Anywho. I went home this weekend. Saw the family, made 250 in belated birthday monies, and got to chill avec mes amies for a bit. Was cool. Felt bad cause when I got back home (here home.. at school) my friend called me and bitched at me a bit for not visiting him. Which I felt bad for, but in my defense, I barely got to see anyone seeing as I only had half of Sunday for visiting. (Parents/family took up Friday and Saturday) Uhm uhm uhm. Don't know what else needs to be said. It's kinda upsetting how frequent this state happens to occur. I just, I dunno. It's like my smoking, now that I'm free to smoke/blog as I please, I do it less. I guess the blogging thing is a bit different, it's just that now that I have this freedom and these people to talk to about my life/problems, I don't really need to vent about them. Don't get me wrong, I still love writing and emptying myself fully and wholly into this blog, but I feel like my posts have been lacking depth. I don't remember the last "true to my feelings" "honest to my heart" blog post I wrote. I wonder if I've ever really written one of those. Hrm.
Ooh, completely irrelevant, (and kinda contradictory) I forgot to mention my bus ride with "that guy". That guy, of course, being the one I've become exasperated with as time progresses. Again, not fair to him, but it's not like he knows I'm getting frustrated with him, so meh. I JUST WISH HE'D NOTICE. *sigh*
Thing is, he'll make these comments and make it sound like he's interested. But then... Nothing. Par examplle, I asked him what kind of girl he was attracted to and in response he started describing me: short girls, with short dark brownish black hair, Persian, etc.
COMPLETELY DIFFERENT NOTE: I think that's the first time I've mentioned my ethnicity on this blog. WEIRD. To anyone reading this, please don't hold it against me. I, personally, am not particularly fond of Persians and do not enjoy being one. For the most part. I don't mind the language... or the dancing. Oh yeah, Persians like to dance. It's AWESOME. I absolutely adore going to legit Persian parties, with the loud, happy music and the energetic, flirty dancing. LOVE IT.
Right, what was I saying. Uhm, oh. Yeah, the comments.
Meh, you know what? I don't care.
That's such a lie.
I wish he'd notice me.
"Oh my gosh, you guys! He just, like, totally makes me all mushy inside! I just wish he'd like, notice me, you know? Like, I'm pretty, right? Like, I'm not, like, ugly, right? *sad face* He just, like, I don't know, he, like, totally needs to make up his mind. Or, like, get a clue."
-To be said in false, preteen girly accent in mockery of my utter patheticness.
By the way, I'd just like to mention that I did not degrade myself while with the blonde ottawaian's brother. I only had sex with him, and did not preform any other sexual acts with or for him.
My mum offered to let me see the shrink again. She ever so sweetly whispered it into my ear as I was innocently sitting on the couch reading "Comedy of Errors" for drama. Do I look like I need to return to the shrink? I AM NO LONGER INSANE.
Again, such a lie.
Plus, I kinda miss my shrink. Which, I might add, I constantly feel stupid for. Especially when I think of why it is I miss her: the reason being that she appeared to care about my issues; something any sane person would understand to be false. A shrink listening to your problems and commenting on them is not the equivalent to a friend that cares about you. The shrink is getting paid to care. There is no "friendship".
I miss her.
Don't know why I put air quotes on the term friendship.
I think I'm just tired. I wish I'd stop talking about myself. Or using the word "I". Or pronoun, rather.
Due to the fact that I've resorted to rambling, this blog post will end..
now.
Though I never would consider myself thoroughly wise or anything (my old blog title was "Words from the Almost Wise), I like to think I can understand where people are coming from. I enjoy your writing, it makes me laugh... not the serious parts, but the parts that are supposed to make someone laugh.
ReplyDeleteI digress... what I mean to say is I have never been to a shrink, though I've considered it. Having someone who understands how brains work (well, as much as we humans can), and who also really knows how to listen can be a great help.
A rarity in this world. Truly listening. And not just to truly listen, but to understand. Very few have that gift, and those with the money and tenacity to go to school and make something of themselves to become therapists, shrinks, or whathaveyou would be grateful to have a client such as yourself.
If you miss her, go back. At least, that's what I would do.
Good luck in all your endeavors.
Does it bother you I write novels in your comment boxes? I hope not.
I believe you are just trying to be you, and I respect that. Keep it up- you might come on to something. And when you do, let us know, ya?
I don't mind even a little bit that you write me novels, it makes me feel special :)
ReplyDeleteI've toyed with the idea that it is possible she actually did care and knew how to listen, but always manage to convince myself that she was just doing her job. As tempting as it is to revisit her, I can't really. I don't want my parents to think I still need shrinking, mainly because they only sent me to her because I was being too rebellious for their taste (being sexually inclined, drinking, smoking, etc.) and if I tell them I need to see her again they'll think I've reverted to my old ways. I don't have room to explain all the problems with that situation, but I'm pretty sure I've gone through (in detail) the problems I have with my parents in previous posts.
Also, because this blog is partially a means of finding myself and explaining myself to myself, I promise that you will be the first to know when I figure out who I am :)