it just walks in, where it left you last
you never know, when it starts,
til there's fire inside the glass around your summer heart
2003-11-29 - 9:43 p.m.
I would quit everything to sleep in the shadow of john mayer, just for the above few lines. He sings them, I know, but when I write down the words they sing off the page at me.
You're thinking, wow, if this is how she sounds normally imagine what would happen if we drugged her. I predict sanity would ensue.
I had counsellor's appointment yesterday. It wasn't that helpful but I like going just because it makes me feel like I'm making an effort.
Or maybe I just like him laughing at my jokes, it's not a bad way to kill an hour as long as I don't start bawling. But I was good this time and I didn't. He told me some proverb about boiling a frog, something something I'm coping apparently.
He gives me far too much credit, says my standards are too high, that I'm not kind to myself, that I live under colossal amounts of pressure and have to factor that in to my bad-uni-ness.
And sure, my sometimes problematic homelife has been a factor, but I was screwed up like this before and I didn't have this excuse then.
I exclaimed "Urgh, what is wrong with me??" and he said "Nothing." But I do psychology courses buddy and I know that's what they tell you to say.
Then last night, we went out. Sandman and Flacco and Bingo in the operahouse; ice cream, a cocktail and pancakes for dinner; general hilarity and muchos fun.
I wandered the rocks for a while beforehand. Passing all the swanky bars and restaurants and clubs and hotels I realised where I want my life to be ... now I just have to google "how to get your own sugar daddy" and things will be kicking.
Walking on the pier. I looked down at the planks of wood and could hear the waves rolling beneath them, it was a strangely familiar experience. Something about the illusion of safety and the instability fighting beneath it.
Maybe this is why I prefer walking on pavement. Nice, solid, painful to fall on pavement.
Although I do like illusion of safety... well, not the illusion part. A girl went missing from this little strip of shops just a minute away from where I went to highschool. It has memories of friends and food and all these wonderful safe things and the idea that it's where a girl vanished from ... I don't know, makes an invisible hand clutch my throat and constrict breathing.
Today I didn't get up til 3pm, these days see me alternating between sleeping far too much and far too little.
Did nothing except read a few trashy mills & boon romance novels. I love them far too much for someone aged under 70. I probably need a boyfriend.
I'm at the musical chairs part of the boy-like boy-hate cycle - music is stopping and lack of chair; quick! grab the nearest one or you'll die alone! This stage is followed by realising I don't want just anyone, which is followed by my not wanting anyone at all, which is followed by hating society for making me want someone, which is followed by hate for guys not wanting me (or mainly for the very wrong guys wanting me).
That of course is followed by cake. Which is followed by guilt over eating cake, hate at myself for resorting to comfort food ... cycles are vicious. And even though Mills & Boon is bad, brain-rotting hilarious stuff, it doesn't fit into any of my cycles, so I like it a lot.
You're thinking, wow, if this is how she sounds normally imagine what would happen if we drugged her. I predict sanity would ensue.
I had counsellor's appointment yesterday. It wasn't that helpful but I like going just because it makes me feel like I'm making an effort.
Or maybe I just like him laughing at my jokes, it's not a bad way to kill an hour as long as I don't start bawling. But I was good this time and I didn't. He told me some proverb about boiling a frog, something something I'm coping apparently.
He gives me far too much credit, says my standards are too high, that I'm not kind to myself, that I live under colossal amounts of pressure and have to factor that in to my bad-uni-ness.
And sure, my sometimes problematic homelife has been a factor, but I was screwed up like this before and I didn't have this excuse then.
I exclaimed "Urgh, what is wrong with me??" and he said "Nothing." But I do psychology courses buddy and I know that's what they tell you to say.
Then last night, we went out. Sandman and Flacco and Bingo in the operahouse; ice cream, a cocktail and pancakes for dinner; general hilarity and muchos fun.
I wandered the rocks for a while beforehand. Passing all the swanky bars and restaurants and clubs and hotels I realised where I want my life to be ... now I just have to google "how to get your own sugar daddy" and things will be kicking.
Walking on the pier. I looked down at the planks of wood and could hear the waves rolling beneath them, it was a strangely familiar experience. Something about the illusion of safety and the instability fighting beneath it.
Maybe this is why I prefer walking on pavement. Nice, solid, painful to fall on pavement.
Although I do like illusion of safety... well, not the illusion part. A girl went missing from this little strip of shops just a minute away from where I went to highschool. It has memories of friends and food and all these wonderful safe things and the idea that it's where a girl vanished from ... I don't know, makes an invisible hand clutch my throat and constrict breathing.
Today I didn't get up til 3pm, these days see me alternating between sleeping far too much and far too little.
Did nothing except read a few trashy mills & boon romance novels. I love them far too much for someone aged under 70. I probably need a boyfriend.
I'm at the musical chairs part of the boy-like boy-hate cycle - music is stopping and lack of chair; quick! grab the nearest one or you'll die alone! This stage is followed by realising I don't want just anyone, which is followed by my not wanting anyone at all, which is followed by hating society for making me want someone, which is followed by hate for guys not wanting me (or mainly for the very wrong guys wanting me).
That of course is followed by cake. Which is followed by guilt over eating cake, hate at myself for resorting to comfort food ... cycles are vicious. And even though Mills & Boon is bad, brain-rotting hilarious stuff, it doesn't fit into any of my cycles, so I like it a lot.
