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Monday, 30 September 2013

Bit and bob

The questions I helped make? All 13 of them? I was half proud of them. Out of 25 questions in the exam, care to guess how many were from what I sent? 

Nope, not even 3. Less than that. Try 1. I felt this little  --> .

I incorporated xkcd.com comics, I tried to make them think, I chose easy questions, I... failed. Miserably.

So there.

Nothing much in the likes of news around here. I e-mailed SmTn and left another update for the kind stranger. I refrained from using two sentences ("You hugged me with words." and "I'd smile, I hope it's enough to make you smile.") Because they're inappropriate. Wildly so. And I do try to hold back. Sometimes. 

I have to wake up early to help babysit an exam tomorrow. Aunt A, of course, is very eager to drive me. Great.

I wanted to say a few things about "Clair de Lune," and the nonsense I used to imagine when I listened to it during piano lessons. About my crush on M1 being based on him having blue eyes (which obviously made him a blue prince... duh!) and how the closest thing I've found to a blue prince (though otherwise similar enough to M1, in a surprising turn of events) has green eyes. 

Ta ta. 

*snort* (I evidently can't pull that off, in case you hadn't noticed.)

Sunday, 29 September 2013

In honour of smiles

I could write about spying one of aunt A's lies, about how I never lower my expectations enough, and how I'm having trouble letting go of things but I'm smacking that thought in the head because I have to honour my therapist's advice. 

Today's post is about smiles.

 - Cousin S's girlfriend lent me a nail polish that makes a sort of dupe for a Chanel one (it's between "Alchimie" and "Peridot," though closer to "Peridot"). Last time we met she asked if I knew what was in for the season I mentioned having fallen in love with these colours but how hard they are to find dupes for and she mentioned having bought one just like it. I couldn't get it to apply as evenly as I'd like and do it justice, but it's lovely. Today during lunch she asked about my social life (though not in so many words) and made a few suggestions, including the contemporary art museum/gallery on campus. 

 - The gay waiter who brought us lunch and drinks today. I know work as a waiter is far from glamorous and is actually quite low in the list of "jobs people like to have" but he was smiling all the time. Happy smiles, not car salesman smiles. He was sweet and perky and I loved him. 

 - Cousin S. Who took me out to practice driving again. Because he trusts me in a car, has the patience to teach me and is reasonable.

 - SmTn. I wish I could tell him so in so many words, but the way he talked about networking (about letting employers know you really are their best pick, about how most people are actually nice and deserve the benefit of my doubt, about how I could take a Sheldon approach to networking if it still felt unnatural)... it was like a word hug. He hugged me with words: he told me everything would be all right, that I wouldn't be betraying my principles or could at least have fun doing so by thinking about it a bit too much. He read through me when I half-jokingly said I had the silly idea of how the best people got the best jobs just by submitting their résumés and I wouldn't have money problems if I could sell myself instead of marketing myself. He saw the underlying insecurities and hugged them out of existence. With words. 

Overdue catching up

Come on blog, let's do this. OK, maybe not juuuust now. CtThumbe is calling and a catch up with her is due too. 

Catch-up is over. The one with CtThumbe, that is. She's still lovely, and easy to relate to. And, would you believe it?, she pointed out LesMisGuy was at least a little overweight. How did I not see that? To think he said such things about BMI indices and what not! I flustered a tiny bit at the mention of him, and melted a bit inside, but regained my senses quickly upon this realisation. Still not over LesMisGuy, but it helps to see him through other eyes.

Anyway... enough of that. Do you know who's also lovely? Who is always lovely? Of course you do! It's SmTn! He wrote me an e-mail today and he's sweet as ever. I adore that man. Adore him. I don't know how he does it, but every time he writes I end up wanting to hug him. While it's true there's always that minuscule fear that he will suddenly drop off the face of the Earth or *gasp* end up asking for naked pictures of myself, I do believe he's as lovely as he seems. 


I submit a daydream. Of the kind where I'm falling asleep but ooonly just awake enough to realise it. I was having a bit of a moment with SmTn. But I told him to stop, that I wanted my crown. I clarified something I thought at the beginning of this paragraph would not escape my mind quite so quickly but now you see it has. The crown had something to do with me being me, if that makes any sense at all. 


Sorry, this post is all over the place. I had to pause up there to talk to mum and my sister (read: leave a Skype window open and refrain from YouTube until they hung up). And I almost fell asleep there listening to Debussy's "Arabesque #1" (or should it be "First Arabesque"? I'll never know...). New favourite classical piece. 




