Ugh.
Ever learn something much, much after the fact? (Of course you have.) And it is the kind of knowledge that severely alters the way you have to view a pivotal conversation you had with someone? I'm sure I have had these before...but...idk. They're always so, so hard for me to process.
I would have rather not known.
It makes me feel weird.
I forgot.
I think that and sort of freeze inside. How could I ever forget something like that? The wanting to be kind and wanting to make things better for anyone at all...
This is why, I think, all of our staff who need to cry and don't want to do it in front of their coworkers come and sit in the office with me and cry there. I'd rather go cry in the bathroom by myself, but what do I know.
I guess that's why I started wanting to be kind to begin with. Because I never felt like there was anyone I could go to...
Not that there wasn't...
People care about me...
But I never want anyone to know. I never want anyone to worry about me or to ask me what's wrong.
But that's different. Not everyone has someone who cares. I can't be everyone's bff, and I know that...but...people need to talk. Or not talk. More than anything sometimes.
I can do that.
It just bothers me that I forgot that I started out with having made a conscious decision to do so.
March madness is apparently a thing with me. Not basketball of course, since I fail at both playing sports and knowing things about sports, but even in spite of all the weird stuff I pulled from my old January/February posts, March is pretty bad. I get sick a lot and have lots of trippy dreams about dragons. And turn all disassociative and freak out because I have bones and things like that.
So...yeah. More excerpts, and then I will log out and go to sleep because I can't figure out what on earth is going on with the web site I am trying to purchase my wedding dress from, and apparently I am going to have to go to my bank and get it figured out that way. Tomorrow is work and me trying to make headway through a ton of filing and audits, and triple checking schedules for our staff this weekend...I already feel defeated because I know I won't get it all done, and then I won't get time to get back to it until Tuesday. Bah.
Cheers for now.
3.8.10
I’m afraid that I’m progressing to a third stage of monsters.
First, the monster was an outside force that had to be killed. Next, I became the monster and had to avoid being killed. And now…what? I think it’s your turn to be the monster. But do I (figuratively) kill you? I can’t. I couldn’t kill the first monster, or give myself up when I knew it was me, so chances are I can’t kill you either. I think I’ve grown to love monsters too much to do that. Plus, I don’t understand…I don’t know what’s happening to you, and maybe you really are just totally thoughtless after all.
That’s the thing I’ve always hated most about you, you know. Not that you’re thoughtless…but that I could never tell if you were either that or just acting like you were because you wanted me to think so. But why would you want me to think that? (I think I know.) It hurts me to think that you could just be kind of silly…I wanted you to be better than that…but what if that’s not it? It hurts me more to grant that you could have noticed that I always want to think the best of people…or that I always want to blame problems on myself so nobody else has to be responsible…and that you could have periodically exploited these traits for whatever reasons…
That would hurt.
But…now that you know (ha) this has crossed my mind, I have to tell you…I’ve thought for some time that this could be happening. I’m not an idiot. I’m just too afraid to be candid with you and ask about the whole situation. I’ve let it go for three years now, and that’s too long for me to bring it up now. If I did, we’d either find out that yes, this is what’s been going on and then we would have to figure out where to go from there…or you would know the extent of my paranoia and I would be utterly wretched about you knowing that. I feel like…my undead side would say things that would make it worse. At least the former situation would only end with Wolf smiling and showing off his fangs, impressed and disappointed that revenge is impractical.
Ugh…you know, I am awful.
You never did anything to me. It’s just all these things that I allow to get to me, plus my own idiot way of acting like I don’t care if we talk or not, when really I do. I care about that far more than I care about a lot of things. I just never know what to say to you anymore and it makes me feel sick with anxiety because even if we did talk, you probably get bored talking to me and would probably not be very inclined to take my calls then either… I can hardly blame you, since I have had precious little to contribute for such a long time now…although you haven’t made it easy for me, since you chatter on and on and never take a breath to let me respond.
