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omnia_mutanturso, i'm a little healthier and a little calmer.
i think i've got a picture in my head of what i want the house to eventually look like, or at least some sort of idea of what colors where. (sage greenish colors in living room/dining room, a whiter kitchen, maybe with some sort of ludicrous accent color, light grey in the upstairs bathroom, and dark red in the bedroom, and purple in the library.) obvious, the details have to be thought through, those are just ideas to run with.
the downstairs has pictures on the walls and is free of boxes. which, of course, means that the upstairs and the cellar have more boxes, but at least walking into the house doesn't make me twitch.
i feel odd about my social life. there's some measure of insecurity, but that's not the odd-ness (insecurity is par for the course). it's more this feeling of completely lacking the ability to read certain sets of social cues. which i guess translates into fear of being annoying, which ends up running back into insecurity but i think it's more about 'what if they don't like me and i'm not noticing?' more than just plain 'what if they don't like me?'.
i got played for a fool once in college. and at the time, it felt like being played pretty ridiculously hard. (a boy i liked had no similar intentions towards me, and had begun dating someone else, and there was what felt like a campus wide conspiracy to keep me from finding out said boy wasn't interested.)
and yes, guitar-boy's lack of interest hurt (though time showed me i didn't want him so much, but that he seemed made up of half exgirlfriend and half someone else i wanted and couldn't have), but what angered me past the point of reason was everyone else but me knowing and not telling me. and sometimes i think that that moment was frosting on the cake of social conservatism that is most of my lifestyle. obviously i can blind myself to what i don't want to see, and that leaves room for humiliation. and while i'm not that girl anymore, and i don't talk to any of those people (most likely because i wasn't good enough, but that's another story) i live in fear of feeling that way again.
i wonder what social lessons i learned from college. because while the bits i remember are mostly alcohol and postmodernity and blood and the performing arts center, i must have learned something about group dynamics and what i was good for from those four years, and since i skitter away from talking about it as often as i can (in part because, hell, i live in a college town and i'm older than all my friends and it's sort of pathetic to tell 'when i was your age' stories) i think i've probably left some stuff to fester that merits cauterization.
but, back to the present.
history, i have faith in, and if he doesn't call back, screw it, i'll keep calling him until i get to talk to him, see him, make plans with him. And yes, sometimes i get neurotic, but in the end, it always comes back to, it's him, and i can't not believe that he loves me, because it is him. light, not so much of an issue anymore. i can have the little daily faiths, because i get to fall asleep and wake up to him every day. Mech and Media? while they're thoughtless little brothers sometimes, they seek me out when they're sad sometimes, and that's all the proof i need. mech said once that making me cry was one of the worst feelings he'd ever had.
the rest of the world? i don't want to go where i'm not wanted, but is there some way to distinguish between not wanted and simply...not wanted Right Then? because really, i'm always going to err on the side of the former. and maybe it's a little bit like Lesson said, maybe i am patient like a crocodile, but i really am just trying to live the least histrionic life possible.
i think i've got a picture in my head of what i want the house to eventually look like, or at least some sort of idea of what colors where. (sage greenish colors in living room/dining room, a whiter kitchen, maybe with some sort of ludicrous accent color, light grey in the upstairs bathroom, and dark red in the bedroom, and purple in the library.) obvious, the details have to be thought through, those are just ideas to run with.
the downstairs has pictures on the walls and is free of boxes. which, of course, means that the upstairs and the cellar have more boxes, but at least walking into the house doesn't make me twitch.
i feel odd about my social life. there's some measure of insecurity, but that's not the odd-ness (insecurity is par for the course). it's more this feeling of completely lacking the ability to read certain sets of social cues. which i guess translates into fear of being annoying, which ends up running back into insecurity but i think it's more about 'what if they don't like me and i'm not noticing?' more than just plain 'what if they don't like me?'.
i got played for a fool once in college. and at the time, it felt like being played pretty ridiculously hard. (a boy i liked had no similar intentions towards me, and had begun dating someone else, and there was what felt like a campus wide conspiracy to keep me from finding out said boy wasn't interested.)
and yes, guitar-boy's lack of interest hurt (though time showed me i didn't want him so much, but that he seemed made up of half exgirlfriend and half someone else i wanted and couldn't have), but what angered me past the point of reason was everyone else but me knowing and not telling me. and sometimes i think that that moment was frosting on the cake of social conservatism that is most of my lifestyle. obviously i can blind myself to what i don't want to see, and that leaves room for humiliation. and while i'm not that girl anymore, and i don't talk to any of those people (most likely because i wasn't good enough, but that's another story) i live in fear of feeling that way again.
i wonder what social lessons i learned from college. because while the bits i remember are mostly alcohol and postmodernity and blood and the performing arts center, i must have learned something about group dynamics and what i was good for from those four years, and since i skitter away from talking about it as often as i can (in part because, hell, i live in a college town and i'm older than all my friends and it's sort of pathetic to tell 'when i was your age' stories) i think i've probably left some stuff to fester that merits cauterization.
but, back to the present.
history, i have faith in, and if he doesn't call back, screw it, i'll keep calling him until i get to talk to him, see him, make plans with him. And yes, sometimes i get neurotic, but in the end, it always comes back to, it's him, and i can't not believe that he loves me, because it is him. light, not so much of an issue anymore. i can have the little daily faiths, because i get to fall asleep and wake up to him every day. Mech and Media? while they're thoughtless little brothers sometimes, they seek me out when they're sad sometimes, and that's all the proof i need. mech said once that making me cry was one of the worst feelings he'd ever had.
the rest of the world? i don't want to go where i'm not wanted, but is there some way to distinguish between not wanted and simply...not wanted Right Then? because really, i'm always going to err on the side of the former. and maybe it's a little bit like Lesson said, maybe i am patient like a crocodile, but i really am just trying to live the least histrionic life possible.
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no subject
Date: 2004-09-20 11:30 am (UTC)I just misread that sentence as "the least historic life possible" which made me think of that Suzanne Vega lyric, "she would rather be a riddle, but she keeps challenging the future with a profound lack of history."
Anyway, more prosaically, when I started dating Millienium, for various circumstatial reasons I thought he was this amazing totally honest guy who was falling for me. So when one of my friends finally clued me in to the fact that on the nights he wasn't sharing my bed he was sharing other girls' beds it was horrible because everyone knew, and everyone but me knew that that's just how he was, and I was a total idiot. So yeah, that feels terrible, and I'm not the one to tell you that people are always great and things like that happen by a series of accident, because most people at Oberlin, incuding my friends were totally fucked in the head and some mixture of elitist/haughty/neurotic that made it all seem like junior high with Derrida, and I don't imagine it was much different at your school, but one's own little humiliations like that always acquire disproportianately large significance in one's mind...no one else remembers you or me monadically as "the girl who____." except for the girl at Oberlin who ate her own snot all the time, because, well, she ate her own snot. But everything else is the historical equivalent of cotton candy to everyone but the Subjects...