I'm a little embarrassed to admit I'd never heard it before (or didn't remember hearing it before... to be honest, I still haven't quite got the hang of it). I have Jason Simone to thank for that. S/he's smart, nerdy, witty, funny, not afraid to speak his/her mind (sorry JS! I'm not sure what the politically correct pronoun is!) and has the most beautiful point of view. And... have I mentioned fabulous? Fabulous. Add that to the list. Twice. Back to what I was saying, it's the point of view that lets you make a statue out of paper, water and glue; the vision that turns wool into fabric; it's the magic that literature is made of. A bus ride turned into a story, a look out the window turned into a story, a sofa turned into an essay. S/he's got a writer's heart and an attention to detail that I can relate to (like attention to what people or places smell like). At any rate, Jason Simone is impossibly cool and s/he introduced "First Arabesque" as the sound of observing people in a big, busy city. It's beautiful and I love it. If I had the money to spare, I'd send him/her a pair of sky high Alexander McQueen shoes. I really would. And the concrete would love them, I'm sure.


Back to where I was, though... SmTn is lovely. CtThumbe is lovely. And the kind stranger who cares is lovely. If I'm to go over the last few days in chronological order, I have to start with therapy. So therapy:

I'd sort of forgotten what time the appointment was. I know I'd lost my head by then because I honest to goodness had no idea what day of the week I was in and whether the appointment was that day (Thursday) or the next (I knew it was Thursday, it just felt like Wednesday until I realised I was in a Thursday class). I half-remembered we'd maybe agreed on a 2 o'clock appointment, so that's when I showed up. And I was right. And I could only verify the time of the appointment a fair bit later, when I saw the card she'd given me and I had not been able to find until it was completely unnecessary (the e-mail reminder just specified a date, not the time). Be that as it may, therapy. Therapy. I'm glad I didn't let her inexperience

Oh, sweet dear, the dog is crying. Has been crying for a while now. I could get her to stop by petting her a while ago, but her pain is not going away. Why don't they believe in taking pets to the vet around here? Why?

get to me. She upped her game this time. I'm sure she was told about the eye contact and she made a point of talking to me and being a great deal more empathetic. I daresay she must be a good student (with problems of her own, still not completely resolved, but that's not the issue at hand), a smart person. She must have just been nervous the first time. I may have well been her first appointment. And that's okay, because I didn't let the prejudice get to me and she may actually be very helpful. I liked that she established goals (very protocol-ey, but quite necessary and practical, I find) and I liked that she made a note to write down aunt MT's name because she could tell, just from the way I talked about her, that she's very dear to me. I appreciated the fact that she explained some of her questions (I didn't dare ask about the relationships one, though) and that she wanted me to understand how this works, sort of. We agreed she'd be helping me cope with living here through the use of reason to either avoid frustration altogether or better deal with it when it's inevitable. She may even help me prepare for job interviews and the like, though we agreed the workshop to "get out of my shell" may be the best alternative for that. It's fine. I'm writing down the advice she gave me both to better remember it and for my records:

 - Stop expecting so much from aunt A and uncle A. Yes, even expecting them to be reasonable is too much. I pointed out this means I'll expect more of the strangers on the bus than I will of aunt A and she didn't disagree with me. I realise it's sort of what I've been telling myself for a while now, but I needed to set my expectations even lower. And actually lower them. The only reason I still get hurt is because I haven't completely lost faith in them and it's sort of what I need to do. If you can't beat them, join them. I have to join in their pessimism to deal with living with their pessimism. Imagine that...

 - Control what I can and realise exactly what's under my control. Aunt A will be aunt A. Uncle A will be uncle A. They will invariably get into stupid arguments, make morbid observations, get into arguments, be opinionated about rubbish statements and be quite selfish (more so aunt A, I guess). Nothing I can do about that. If aunt A wants to get mad at me for the way I say hello, then that's too fucking bad. It's out of my control and I should give up on trying to figure out what to do to make her understand. I have to try a bit harder not to lose control. Not just on the rare occasions when everything just piles up on me and breaks me. I have to make sure I'm in control always. See the above point.

 - When stuck in a conversation going sour, make blanket statements, reflect the last thing that was said and focus hard on finding the nugget of truth in what is being said so I can at least rest in peace knowing I either just bounced their ideas back at them or just stated something that was true. No lying, but no speaking my mind either. See the above points.

I've found myself trying to apply these and I can even say, with some degree of confidence, that I might just master these. I feel like I owe the kind online stranger an update, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. I'm a bit too tired today.


The other thing going on on Thursday was the selling marketing myself career fair. I wore a dress because it's the only thing I had suitable for such an event and because I'd asked the academic counsellor if it was a proper enough attire. She insisted I should get a suit jacket/blazer but, alas!, none were to be bought and I couldn't find any at the place where you're supposed to borrow them (not that I would have been too keen on the idea of a borrowed jacket). I walked in, saw the stand for the company I was interested in, saw people there, and walked past it, pretending not to see the stand. I then walked back, still saw it "busy" and walked out. 