(I'm glad we did finally sort that all out...right on both accounts.)
3.9.10
There is a great red dragon against the sun, and black and golden flowers. The metallic ones are catching the light at a bad angle and blinding me with neon orange so that there are pulsing blue and green marks on the inside of my eyelids.
And how did you become the scent of purple, anyway? It has no connection with you. It’s also unfair that you are sound waves. I think I should have the dragon roar and burst my eardrums. Then you couldn’t sneak up on me anymore (why didn’t I smell you first?). Too bad the dragon is going down with the sun…and why are your eyes so yellow? They aren’t yellow. I know that.
I swear…if I look again and you are a panther…
Stop it. Stop smiling at me. Just stop it. Wolf is shaking with rage and would like to tear out your still-beating heart and make sure you never smile again, and you knew he would feel that way…but I’m so tired. So, so tired.
You knew that, too.
(Ever doze off and have a really vivid, 10-second dream? This is what it looks like when I have them.)
3.15.10
I miss the trees and the water. Mostly the trees…I love the trees.
I miss the way it smelled and the air being warm in the evening. I miss the sand and the way there was nothing around and how blue the sky was. I almost miss the way my skin smells when it’s been burning…but not quite. Although I do miss being able to see the sun (why is it so awfully overcast in this state?) occasionally, and how everything across the water would be red and then blue, and how many stars you could see if you sat on the dock at night. I miss the white deer and the black squirrels and the horses running through the fir trees, and I miss all the tiny little fishes and hearing the loons at night. I miss the bats that inevitably got into the house. I miss the wetland and the dragonflies in blue and orange and gold and all the moss and the mushrooms and the half-decayed trees.
I miss when I was small and would watch cartoons and eat popcorn and go to bed with sandy feet from being in the water half the day. I miss making tape recordings on an old radio that had been my grandma’s, and pretending I was a radio announcer. I miss having to drive an hour away to get my birthday cake, and eating iced cream out of the little, jade green bowl. I miss biking through the woods and Katy almost getting me killed over and over again, and I miss telling stories with her and only finishing them because we were finally tired enough to sleep. I miss chasing rabbits and seagulls, and naming them all and coming up with stories about how they all knew each other. I miss playing sheepdog and Gargoyles and stomping on puffballs and seeing the little clouds of spores explode into the air.
I miss taking out the minty green rowboat and getting shouted at for rowing it into the middle of the lake, and I miss my fake German accent (I forgot I used to do that one). I miss eating out in those floating water things that I can’t think of the word for. I miss driving the blue boat before it died, and the brown one that we got later. I miss driving up through the river and seeing all the trees and flowers and half-dead plants and the turtles and fish and sometimes a muskrat or an otter. I miss catching pike and bluegill and throwing them back in the water. I miss all the sweet peas, and the way the pine needles smelled when you picked a few from the trees. I miss the hummingbirds that lived in the big maple tree.
I miss sitting on the dock at night and talking on the phone to Melody. I don’t miss sitting on the dock and feeling wretched when she couldn’t talk to me. I miss the way the house smelled when I would lie on my bed and talk to Chris and write and write and write in my journal or read and read and read Harry Potter. I miss the way it was dark at night and that almost every surface was wooden and I miss the fire pit and toasting marshmallows sometimes while trying to keep the smoke out of my eyes and the mosquitoes off my skin. I miss taking walks with my mum and talking to her about things, and I miss staying up to see the sun rise on the other side of the water.
I miss the last summer that I was there, when I would eventually go to bed and lie there, sweating to death because it was so hot out and I was wrapped up in a comforter, and listening to the songs and letting him talk me into believing I would be okay after all.
(Omg! I cannot wait for May! Imma go back!)
