After electronic conversations with Ryan and Laura W. - yes, this is going to get confusing - I'm feeling much more optimistic. And fed up with myself, but that's my own hangup. Hopefully my emotional state will start listening to reality soon. If anyone else wants to positively reinforce me, please feel free.
Laura G. told me she got home from work just dead exhausted last night. I can't argue; I was feeling that way myself.
After spending half the day moping around and feeling physically shitty and sorry for myself, I went out and got some stencils. I thought that spraypaint required ID in Chicago, but the hardware store told me it's illegal to cell in the city limits. Bullshit. Now I gotta pick up some suburban spraypaint somewhere. I think red and black should be fine for beginners.
I picked up some fruit and some groceries, since I was getting low on a few things. Snow had started coming down by then, but I was driving and the weather didn't penetrate my climate-controlled transport cubicle.
This evening I've made some fresh grape juice/slurry in the blender, and installed the external hard drive I got last week. Tomorrow I need to see about getting a cheap card-reader so I can actually upload my photos I've been taking. I'm heading out to meet up with Liv and Les for a little bit tonight before I come home and crash in preparation for tomorrow's early rise.
Of all the CDs I filed Saturday, I can't find my copy of Rancid's Indestructible or the Suicide Machines' A Match and Some Gasoline. Thankfully they were both burned copies and can be recovered from either WNUR, a friend, or if need be, the inter-web.
Yeah, what an exciting day. Tomorrow I've got a 7am lecture, and Wednesday Nyasha and I have to present a pedo-ortho case, which is always a blast. Feh. Looking forward to some sleep.
Monday, January 15, 2007
"Let's get this show on the road," said the coma girl to the excitement gang.
Right now I'm sitting in bed listening to the incredibly odd mix of songs my MP3 player seems to be putting out. I like it. From punk to jazz to reggae to folk to whatever. When Alton Ellis's version of "Change of Plan" came on, I had to put down my book and lay back and listen; to my neurotically pessimistic state of mind, some of the lyrics were right fucking on.
I never heard from Laura last night. I tried calling, but no answer. So she didn't come over as previously discussed. Color me disappointed. Truth be told, though, I was so tired I was passing out by 11pm anyway. I woke up at 7:30 this morning, all tired and sore still, but wide awake. Maybe a little hungover, too, but I did most of my sobering up last night, and rehydrated heavily as well. Those ten-point beers sure can knock you back.
The ride yesterday was a blast. I've known Danny for six and a half years, but we never started to become friends until a few months ago. A fair amount of that was my part, I think. But it was good to talk with him and hang out for a while.
I was thinking of the insecurities I have, and how I seem to need constant reinforcement sometimes. When I was younger, I really trusted no one. Yeah, it was lonely, and yeah, it hurt sometimes, but it was a predictable, manageable pain - unlike that inflicted (intentionally or not) by other people.
By the time I hit second grade, I was in my fourth or fifth school since my family had moved around so much. I felt like I was constantly at the low end of the totem pole, and never really caught up with my peers socially, until finally at one point in high school I decided that the game wasn't worth playing and I could create my own world with whoever I wanted to let in.
This plan didn't work that well; when I was eighteen, my dog Rocky was hit by a car and we weren't sure if we were going to have to put him to sleep or not. I remember laying on the floor with him at 1am telling him he was the best friend I had since he never judged and always listened. But at that point the plan was still better than the old plan of trying to follow the trends and catch up with the crowd, especially since I was so inept at it.
My parents had me seeing a child psychologist both when I was seven and then again at eleven. I just thought it was a normal thing that everyone did every Saturday at first; I can't remember when it really occurred to me that not everyone did this.
When I was eleven, my day had switched to Tuesday. I remember after my mom would pick me up, we'd usually get Little Caesar's or Brown's Chicken for dinner. I don't know if it was a ploy to buy me off, but I came cheaply then. The psychologist, Dr. Crockett, bought me off with candy and soda.
Dr. Crockett wanted me to draw a picture once. Being eleven years old, and this being 1989 or '90, I drew a teenage mutant ninja turtle. Of course, since I didn't want to draw anything for this woman, I drew it very shittily and quickly just to get it over with. After she heaped lavish praise on me and my shitty drawing, I didn't trust a thing that came out of her mouth. That, coupled with my wising up to the fact that she would discuss our sessions with my mom afterward, induced me to really not be honest or completely forthcoming with her.
Ironic, isn't it, that seeing a psychologist induced more reticence in me? I don't know why I stopped going; maybe I stopped making "progress," or maybe I was "fixed."
When I was fifteen, my parents wanted to do group therapy with me so I'd relate to them better. (I say "relate to them" since they've never showed any real inclination to relate to me.) I think we had one session with Dr. Kane. I told them if they wanted me to go back, they'd have to physically drag me. I think they offered to pay me a pretty hefty sum, and I told them I didn't want it.
I think it would be interesting to read the notes from those childhood therapy sessions. I have a copy of my pediatrician's records, and there was a note that my dad was concerned I was clinically depressed.
Two years ago, my family was in Keystone, me with my swollen ankle and my brother sick and my parents skiing while I went stir-crazy. My parents and I went to dinner at a restaurant on the top of the mountain, to which we had to take two gondolas. On the way back, they admitted that my brother did play them off against me when we were young, and they unintentionally gave him more attention because of his immune deficiency. I think I changed the subject and then the trip was over soon after that.
I have the two periodic tables from Doug Coupland's Shampoo Planet taped up on my wall; one of the elements, "Oo" is "moodswing." Smokey Robinson's "Tears of a Clown" just came on, and I remember a quote from Billy Bragg saying that he used to think love was like a Smokey Robinson song, until he fell in love. He said he still listens to Smokey Robinson, but tries to write love songs without love.
