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Jan. 11th, 2006 08:54 pmNEXT TIME I RANT IT WILL BE TO THE PERSON WHO NEEDS TO HEAR IT. This I promise.
Unless, you know, I get asked unexpected questions which start me going before I get the chance. Again.
Whining, feel free to ignore
Jan. 15th, 2005 11:30 pmBah. Knew this was going to happen.
Have been in exceedingly good mood these past two weeks, up until a little bit into contra dancing tonight. What probably caused this crash was probably mostly just random-evil-mood-swing-ness, although I can definitely pinpoint two occurrences that I specifically overreacted at. The first being the fact that, with Erin occupying Dan, and Pat and Moody absent, there were only two guys I knew to dance with... and about twelve girls in our 'group' tonight, for some reason. I don't dislike dancing with people I don't know, but I do dislike not being able to dance with people I do know. Got more sullen upon realization that this was not a case of being "not able" to do something, but due almost exclusively to the fact that I am not forthright enough to overcome such a slanted sex ratio that I don't just 'end up' with people I'm already friends with.
Second occurrence that I flipped out at was rest of world's poking fun at Dan and Erin, which I realize was probably meant all in good fun, but is only 'all in good fun' if it is not present through the ENTIRETY of one's relationship. It's bad enough that they can only see each other when the rest of us loons are around; the least we can do is leave them alone about it. Ended up insulting Ella and scolding Elyse Geibel about it, then leaving the kitchen and sitting apart in one of the folding chairs until five of ten. Sat outside in the cold with Dan and Erin for fifteen minutes (*hugs both muchly for keeing her company*) until Pat showed up to bring me home. And am now here, decompressing with peppermint tea and Victor Hugo.
The next two days are for homework and chilling. I am not doing anything 'fun', and I am not spending money.
Part of me is tempted to start fasting again, but that would be a really shitty idea.
Have been in exceedingly good mood these past two weeks, up until a little bit into contra dancing tonight. What probably caused this crash was probably mostly just random-evil-mood-swing-ness, although I can definitely pinpoint two occurrences that I specifically overreacted at. The first being the fact that, with Erin occupying Dan, and Pat and Moody absent, there were only two guys I knew to dance with... and about twelve girls in our 'group' tonight, for some reason. I don't dislike dancing with people I don't know, but I do dislike not being able to dance with people I do know. Got more sullen upon realization that this was not a case of being "not able" to do something, but due almost exclusively to the fact that I am not forthright enough to overcome such a slanted sex ratio that I don't just 'end up' with people I'm already friends with.
Second occurrence that I flipped out at was rest of world's poking fun at Dan and Erin, which I realize was probably meant all in good fun, but is only 'all in good fun' if it is not present through the ENTIRETY of one's relationship. It's bad enough that they can only see each other when the rest of us loons are around; the least we can do is leave them alone about it. Ended up insulting Ella and scolding Elyse Geibel about it, then leaving the kitchen and sitting apart in one of the folding chairs until five of ten. Sat outside in the cold with Dan and Erin for fifteen minutes (*hugs both muchly for keeing her company*) until Pat showed up to bring me home. And am now here, decompressing with peppermint tea and Victor Hugo.
The next two days are for homework and chilling. I am not doing anything 'fun', and I am not spending money.
Part of me is tempted to start fasting again, but that would be a really shitty idea.
That damn cake metaphor is sticking with me. Have realized the same thing with the cake metaphor as I did with the hot-chocolate metaphor Hatim asked me after freshman year.
Which went as follows... question was, what's your favorite hot drink, why, and how to do you drink it? Answer: Hot chocolate, because it's chocolate, and I don't. I drink tea. I will always almost opt for tea, and I pretty much only drink hot chocolate at Show Band when it's unbelieveably freezing, and that has no chocolate content anyway. This is, quite simply, because it makes me sick. Point of this question was that hot drink of choice=sex. Look at what that says about me.
So due to this cake metaphor I've had an insatiable craving for literal cake. There is one slight problem (besides lack of cake): I wouldn't be able to eat it. These past few days I've barely been able to eat anything anyway, subsisting mostly off of drink. This is a periodic intensification, normally brought on by some form of anger or melancholy or worry, of a usually ignorable but pretty constant trait of mine: inability to deal with self-indulgence. I do this constantly. I like cake. When there is cake around, I am happy. However, actually eating just about anything, but especially junk food, is always accompanied by the knowledge that I really don't need this, a self-critical depression, disappointment at myself for lack of willpower, and annoyance at myself for finishing it because I somehow feel like it's obligatory. Sometimes I know this is going to happen and thus avoid it. Usually I know it's going to happen and eat it anyway. When I'm manic, I really just don't care until I get sick later anyway.
Self-indulgence is self-indulgence as far as I'm concerned, and I have the same negative reaction to all of it. I don't want to have my cake and eat it too. I've made my decision. I prefer to have my cake rather than eat it. The problem with this is that if I don't eat it, someone else will, or someone will throw it away eventually. Hence I have an apathy about my own high-minded distaste for such selfishness and sometimes engage in it anyway, continuing to get pissed off at myself and feeling like I'd rather just not care but not managing to pull it off.
And usually it doesn't matter. But sometimes, as now, I get very annoyed at the number of people who seem to be able to do what makes them happy and just be okay with it, wonder why I can't just bloody enjoy myself, and wonder how much is inherent and how much has to do with the fact that I have, in the past been severely bitchslapped as a result of self-gratification, and am now usually somewhere between relatively wary and paranoid of possible negative consequences of basing my behavior around my own whims and feelings as opposed to just about anything (or anyone) else.