3.17.10
There were thousands of little grey-black, pulsing pustules on this person’s legs, which was pretty gross to begin with, but then I realized the pustules were climbing because they were actually these nasty little bugs that looked like charcoal dark, bloated ticks. And the giant person? He watched them with a mildly interested look on his face before pinching one up. The pulsing bug burst in this greasy, inky splatter, and I realized that the bugs weren’t bugs because they were us. Not “us” like me and you (although I have a notion that a whole bunch of people I know were there), but “us” as in people…
And the giant person? He was super white. All white. Blinding white. White skin, white hair, white irises with barely discernible grey pigment on the edges…and somehow I had the impression that this great white person was God…and he just held the little inky spattered bug person between his thumb and fingertip and watched it cower and cover its greasy eyes with greasy hands…and the white figure wasn’t trying to be scary and he didn’t look disgusted…he looked like he was just contemplating the little frightened person.
(More evidence that I should not doze off.)
3.21.10
We went to see a movie and we were driving back and it was dark and nearly one in the morning, and there weren’t too many cars out, even on the highway, and the air was kind of cool, even with the vents off, and I got to choose some music…and it was mostly okay, but briefly I wished I hadn’t because it made me feel sad to listen to the song and to be out driving at night and to have the air hovering on the edge of warm. It put me in mind of all the other nights and all the other times when I’ve sat in various passenger seats and watched out the window while I was between home and whatever destination…
I felt unreal. And when I thought about the few trips I’ve ever taken and thoroughly enjoyed, I wondered if any of them had ever really happened.
Now, I know they did. That’s silly to think not…but it’s hard to feel like they did. Like, did I ever go there and walk under those trees and sing to myself? Did I really go to the other side of the country and enjoy that salad so much that I tried to recreate it at home? Did I really let you fall asleep for so long with your head on my shoulder? (Good Lord…did I really let you carry me across that stream? No…nope…not me…) And what about the music? Was I ever at any of those shows? Did you really look so confused when I told you why I was there?
I know all of these things happened…but it’s like…I wasn’t paying attention when they happened. I can’t really remember what any of it was like. I don’t remember…was I really in those moments? I think I wasn’t. I think I knew they would be over too quickly, and I was already anticipating them moving into the past, so that when they were the present, I didn’t really experience them. I didn’t look properly at the green and grey of the trees or taste the little bits of pepperoni and goat cheese or feel your damp, tied up hair against my neck, or really look you in the eye when we shook hands. The moments were all already over when they happened, and now I’m getting afraid that I can never get back to any moments that will ever be like the ones I let slip by me and can now only remember if I’m really trying to…
I must be getting old…feeling my mortality, except that it’s not screaming and clawing at me this time, the way it usually claws at me when I am Wolf, and at my Lynx friend. Poor us.
But it was, I guess. It got close to that. I think.
See, earlier my head was hurting. It was on the right, just above my hairline…and it felt…bad. Not too painful, but really bad. I didn’t like it. Then it moved to my right eye, and it was a sharper pain. Then to behind my right ear…and then to the left, above my eye. I hated it. Like…I kid you not, all I could think for a moment was that I hated my bones. My skull, specifically…and then I got what I could term “the screaming willies” (you know, just because it’s not a phrase one hears a lot) about my body. Not the whining way people will get when they think they’re unattractive, but the horrified way that I guess I get sometimes (haven’t met anyone else yet) about this mass of bones and veins and meat and teeth and brains that is Reeser…and I have to try and not get too worked up because I’ll start feeling faint and that only makes me feel my pulse more clearly. I swear, I hate feeling my own pulse. It disgusts me for some reason…
I don’t understand why I sometimes feel that way. It’s not that I hate my body and think that it’s unattractive or worthless the way I’ve seen others talk about themselves…it’s more that sometimes I get to a place where I’m just shocked at the fact that I am a living, breathing creature. It creeps me out now and then…which is absurd, but apparently quite true.
Personally, I’d take the nostalgia and the sad feelings I’ve been getting over the skin-crawling realization that I have skin that’s crawling. Does that make sense?
