hi. thanks for stopping by. nice to meet you. i love your shoes.
that's a proper start, right?
anyway. i'm blogging to relieve the growing tension between my brain and my skull.
a place of sanctuary and thought ... or just thought. somewhere to jot it all down, ya know?
i'm terrible at keeping hand-written journals these days. i hope this goes well.
i have an essay due tuesday but i haven't started it yet. not to my surprise, i've been seized by the procrastination monster, and right before finals. my first year back to school and i can't seem to get a grip. i feel this intense pressure to do well, unrealistically perfect, and i know it's all in my head. there's this constant war going on inside of me and it's all freakin' poppycock! i did just use the phrase "inside of me" and the word "cock" in the same sentence. feel free to giggle.
i should start the essay in 30 minutes. that will give me enough time to finish this, spend 2 hours on my paper, and have another hour to indulge myself by watching Hugh Laurie grace the medical world (starting on season one ... again).
next week? maybe another round of blackadder. that sounds delicious.
oh essay, why do you torment me so?! you're tearing me apart!!!
so anyway ... at some point today i starting thinking about the whole 'love' scheme. i recall there being no thoughts that lead into it, but i had just enough time to give the idea a once over before switching my attention to something shiny. i think the idea of love is fucking wonderful and the experience can be one of the most exciting things ever, especially at the beginning.
but my batting average is shit, so what do i know?
this love thing makes itself look pretty tempting and quite scrumptious, but it always seems to hit below the belt. love makes us hurt (and not just romantic love, all kinds of love). sometimes, as i have experienced, you can even be
in love and
still be miserable. that scenario sucks. crazy, twisty, womanly emotions getting all tangled up and knotted together. soon they start sending all the wrong signals and getting mixed in communications, causing spontaneous meltdowns and smudged mascara. what a bunch of crap.
i don't like meltdowns, but once they start, they don't stop. it's like this immovable (yet jiggly) force that makes icky slurping noises as it consumes you. pretty soon you're sitting in the car, oozing your emotional goo all over the place, while your object of point is staring at you with concern, and with bagels in their lap. if you're lucky though, they'll be understanding, and your self-esteem wont bottom out. that's the best case scenario.
worst case scenario involves them clutching the bagels with great fear, their jaw slightly dropping, while they subtly grasp for the door handle. within two seconds of ending your emotional drivel, they'll bolt from the car so fast a 'whooshing' sound will will rush past your ears. unless you're wearing a sexy black dress and have precisely timed, romantic R&B. that works like a charm.
i have a confession. i've been watching 'the room' whilst writing this. it's so ... so good.
and with that, i have an essay to write.
