thoughts I have forgotten to think and the memories I was successful at forgetting all come rushing back.
I'm not saying I have been sitting in a corner rocking back and forth, just saying I'm glad I've had a month to myself.
London emailed to say, after an official inquiry by the Royal Post Office, my painting is lost.
Poop stain.
In watching my best gal with her boyfriend it made me very sad. I realized over this past weekend that the reason why is because I miss that feeling. Particularly the feeling I had for London. Time to move on, I know this, but a person cannot always control their feelings.
Even though I practice female control and taking control over emotional, mentally, and physical abuse from their partners, I find I make excuses for people when they are verbally abusing me.
For example, a male who is in the MPP program says he is just being honest, but in reality he is just being down right mean. (I know that sounds very kindergarten-ish, but it's true) After confronting him, again, about this fact over the weekend, I was, once again, blasted by his "honesty."
This honesty contained comments about how sexy and beautiful I am, but apparently I am fat and need to lose weight.
I'm stuck-up.
My life goal, although admirable, is ridiculous and will never be fulfilled.
Walking out the backdoor of the bar and having him grab me and stick his tongue down my throat.
Being persistently asked to have sex with him.
My responses included:
the number on the scale does not dictate my self worth. (Fucktard.)
I am incredibly sexy regardless of the number on the scale.
Just because I do not wish to smell your farts or your belches does not mean I am stuck-up. You're an imbecile.
If I change one life, then I have changed the world.
Screaming, repeatedly, that I do not, nor will I, make out with him, nor have sex with him.
My excuses for him have been, that it's just Fucktard, and he is only like this when he drinks.
A fucktard is a fucktard regardless of the reasons behind it.
No more. I'm done.
Unfortunately, we are a group, we have classes, breaks, and we go out as a group every Thursday. Sadly, I may have to isolate myself in order to avoid him.
Yes, he is a fucktard.
Yes, it is easy to make excuses and fall into old habits. I realize this, I hate this, it will change as of right now.
Thanks to my apartment pool I have an awesome tan.
Thanks to going out nine days in a row all of my healthy eating has been contradicted.
Oh, well.
I've realized that when someone matters to me I am willing to fight for it, be open, honest, and let my guard down. With some coaxing, this can be done. Hey, babysteps.
I have a date tonight.
Let's hope the date goes as well as the phone conversation did last night.
Anyway, I don't know if there is anything to report on the life of little 'ol me or not. There is a lot of randomness, so, randomness is what I will write about.
Classes started last week. Nothing to exciting there, except that no professor knows how to say my name and I have to repeat it several times in a row before they even get close to not butchering it. PAR-tee Girl. Say it with me. Say it with me at least 4 times.
Good, Professor.
This semester will be heavy on the papers. Lots of dead trees. I am taking 13 credits.
Nine credits is full time.
I went out nine days in a row. On the tenth day my liver rebelled against me.
I'm not sleeping. You know, something new and different.
I apologize for reading, but not commenting on all of your posts as of late.
I have the prospect of a date tonight.
Let's hope it goes well.
As a result of all my epiphanies from the summer I am still learning more about myself each day.
It has been an emotional and in many ways, sad journey. Oh, the thoughts I have forgotten to think and the memories I was successful at forgetting all come rushing back.
I'm not saying I have been sitting in a corner rocking back and forth, just saying I'm glad I've had a month to myself.
London emailed to say, after an official inquiry by the Royal Post Office, my painting is lost.
Poop stain.
In watching my best gal with her boyfriend it made me very sad. I realized over this past weekend that the reason why is because I miss that feeling. Particularly the feeling I had for London. Time to move on, I know this, but a person cannot always control their feelings.
Even though I practice female control and taking control over emotional, mentally, and physical abuse from their partners, I find I make excuses for people when they are verbally abusing me.
For example, a male who is in the MPP program says he is just being honest, but in reality he is just being down right mean. (I know that sounds very kindergarten-ish, but it's true) After confronting him, again, about this fact over the weekend, I was, once again, blasted by his "honesty."
This honesty contained comments about how sexy and beautiful I am, but apparently I am fat and need to lose weight.
I'm stuck-up.
My life goal, although admirable, is ridiculous and will never be fulfilled.
Walking out the backdoor of the bar and having him grab me and stick his tongue down my throat.
Being persistently asked to have sex with him.
My responses included:
the number on the scale does not dictate my self worth. (Fucktard.)
I am incredibly sexy regardless of the number on the scale.
Just because I do not wish to smell your farts or your belches does not mean I am stuck-up. You're an imbecile.
If I change one life, then I have changed the world.
Screaming, repeatedly, that I do not, nor will I, make out with him, nor have sex with him.
My excuses for him have been, that it's just Fucktard, and he is only like this when he drinks.
A fucktard is a fucktard regardless of the reasons behind it.
No more. I'm done.
Unfortunately, we are a group, we have classes, breaks, and we go out as a group every Thursday. Sadly, I may have to isolate myself in order to avoid him.
Yes, he is a fucktard.
Yes, it is easy to make excuses and fall into old habits. I realize this, I hate this, it will change as of right now.
Thanks to my apartment pool I have an awesome tan.
Thanks to going out nine days in a row all of my healthy eating has been contradicted.
Oh, well.
I've realized that when someone matters to me I am willing to fight for it, be open, honest, and let my guard down. With some coaxing, this can be done. Hey, babysteps.
I have a date tonight.
Let's hope the date goes as well as the phone conversation did last night.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