(Yup. I'm a crazy.)
3.23.11
I am pretty sure that the last time I saw that dragon in a dream, I was not me in my dream, and I had desecrated a shrine, and he rescued me from the giant fungal puffballs that were the shrine guardians and were also trying to eat me. And then I realised he was made of white chocolate, so when he put me down, I promptly broke him up and ate him.
It was a very Wolf kind of dream, you know?
Desecrate shrine, check. Narrowly escape death, check. Eat a dragon, check.
(I note that it's good we don't live in the dreamworld, else I'd be a wolfcreature who kills and eats dragons: a force to be reckoned with. :P)
3.5.12
I slept for about 12 hours and dreamed about Cthulhu.
Except that unlike all the monsters in my dreams, he wasn’t trying to get at me or any of my pets or family or other assorted loved ones. No…instead of all that, I just had a vague sense of an image of him, and he was talking to me in my head.
That is probably a bad thing.
3.6.12
So now I keep thinking about that and dreading the possibility that I’m making myself that sick again, and I know I should drink things, but really…the idea of drinking anything—water, juice, soda, tea, broth, you name it—feels repulsive.
I want to drink something, but when I pick my cup up, I feel my throat closing up and put it down again.
3.18.12
It was that damned paper that's got me agitated. I picked it up at the wrong moment, when all I wanted was to lessen my pile of scrap papers by one, and have a double-folded cheapy coaster so that I wouldn’t feel bad about setting my glass of water on my backgammon table (that was why they got it for me, right? because I used to like to play backgammon? who plays that anymore?).
It was from a story I wrote, and it was a bad page to be reading when the other me was already getting antsy and telling me again and again that we need to go away (we can’t, although we are interested to discover that it's only a three and a half hour drive), and all wild-eyed and triumphant because he’s still got something of the vampire about him…needs blood and all of that, and is (I hope) done groveling at a pair of impassive marble feet now that he has it.
But that’s all a different thing. That was my own fault.
This, however, is the universe spitting in my face, as it is wont to do every single time I think I am done.
(Mmm. Maybe I am done now. For reals this time.)
Here it is!
March: a month where I am prone to illness, confessing bizarre behaviours, and sharing my stupidest observations with the world.
3.2.05
"You scored as Severus Snape.
Well you're a tricky one aren't you? Nobody quite has you figured out and you'd probably prefer it stayed that way. That said you are a formidable force by anyone's reckoning, but there is certainly more to you than a frosty exterior and a bitter temper."
(back when all the cool kids were taking online quizzes...and also back before we knew that deep down, Snape was one of the good guys)
3.19.06
British Lit: This week we’re going to look at parts of a poem series called “In Memoriam”. It’s by Tennyson… and our book doesn’t have all of the poems in it, but there are 130+ poems, as well as a prologue & epilogue. That’s a lot of poems to be writing about your dead best friend. Yes. That’s what they’re about… they’re the most emo-est poems ever… he wrote something like 10 of them just about the ship that was bringing his friend’s body from Italy back to England. That’s dedication, that is.
3.24.07
Did you ever feel that way? Like it all got blamed on you? Did you ask what you had done wrong? Maybe not…? Did you do anything wrong and feel guilty about it? What can we do to show that we’re sorry? We can’t all of us be amazing all the time and show that we’re all doing right and well.
What made you think we’re okay with what we do wrong? I’m not okay with it and I never was… you have no idea how many days I sit and count all the wrong things I did during the day. The last few hours. My whole life. You have no idea. I’m not okay with it. They can’t be okay with it either… I know some who aren’t. We talk about it sometimes. How much can we keep beating ourselves up about it though? We may as well all just die. We can’t be perfect and recognize every mistake and bad choice and flaw that we act on every moment of every day because it will kill us because we can’t take how bad it really is. We have to try and smooth it over or ignore it sometimes or we will die. Some of us would. We feel that way!
