2004-09-14 - 12:36 a.m.
The last few weeks have been a very down the rabbit hole experience.
No, I'm not on drugs, though it must appear that way, I'm sure.
I'm stuck. I'm in a cul-de-sac and I can't turn around. Give me something to turn around for, something to turn things around with. I've been trying... or maybe I haven't ... I can't even tell.
Counsellor appointment came and went. Strange. I didn't even get through half the things which have happened. I cried a little, joked around moderately, and stared at the walls a lot. It was a bit like my life condensed down into an intense hour.
He laughed when I called my parents "my little troublemakers". Strange things happen when they're together, I can't seem to leave them alone for a minute. Today they put cinnamon on steak, for crying out loud.
I actually play mother pretty well, when I have the time. It's getting back to Barbara where I have problems. Maybe because she was poorly defined. If she were a character in a story I wouldn't read it because she wouldn't seem tangible.
Barbara touches her hair when she's nervous. She often thinks too hard and this causes her to trip over her tongue. When she sits she hunches over slightly, a remnant of trying to hide from the teacher's gaze in highschool.
Ooooh, that's sad. Let's try again.
Barbara likes to make faces and be facetious. She isn't afraid of being honest, or vulnerable, but sometimes she will find it hard to meet your eyes because it seems too intimate. She likes boys but is feverishly happy with being single. She goes to uni, but isn't entirely sure why, and mainly goes out of habit.
Yeah. That's me. I feel better having worked that out, but GAWWWD, can you believe how much I'm talking about myself? It's my diary and even I find it a bit nauseating.
I got a call from Amnesty International the other day. Do you remember that woman from so-and-so, sentenced to death by stoning for being pregnant out of wedlock? Well, Amnesty got her off, and now she's getting married. Aw.
No, I'm not on drugs, though it must appear that way, I'm sure.
I'm stuck. I'm in a cul-de-sac and I can't turn around. Give me something to turn around for, something to turn things around with. I've been trying... or maybe I haven't ... I can't even tell.
Counsellor appointment came and went. Strange. I didn't even get through half the things which have happened. I cried a little, joked around moderately, and stared at the walls a lot. It was a bit like my life condensed down into an intense hour.
He laughed when I called my parents "my little troublemakers". Strange things happen when they're together, I can't seem to leave them alone for a minute. Today they put cinnamon on steak, for crying out loud.
I actually play mother pretty well, when I have the time. It's getting back to Barbara where I have problems. Maybe because she was poorly defined. If she were a character in a story I wouldn't read it because she wouldn't seem tangible.
Barbara touches her hair when she's nervous. She often thinks too hard and this causes her to trip over her tongue. When she sits she hunches over slightly, a remnant of trying to hide from the teacher's gaze in highschool.
Ooooh, that's sad. Let's try again.
Barbara likes to make faces and be facetious. She isn't afraid of being honest, or vulnerable, but sometimes she will find it hard to meet your eyes because it seems too intimate. She likes boys but is feverishly happy with being single. She goes to uni, but isn't entirely sure why, and mainly goes out of habit.
Yeah. That's me. I feel better having worked that out, but GAWWWD, can you believe how much I'm talking about myself? It's my diary and even I find it a bit nauseating.
I got a call from Amnesty International the other day. Do you remember that woman from so-and-so, sentenced to death by stoning for being pregnant out of wedlock? Well, Amnesty got her off, and now she's getting married. Aw.