I think it's time to get up and shower and definitely eat something. Once I've got some food in my belly, it's much easier to shut out the disappointment and work on developing my solo life.
Sometimes the old way of complete lack of trust is very tempting. Two years ago, when Marta told me I was a burden, it seemed to validate every fear I'd had coming of age. There were so many times when I felt things would be easier for everyone if I wasn't around. Sometimes I still feel that way, that my impact is so minimal it doesn't really matter. When she said that to me, it seemed to justify every moment of shutting people out and never letting anyone close or relying on them. I resolved to be that way again; it seemed like the only response that would prevent me from being a burden on others. But then I fell asleep, woke up, and forgave her since I was so in love.
I'm not heading back down that road right now, though. I guess I'm just too much of an optimist, even though sometimes it feels like I crash and burn rather than soar.
Fuck, I really need to eat something.
I never heard from Laura last night. I tried calling, but no answer. So she didn't come over as previously discussed. Color me disappointed. Truth be told, though, I was so tired I was passing out by 11pm anyway. I woke up at 7:30 this morning, all tired and sore still, but wide awake. Maybe a little hungover, too, but I did most of my sobering up last night, and rehydrated heavily as well. Those ten-point beers sure can knock you back.
The ride yesterday was a blast. I've known Danny for six and a half years, but we never started to become friends until a few months ago. A fair amount of that was my part, I think. But it was good to talk with him and hang out for a while.
I was thinking of the insecurities I have, and how I seem to need constant reinforcement sometimes. When I was younger, I really trusted no one. Yeah, it was lonely, and yeah, it hurt sometimes, but it was a predictable, manageable pain - unlike that inflicted (intentionally or not) by other people.
By the time I hit second grade, I was in my fourth or fifth school since my family had moved around so much. I felt like I was constantly at the low end of the totem pole, and never really caught up with my peers socially, until finally at one point in high school I decided that the game wasn't worth playing and I could create my own world with whoever I wanted to let in.
This plan didn't work that well; when I was eighteen, my dog Rocky was hit by a car and we weren't sure if we were going to have to put him to sleep or not. I remember laying on the floor with him at 1am telling him he was the best friend I had since he never judged and always listened. But at that point the plan was still better than the old plan of trying to follow the trends and catch up with the crowd, especially since I was so inept at it.
My parents had me seeing a child psychologist both when I was seven and then again at eleven. I just thought it was a normal thing that everyone did every Saturday at first; I can't remember when it really occurred to me that not everyone did this.
When I was eleven, my day had switched to Tuesday. I remember after my mom would pick me up, we'd usually get Little Caesar's or Brown's Chicken for dinner. I don't know if it was a ploy to buy me off, but I came cheaply then. The psychologist, Dr. Crockett, bought me off with candy and soda.
Dr. Crockett wanted me to draw a picture once. Being eleven years old, and this being 1989 or '90, I drew a teenage mutant ninja turtle. Of course, since I didn't want to draw anything for this woman, I drew it very shittily and quickly just to get it over with. After she heaped lavish praise on me and my shitty drawing, I didn't trust a thing that came out of her mouth. That, coupled with my wising up to the fact that she would discuss our sessions with my mom afterward, induced me to really not be honest or completely forthcoming with her.
Ironic, isn't it, that seeing a psychologist induced more reticence in me? I don't know why I stopped going; maybe I stopped making "progress," or maybe I was "fixed."
When I was fifteen, my parents wanted to do group therapy with me so I'd relate to them better. (I say "relate to them" since they've never showed any real inclination to relate to me.) I think we had one session with Dr. Kane. I told them if they wanted me to go back, they'd have to physically drag me. I think they offered to pay me a pretty hefty sum, and I told them I didn't want it.
I think it would be interesting to read the notes from those childhood therapy sessions. I have a copy of my pediatrician's records, and there was a note that my dad was concerned I was clinically depressed.
Two years ago, my family was in Keystone, me with my swollen ankle and my brother sick and my parents skiing while I went stir-crazy. My parents and I went to dinner at a restaurant on the top of the mountain, to which we had to take two gondolas. On the way back, they admitted that my brother did play them off against me when we were young, and they unintentionally gave him more attention because of his immune deficiency. I think I changed the subject and then the trip was over soon after that.
I have the two periodic tables from Doug Coupland's Shampoo Planet taped up on my wall; one of the elements, "Oo" is "moodswing." Smokey Robinson's "Tears of a Clown" just came on, and I remember a quote from Billy Bragg saying that he used to think love was like a Smokey Robinson song, until he fell in love. He said he still listens to Smokey Robinson, but tries to write love songs without love.
I think it's time to get up and shower and definitely eat something. Once I've got some food in my belly, it's much easier to shut out the disappointment and work on developing my solo life.
Sometimes the old way of complete lack of trust is very tempting. Two years ago, when Marta told me I was a burden, it seemed to validate every fear I'd had coming of age. There were so many times when I felt things would be easier for everyone if I wasn't around. Sometimes I still feel that way, that my impact is so minimal it doesn't really matter. When she said that to me, it seemed to justify every moment of shutting people out and never letting anyone close or relying on them. I resolved to be that way again; it seemed like the only response that would prevent me from being a burden on others. But then I fell asleep, woke up, and forgave her since I was so in love.
I'm not heading back down that road right now, though. I guess I'm just too much of an optimist, even though sometimes it feels like I crash and burn rather than soar.
Fuck, I really need to eat something.
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