It’s not that we don’t care, it’s that we care so much that if we always made that known we’d never do anything good. We think we don’t as it is. We really think we are useless and now you agree. That hurts a lot.
(Even with the song lyrics thrown into the full entry, I have no idea wtf I was talking about.)
3.19.08
Things are just not fair. They just aren’t.
I know you probably already know that, and I don’t want you to think that I only just realized this about the universe… but I felt like it needed to be said.
(At age 20, my keen powers of observational prowess began to shine forth...)
3.20.08
Ever have one of those days where you just feel like everything you do is stupid and you can point out a hundred times during the day where you made yourself look like an idiot?
Yeah, well… those kinds of days just need to leave me alone because, one, they make me feel really low and I don’t like it very much… and two, they make me really unpleasant to be around, and that in turn just makes me look even MORE like an idiot.
*growls*
I growl a lot when I’m in one of those moods. Not even joking. I really growl.
The rest of my family all mutter quietly, but I growl.
It kind of feels good to make that noise, so that makes me feel a little better.
It’s like this really rumbly feeling down in my throat… I kind of like hearing myself make that sound. I know I probably sound ridiculous, but it does make me feel better some.
Plus, it gets me away from using swears. I use swears in my stories and poems sometimes, but those are always very deliberate… instead of blurting out swears left and right just because I’m in a bad mood.
Too bad growling makes me feel kind of like an idiot at the same time… since that’s exactly the feeling I’m trying to rid myself of.
(And I still do it to this day.)
3.21.08
I’ve discovered that when British women get really emotional and talk loud, that their voices suddenly become a thousand times less attractive.
Oh yes, it’s true.
(Another diamond of an observation.)
2.24.08
I really hope my university is making a mistake, or there’s gonna be trouble.
For me.
For my doppelganger…
Oh yes… I have one, apparently.
What troublesome things they truly are.
(That was the day my university threatened to expel me because of something that a gentleman imbecile who shares my name did.)
3.9.09
The nosebleeds were terrible.
I would be in class, and then I’d have to leave because I’d feel my nose start to run, and I would get out a tissue from my bible case (yeah, that was back when I took my Bible with me everywhere, every day, even if I knew I wouldn’t have time to read it…I’m an idiot now, so I rarely ever take it with me anymore…I should totally start doing that again) and when I’d wipe my nose, ta-da! Bloody. I think I interrupted a bunch of classes that way.
The worst times though, were when I’d have been sleeping, and I’d start coughing and wake myself up, and I’d eventually get over my coughing fit and curl back up and try to go to sleep again, but then I’d feel this tickling sensation in my nose, and I’d know my nose was bleeding. Unfortunately, I am a really lazy person and, instead of reaching for a tissue from the box on my nightstand/chess table, I would just sort of roll over and hang my head off the side of my bed. Big ol’ drops of blood would just fall plip! down onto my fake-wooden floor, and I’d just breathe through my mouth and watch it keep plipping on down, hoping it would just stop and I could wipe it away and that would be that…because pinching my nose to make the bleeding stop would make it even harder to breathe afterward…I don’t know why that happens. It just does.
Eventually I’d realize it wasn’t going to stop very quickly without my intervention, and I’d spend the rest of the night annoyed that I really, really couldn’t breathe and that I had a little puddle of nosebleed to clean up, too…
Anyway, I don’t know what purpose there is in my writing this, except to maybe illustrate that I am lazy and have disgusting personal habits that people who know me would never guess I have…
(That's quite a confession, coming from me.)
3.12.09
I know my media conspired against me to make this happen.
You see, there’s someone who I can relate all of this back to. There’s someone who, up until I got into the vampire novels, everything I read was about that person. There was always a character that, in my mind, totally made sense as this person, and there was always a character that made sense as me, even in stories I was assigned for class.
