In which I acquire a fraction of a girlfriend.
Based on a true story.
Kissy friends are the best.
Based on a true story.
Kissy friends are the best.
I’m getting frustrated. I am often sick of my job. I am often tired of existing.
I have less than three weeks left of class. I have to power through. I have no idea how I will manage it, but I will do it…somehow.
My cat just climbed onto my back. She likes that sort of thing.
This is the last day of BEDA! Woo! I was at least partially successful. I posted every day, although the quality and content varied greatly. I think I’ll come back for August.
I’m almost done with math class forever. I will not be taking math in college.
*goes off to attempt calculus homework*
to face the sun with a smile
and greet morning as friend,
and take time apart
to build from within
and accept what’s without
So my school will be putting on a performance of The Boy Friend next weekend. I don’t understand the musical very well, as I haven’t been interested enough in the plot to pick up a script or read much about it online. However, from my limited knowledge of it, I can tell you that I completely disagree with what I understand to be the premise. The music is catchy, though.
I have three weeks of class left. This week will probably be the most stressful one. I’ve been trying to de-stress as much as I can. At work, I sit cross-legged on the floor in the break room and focus on my breathing when I have breaks. I also try to sleep a lot and avoid staying up late for homework. Lately I have been unsuccessful in this.
*yawns, wanders off to bed*
I am watching television. It is quite the adventure.
I keep feeling more and more like I suck at friends. I don’t think I really have a best friend now. There are different kinds of gaps between me and other friends so that it doesn’t feel like we’re really close enough to be best friends. If I had to pick one, I guess I’d say Tiph, but…I mean…she lives in Texas, man. That’s far away from here.
I like cuddling and watching crappy television shows. I also like good television shows. And eating chocolate things. And discussing books. And geeking out about things. And staring up at the ceiling together. And having lovely conversations. And hugs.
Feel free to drop off your best friend application on any weekday between seven and four.
Or at any time, really. I made those numbers up.
I must prepare to attend the promenade this evening.
Here is a picture of my cat. He will not be accompanying me, unfortunately.
The high five that transforms to a clasped hand.
The sound of the rain.
The full moon.
The taste of melted chocolate.
The smell of the earth and atmosphere after a storm.
Warm pavement beneath my skin.
The crashing waves by the seashore.
Baby creatures of nearly any kind.
When I was at the psychiatric hospital, we had to do some pretty childish activities. They weren’t so bad in the group as they would have been in a private session with a therapist. Once, we started the day with this:
We had to pick out bears to represent us in crisis, in treatment, and recovered (although I’m not sure what the word the therapist used was). In mine they are coloured red, yellow, and green, respectively. We then had to share with the group our reasons for picking the ones we did.
Look! Bear homicide!
We were supposed to put the picture somewhere to remind us to assess ourselves for feelings of crisis. I put it in a folder and stuck it in my desk.
I think what helped (more than hanging the picture would) was the amount of thought that was needed to organize the bears into the three categories. Do I do things like this in crisis? Is this how treatment feels to me? Is my goal to feel and act like this?
The bears are my most memorable recollection from the week spent there. I’m not sure what that says about me, and I must admit I don’t care what it says about me either.
I get very nervous when I read something out loud. It’s not that I’m intimidated by written language - I just can never quite keep my brain calm and organized enough to take note of how quickly I am reading and how well I am expressing the work.
Also, when I mess up I have a horrible habit of going “ABLGYLALAH!” or some other similar sound.
Tomorrow evening I am reading some poems at a fundraiser coffeehouse at my school. One of them is my very favourite poem of all time. I have been practicing it. After I post this, I am going to record myself reading, play it back, rinse, and repeat until I get it right. I just feel like I might not do it justice.
And in short, I am afraid.
(My favourite poem is “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot.)
Its smoky tendrils curl about your ankles,
Intangible to others yet able to knock you flat on your back.
If you cry out, the response is silence
Or perhaps a weak promise
Made in an offhand way
But never kept.
Surrender is familiar and tempting, but still
You reach for a hold that can withstand your desperate fingers.
You think you’ve found one, but it fails.
You slip and then you pause.
And then, in that pause,
You lose yourself.