Every Time
Every time I manage to get my hopes up, something manages to crush them.
Sad, sad, sad.
Pathetic.
I thought last night would be The Night, too. Alas, for false dreams and wispy wishings…thou’rt fruitless, thy flutterings only temporary.
Rigidity
My intense addiction to lists is becoming somewhat alarming. I think that it has a psychological basis; because my mind is so chaotic, often looping negative thoughts in a continuous cycle, or jumbling together processes to such an extent that I cannot sort them out, I exhort obedience from it through rigid written control. This manifests itself in the form of obsessive tally sheets, scheduling, task and goal charts, and calendar abuse. (I prefer Google calendar, as it is the most flexible and I can distort it to fit any personal whim or fancy.)
It’s interesting to me that while I am fully capable of coldly, psychologically assessing myself, I am almost utterly incapable of acting upon any of these assessments. Curious.
Struggles
I am struggling with many different issues right now.
One is at the top of my life.
I keep falling in regards to a personal issue of mine, and I feel horrible about it.
The only thing I can do is absorb myself in my faith. Trust is what will get me through this; I obviously am incapable of doing so myself.
Je’t'Adore
I have somehow managed to sprain my ankle. I’m not sure how, frankly; I just have.
Frustrating.
Have procured ankle brace and am keeping it elevated.
Am also rather ashamed of myself that I’m looking forward to seeing New Moon.
Curse my fallacies.
ER
I found out this morning that my father is in the emergency room on a morphine drip.
Not sure what to do with myself except pray.
Never expected this one
I never thought I would find a man and be in a relationship that truly makes me happy, truly completes me as a person. I have found that with GBW, and it’s astonishing. I am grateful, and I feel blessed.
It’s a mark of how little I think of myself that I never expected to be loved. My own mother told me that I have never been loved and never would be. I guess I have finally proved her wrong.
It feels surreal to me that I can look up across the room at a man who is staring back at me with intense, icy blue eyes, focused on me and only me.
It feels surreal to me that I see him sneaking covert glances at me during romantic songs that previously had never applied to my life before.
It feels surreal that our lives and personalities fit together, like a hand into a perfectly tailored glove.
There have been moments in my life where I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience, because surely something like this wouldn’t happen to me.
But they do happen.
And they still are happening.
A Sort of Peace
I did not get the hoped-for ring on my birthday.
It was, and I admit, too much to expect.
He got me many other lovely presents.
I had many, many messages on my facebook from friends of mine wishing me happy birthday. It’s nice to know that I matter to people still, even if I don’t get the chance to always reconnect with them.
I feel like my life is unfolding in several different paths before me at this point; I’m not sure which way to turn. O Robert Frost, you sure got it right…
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Being a Woman
“Being a woman is worse than being a farmer–there is so much harvesting and crop spraying to be done: legs to be waxed, underarms shaved, eyebrows plucked, feet pumiced, skin exfoliated and moisturized, spots cleansed, roots dyed, eyelashes tinted, nails filed, cellulite massaged, stomach muscles exercised. The whole performance is so highly tuned you only need to neglect it for a few days for the whole thing to go to seed [...] Is it any wonder girls have no confidence?”
–Helen Fielding, Bridget Jones’s Diary
A Question of Happiness
I had not realized how different I am when I am happy or when I am normal.
I am typically melancholic; I am a pessimist by nature, subscribing to the viewpoint that if one always looks on the negative side of things, or expects the worse, that happiness will result when the worst does not occur. My facial muscles, when relaxed, fall into a neutral expression that indicates displeasure to others. When I am stirred out of the ordinary, my eyes flash and my hackles rise at the scent of an impending competition.
Love is what transforms me. I am an emotional person; melancholia is an emotion, make no mistake, and I, of course, have a myriad of others. I have not the emotional range of a teaspoon, as Hermione happened to accuse Ron.
Love, however, is a positive force, and when I overflow with it, I have energy and it transforms me so much that friends ask me if I am on some sort of upper.
Worries
I can’t stand that someone can insert an idea into my head and it will frighten me to the point that I lose faith in something I had previously believed in with a firmness undeniable.
I am the kind of person who needs confirmation and reaffirmation in my life of how people feel towards me; if someone is a friend, they need to contact me and let me know that I am one; if someone is a relative, checking up on me shows that they care; I feel that my boyfriend, the love of my life, needs to confirm and reaffirm.
It’s hard to do when he’s so far away.
Thank God he’s on his way home–I can’t wait to pick him up at the airport tomorrow.
I keep hearing Leona Lewis in my head. No matter how many times I feel insecure in my relationship, or worry about it, I hear that woman’s voice: “I keep bleeding, keep bleeding love.”