Then, when I started reading Dracula and went on through all the other vampire stories I’ve read…it was just me. This other person wasn’t a character anymore, but I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because of the same thing I write all my poems about…I think Reeser died, but didn’t die. I write about that a lot.
Music has been kind of similar…when I met Goth music, things were cool between us. I was astonished that it existed, and glad to be its friend. Then I found out that it knew me. It knew about the thing with this character who would always show up in the books I read, and that’s why it had worked so hard to find me. It knew I would need it…
Well, um…that’s creepy and upsetting. I really tried getting away from it for a while, and that’s how I ended up listening to so much alt. rock and befriending Freddie Mercury…but Goth music is too smart for me. It sent out someone more convincing to get me, and I think I let Goth talk me into staying friends since it made things seem like maybe they could be funny instead of depressing after all.
I think it’s introduced me to Voltaire to prove that it has a sense of humor. Just in case I wasn’t convinced all the way.
I think I’m convinced. But that doesn’t mean that I’m completely happy about some things.
(Masterful use of personification, wouldn't you say? This should've been an indicator that I was turning into a crazy person.)
3.26.09
I haven’t thought back about it all evening, but I’m sort of tingling, thinking about it right now. Heehee. Yeah, back when I was sure I was going to Cornerstone back over summer, I wrote in here that I was excited enough to very nearly sprout little bat wings and fly around the ceiling, squeaking (okay, so apparently I almost turned into a little bat…not just wings), and that’s how excited I am right now.
I will try very hard to not turn into a little bat, since that would complicate my life to no end.
(No idea what I was so excited about.)
3.28.09
I’ve never been in someone else’s mind so that I could know for sure, but I’m going to make an assumption about other people’s daydreams. Well, maybe two assumptions. One, that most people daydream in the first person, and that two, most people’s daydreams are actually about themselves.
I hate getting sucked into daydreams with recurrent characters that get depressed and cry at the drop of a hat. What are you supposed to do with them? I mean, it’s your daydream, right? Therefore, you made that person cry, right?
But…if you’re like me, you’re not in your daydream, so how can you get it to stop? Well, you could just stop thinking about it, except that that’s not how daydreams work…ever try to not daydream? Yeah. Neigh on impossible. So you’re stuck with trying to intervene in your own daydream, or waiting for some other character to happen along and get this figment of your imagination to please stop crying…
I think my daydreams are unduly distressing. I should stop having daydreams.
(I still have these same daydreams about the same thing! Less crying...but still...)
St. Patrick's Day is not a real holiday anymore. I remember when I was Catholic, and it was about something...but not being Catholic makes it a holiday about being a drunk.
I must be some kind of lucky though. I did not have to work today. Of course, I missed work on Friday because I woke up at 7am and was violently sick and called the theatre the moment the managers walked in the door, only to be told to call our senior manager, who was asleep...
I'd feel more upset about missing a whole shift, except I worked almost 48 hours last week, and I know I'll have at least 36 logged by the end of this week, too, which makes up for it...
Spent most of today in bed, shivering and being half-asleep, and attempting to neither move nor breathe when I was half awake because it made everything so much worse.
I feel kind of okay now. Fevery.
Spent my waking hours paying bills, seeing the pets, and working through a book of Celtic myths and legends. It wasn't what I expected...the book's split up with sections on stories from Ireland, the Isle of Man, Scotland, Wales, Cornwall, and Brittany, and somehow the Irish stories are the most boring and incomprehensable. Meh.
I liked the Manx and Scottish stories a lot, and I have a vague recollection of our elementary school librarian reading us a book of fairy tales that might've come from those stories, but it may have been somewhere else.
I suppose it was the best I could do to acknowledge that I do possess some Irish heritage after all, since not everyone is given over to drunkenness.
One: I am still here. Just haven't been inclined to write anything lately.
Two: She apologised to me, which NEVER happens. I almost died.
Three: A server and I determined earlier that 80's children should be afraid of teddy bears, due to the Care Bear cartoon being about fluffy, colourful bears who drive down from the clouds to shoot you with rainbow laser beams for being too unhappy.
