I have equipped myself with a cup of tea, complete with three and a half sugars, and I have consumed two Snack biscuits. I think this makes me dangerous, especially since one should never mix tea and chocolate as the combination confuses the taste buds, resulting in an unhappy Emma. But I am daring. Or indifferent. One of the two, anyway.
I am utterly compelled to blog this evening because homework is futile, the mood I’m in. It will get done, don’t fret, but not right now. Because I need to get certain things off my chest first, in ambiguous and sweeping terms of hatred and disgust and other negative nouns.
I am debating in my mind whether to address the Real Issues here? Certain things can be mentioned, of course, as just because I haven’t said them to your face doesn’t mean they don’t bother me, it’s just that I don’t want to make a huge deal out of ‘em. And it’s not as though I wouldn’t say ‘em to your face anyway. I would. But life is short and I’d rather not cause an argument where there need not be an argument.
Which is why I’m not going to bother mentioning the cake thing again. It’s just not worth it. It bothers me, of course it does: it makes me feel as though I’m unimportant, or at least less important than people with funds and wheels. Yet no personality. Harsh? I’ll not apologise: I’ve been mortally offended. But it’s only a cake and I had an amazing birthday all the same, presents or no presents. So I’ll get over it.
But the mood I’m in now will aggravate every other miniature disaster in my life until such time as the mood exhausts itself and evaporates. Then I’ll be fine and laughing or cringing at this outburst.
I feel like I need to cry but it’s not exactly my thing anymore. Maybe blogging is more productive on some level. At least more creative. And possibly a little more entertaining. I hope someone somewhere is laughing at the huge furore that I make out of my rather mundane life. That would make me happy.
Those text messages are the bane of my life. Really. Please don’t bother punctuating that brief message of thanks. You know how thrilled I would be if you did, so, whatever you do, don’t do that.
Ever feel like you’re sort of destined to end up with a certain person, but not in a good way? Maybe it’s just this loneliness and inertia I’ve been feeling lately, but I am thinking in dreary terms and half hoping and half hoping against. But you never know. And I still have my whole life ahead of me. Ughh.
I want to forget about everything right now and I feel like the only way I can do that is by draining myself of every thought in my head and dumping it into the cess pool that is The Magic Position. I wish I could erase certain memories. Not the events, because they were probably good at the time, but the memories of the events – I don’t want them anymore. I can no longer deal with that sickly feeling in my stomach, that pang of loss and the distinct fear and feeling that maybe you never really loved me at all.
And I know I keep going on about that whole epoch of my life (in ambiguous and sweeping terms of hatred and disgust and other negative nouns, or sometimes somewhat nostalgic ones), but if it’s in my head at all, this is more than likely where it’s going to end up. And I’m sorry if that offends anyone. Actually, no I’m not. Because I’m entitled to think these thoughts. They don’t really amount to much, do they? They’re just the product of my pondering and of me slowly (and still) coming to terms with the change in direction my life has taken.
It’s strange to think that all the plans I had for my life have changed again, based on what someone else thought of me and expected of me. I was going to be a certain way and live my life a certain way just so I would match the idea you had of me in your head. Or maybe the idea I had of myself in your head. But it’s not really me, is it? This is me, this rambling nonsense. I still want that other future, to a certain extent, but less so. I’ve changed and my view of the world has changed. I pretty much think I’m capable of anything and everything now. I just wish the bad stuff didn’t come into that equation though.
Bad Stuff are the silly mistakes and ill-thought-out decisions I make on a daily basis. I resent being advised to be ‘sensible’, but maybe there’s something to be gained in making decisions based on morals and integrity and that? Who knows. Maybe I’ll never know. Maybe that’s not the end of the world, me being as spontaneous and stubborn as I am. I at least get things done most days. And I’m happy. Which is pretty important. It’s all well and good making all the right choices and doing as your conscience says you should, but where is the adventure in that? Surely that nervous feeling in the pit of your stomach and the clammy hands and the delirious grin are some of the things that let you know you’re alive? Sometimes life is just so tedious. I like experiencing something else entirely.
If that means me fucking off to Dublin on the bus for the weekend or telling you why I was so hurt about those few days of dating confusion, then that will do nicely. I know I’m alive, even if the latter is a pretty crap kind of alive to be.
I am trying so hard to be perfect, still. Why, I don’t know. I’m never going to achieve it. I’m only ever going to amount to the sum of my parts. Probably. Very little else. What are we only what we are influenced by, and the decisions we make, and the company we keep, and the way we present ourselves to the world? I’m nothing amazing. You know that, I know that. Why then am I acting as though I am? Ughh.
Excuse this blog post, please. Blame hormones or something. Blame this silly frame of mind I’m in. Excuse these fragmented ideas. And this somewhat pessimistic mood. (This is me being pessimistic, by the way.) Blame the whole thing on lack of communication between me and the rest of the world, between me and the people who matter.
Eternally and internally frustrated. There will be further blogging later. I can almost guarantee it.