Unlike life or society as a whole, which start off messed up and contintually move in what they think is a direction of improvement (sometimes is, sometimes isn't), many of the smaller things in life, like friendships, start off in a nice, perfect state of relaxed, fun and friendly chill, and get screwed up from then on. Then you usually can't ever go back to that same state of even and issue-less chilling out, because the past is a part of the present. You can't un-eat the cake if you change your mind. I hate this particular sort of finality. It's also part of what makes me ill. Wounds can heal in a few days, but scars don't go away, no matter what you do, for years, if ever, and they're just sort of there, marring your skin, even if they're not injuries any longer. And there's nothing to be done about it.
Which went as follows... question was, what's your favorite hot drink, why, and how to do you drink it? Answer: Hot chocolate, because it's chocolate, and I don't. I drink tea. I will always almost opt for tea, and I pretty much only drink hot chocolate at Show Band when it's unbelieveably freezing, and that has no chocolate content anyway. This is, quite simply, because it makes me sick. Point of this question was that hot drink of choice=sex. Look at what that says about me.
So due to this cake metaphor I've had an insatiable craving for literal cake. There is one slight problem (besides lack of cake): I wouldn't be able to eat it. These past few days I've barely been able to eat anything anyway, subsisting mostly off of drink. This is a periodic intensification, normally brought on by some form of anger or melancholy or worry, of a usually ignorable but pretty constant trait of mine: inability to deal with self-indulgence. I do this constantly. I like cake. When there is cake around, I am happy. However, actually eating just about anything, but especially junk food, is always accompanied by the knowledge that I really don't need this, a self-critical depression, disappointment at myself for lack of willpower, and annoyance at myself for finishing it because I somehow feel like it's obligatory. Sometimes I know this is going to happen and thus avoid it. Usually I know it's going to happen and eat it anyway. When I'm manic, I really just don't care until I get sick later anyway.
Self-indulgence is self-indulgence as far as I'm concerned, and I have the same negative reaction to all of it. I don't want to have my cake and eat it too. I've made my decision. I prefer to have my cake rather than eat it. The problem with this is that if I don't eat it, someone else will, or someone will throw it away eventually. Hence I have an apathy about my own high-minded distaste for such selfishness and sometimes engage in it anyway, continuing to get pissed off at myself and feeling like I'd rather just not care but not managing to pull it off.
And usually it doesn't matter. But sometimes, as now, I get very annoyed at the number of people who seem to be able to do what makes them happy and just be okay with it, wonder why I can't just bloody enjoy myself, and wonder how much is inherent and how much has to do with the fact that I have, in the past been severely bitchslapped as a result of self-gratification, and am now usually somewhere between relatively wary and paranoid of possible negative consequences of basing my behavior around my own whims and feelings as opposed to just about anything (or anyone) else.
Unlike life or society as a whole, which start off messed up and contintually move in what they think is a direction of improvement (sometimes is, sometimes isn't), many of the smaller things in life, like friendships, start off in a nice, perfect state of relaxed, fun and friendly chill, and get screwed up from then on. Then you usually can't ever go back to that same state of even and issue-less chilling out, because the past is a part of the present. You can't un-eat the cake if you change your mind. I hate this particular sort of finality. It's also part of what makes me ill. Wounds can heal in a few days, but scars don't go away, no matter what you do, for years, if ever, and they're just sort of there, marring your skin, even if they're not injuries any longer. And there's nothing to be done about it.
Cry to Heaven? Or more of the same...
Jan. 2nd, 2005 10:33 am"The fact is that love is like a tree, it grows of its own accord, strikes deep roots throughout our being, and continues to put out leaves on a heart in ruins.
"And what defies explanation is that the blinder the passion, the more tenacious it is. It is never more solid than when it lacks all reason."
--Victor Hugo, Notre-Dame de Paris, p. 398
I am the Cynical Romantic; the Fairy Gothmother; the Devil on the left shoulder; the priest in the confessional with a meaningless vow of confidence; the narrative commentary, character analysis and explication of a Romantic novel. I am the translator; I hold the backstory that doesn't make it into the movie. I am the bit character that exists to give random information neccessary to the plot, but the character itself isn't a character, it's a plot device.
If I am to be everything other than a central character, let me truly be everything other than a central character. Let me be a bucket of cold water dumped over somebody's head. Let me be a deus ex machina for just one player. Let me be heeded when I am right, and for the love of God let me be wrong more often. Let me be proven too cynical.
If all that fails, let me be left alone.
And regardless of my position, let stupid decisions and dramatic bullshit from now on be resolved within one year.
(And that, my loves, is the closest thing to a prayer I have offered in longer than I care to remember.)
"And what defies explanation is that the blinder the passion, the more tenacious it is. It is never more solid than when it lacks all reason."
--Victor Hugo, Notre-Dame de Paris, p. 398
I am the Cynical Romantic; the Fairy Gothmother; the Devil on the left shoulder; the priest in the confessional with a meaningless vow of confidence; the narrative commentary, character analysis and explication of a Romantic novel. I am the translator; I hold the backstory that doesn't make it into the movie. I am the bit character that exists to give random information neccessary to the plot, but the character itself isn't a character, it's a plot device.
If I am to be everything other than a central character, let me truly be everything other than a central character. Let me be a bucket of cold water dumped over somebody's head. Let me be a deus ex machina for just one player. Let me be heeded when I am right, and for the love of God let me be wrong more often. Let me be proven too cynical.
If all that fails, let me be left alone.
And regardless of my position, let stupid decisions and dramatic bullshit from now on be resolved within one year.
(And that, my loves, is the closest thing to a prayer I have offered in longer than I care to remember.)