Four: At the top of my personal list of Things That Are Not Good to Throw Up, I have added "anything with hot peppers in it". Because, like all people, I occasionally burp or hiccup or cough and then taste a tiny bit of vomit...and that happened just a bit ago. Unfortunately, I ate a burger for dinner that was topped with raw jalapenos, crispy jalapeno flakes, and a very spicy chipotle sauce to boot. I now know what it is to breathe fire. Fortunately I've watched MythBusters, and learned that gargling with a small swallow of milk is the best idea EVER if I find myself in that situation again.
Five: There's some very hush-hush drama going on...but nobody on our leadership team can keep anything to themselves, and since my job means everyone tells me every possible thing whether I want to know or not, of course I know about it. And someone I've worked very hard to keep out of trouble is probably going to get the boot. I'm sad about that, but...I cannot save everyone from their stupidity.
Six: I am going to buy my wedding dress later this week. *gulp*
She had a fight with mom and, once we were the only ones in the room, she turned on me and finally told me she hates me and the only reason she is glad I'm getting married is because then I'll be gone. Little monster. I got mean with her, I suppose, and made her cry...but I won't be spoken to like that, even if mom and dad let her get away with it. I cannot think of a single time in our lives where I've been bad to her in any way without her first doing something unnecessary and awful to me. I'm done with her being this way...it genuinely tires me to think of it continuing, and, you know? I hope she is glad when I'm gone. Then we won't have any reason at all to go through this nonsense ever again.
Then there was work.
I keep going back to a conversation that happened months ago, where one of the managers was arguing with senior leadership about how it didn't matter if the company says we're not allowed to be friends, because our management team is all together all the time, so who else are we going to be friends with? She didn't have an answer to that. I feel like being friends with people is unavoidable when you start having conversations like this...
*Luke steps into my cubby-office*
Luke: Aaaaaagh!
Me: Tell me about it.
Luke: That's what it's like out there right now. *starts looking all over for something*
Me: That sounds terrible. What are you looking for?
Luke: *pause* Solace.
Me: *pats his arm* There, there.
Luke: Weak. I'm surprised you can even lift your hand now that it's weighted down like that.
Me: You're lucky. If it wasn't weighted down, I'd've hit you a lot harder.
And Abbie and Qaman are trying to persuade me that they could be bridesmaids, and want to help me come up with ideas and things...I don't know about some of their ideas, but they made me laugh more than anything else so far this past week. :P
I was pretty tickled that they even remembered I am a Goth. I forgot, I guess, how people tend to react to that information...I was playing my ipod in the little checkout office and one busser asked if that was my music, because it sounded like Satan was trying to talk to her, and a server started repeating all the words to one song before launching into a contemplatiuon of whether or not fallen angels would cry, and then announcing that, by the way, my hair smelled really good, given that I was trapped in that tiny room with no air circulation. (Wolf thought: wtf...how are you close enough to me to smell my hair?)
With all the nonsense going on around me at work, it's a miracle that I ever get anything done.
A few days ago, Jester and I went out with both sets of our parents, and I felt that went really well. I was glad. Am.
I appreciated that they all came out to see each other, given that both sets of parents had to be strong-armed into going in the first place...foolishness. Who doesn't like going out with family? (except maybe that girl who hates me and said we weren't family to begin with)
Hopefully this goodwill will continue. I will be sorry to see what happens if anyone else gets out-of-control and says the kinds of things to me that my sibling said. And part of it isn't even because it would hurt me. No. It's more to do with the dark-voiced creature who can sometimes still think rationally enough to come up with the kinds of responses that make people weep and wish they had never said anything to me at all. I don't want to see myself behave that way, since I ultimately end up doing more damage than whoever got me started. I almost feel the need to enlist someone specifically for the purpose of keeping me from saying things when I get angry.
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