I considered looking for advice online but chose to ask one of the people working there instead and she led me to a room where two people were there for the sole purpose of helping poor sods like me out. I left that room still feeling quite stupid but at least sort of knowing what could be asked of me and having a better grasp of the speech I had read about but not really rehearsed up to that point. I not-so-confidently made my way over to the stand and proceeded to stand there quite awkwardly until one of the people there (there were four of them) started talking to me and showing me the devices they'd brought for display. The protocol conversation ensued after that. I'd made sure to have copies of my résumé ready, in nice, heavier paper (okay, the only I could find in the house, which just so happened to be of the nicer kind). When the time came for him to ask for my résumé I had it ready. He started reading through it and said "So, you're graduating this year." What?! Would you believe it: I did my homework reading about this company, about what they do, about what to wear and what to say, about what to bring, what to expect. I'd had my résumé looked at twice by the people at the career centre and I'd made the corrections the last counsellor suggested, including adding a "Degree expected" line next to my current studies. The line where I fucked up and wrote 2013 instead of 2015. I was mortified. He assured me it was quite all right, jotted down the real date with his pen and left it alone. I went on to feel stupid about it all day (and even now) but made up my mind to print a new copy with the correct date before I met them again later that afternoon. And I would, too, meet them that afternoon. 

I had therapy and lunch (yet another reason to feel stupid: I ordered too much food, took too long to eat it, and it turned out they had pizza over at the conference so I shouldn't have wasted the money). I then made my way to the conference and walked in a full 5min late, but not quite that late, as it turned out. I left after everyone else, at any rate, because I'd suddenly realised that I hadn't fulfilled my mission in the career fair. The whole point I was there was not so much to find a job as to figure out how to get one, and I was supposed to ask for that specific piece of advice from the people giving the jobs. Which is why I promptly wrote down a few questions about things I should or shouldn't worry about and proceeded to ask every one of the four people from the company about it. Starting with the  man I talked to first and giving him a fresh copy of my résumé with the "correct" graduation date (it's also not correct because it may turn out to be a couple of months earlier, but I'd rather just go down for a typo than the indelicacy of not finding out when I graduate). It went well, I'd say. They remembered me, they were friendly and kind and helpful. And I felt clever and important until I closed my notebook after the last conversation was over and inadvertently let out a somewhat loud (but short, and thank goodness odourless!) fart. I proceeded to say goodbye and thank you and leave the room, knowing I'd scheduled an appointment for an interview I had no clothes to wear to.

Good for me, sort of, is the fact that my sister left behind a pair of pants. The only pair of pants in my closet that is not made of a stretchy material and looks half decent. Half decent, at most, because it had two bleached specks in the front (mea culpa) and two tiny holes in the bum area. And a dark grey streak down the left leg. And it was wrinkled, which I only sort of succeeded in fixing. I had a somewhat-too-jovial but still elegant-enough looking shirt (if it had no print, or simple polka dots, it would have been just sober enough, but it had a colourful print of birds all over it). I opted for heels this time, just to dress up the outfit. I straightened my hair again (even though the air conditioning was not working and it was torture and I pulled my hair out from the root and it ended up frizzy. Just because I had to at least put in the effort. I applied my perfume the Legally Blonde way (spritz in the air, then walking over to meet it). I did my make up just like on Thursday (maybe switching the brown smudged eyeliner for M.A.C's "Quite natural" paintpot all over the  lid). I showed up a full hour early because instead of e-mailing us with the place where the interviews would be held they sent nothing and relied on us remembering they mentioned it was at the career centre. I walked over there to corroborate this information and upon hearing I had a full hour to myself (not quite enough to run errands in heels, I figured, and my phone was running low on battery), I headed over to the bookstore. I got my sister a book about designs with origami. It shows origami techniques on paper, fabric, plastic and jewellery. The price seemed like a good one, too. I couldn't justify sticking around longer, so I went back and read the book while I waited until I was called in.

The one conducting the interview was the man I first talked to, the one who realised my mistake and kindly offered more corrections to be made to my résumé. He was nice. The interview wasn't as stiff as I remember my last job interview and I felt good being able to be myself and nerd out and be passionate about maths. It seemed to me (key word: seemed, in case you missed it) like it was all adding up in my favour. I even showed my phone pouch as an example of me solving problems with the tools I had available and he said it was certainly a memorable thing that would make me stand out. He did get to say "Yes, I know you're smart. That's clear. But what are you bringing to the table?" and I'm not 100% confident I answered that correctly. He offered time out of his 30min break to finish the interview, which consisted of me asking him questions. I had not prepared any and I'm not sure I did the most stellar job then either. He said to wait for them to contact me via e-mail, which could be anytime after the first business day (Monday). Or never. Take your pick. When asked, I told people I thought it had gone well and that I was just waiting to hear back from them. That I appreciated the experience nonetheless and was glad for what I'd gotten so far out of the process even if I got nothing more. And it's true. But it would be wonderful to have a well paying job next summer, wouldn't it? And the working experience, and the better chances to land a good job later on and what have you. But I'm already thankful and I think I'll stick to that state of mind for a while, if you don't mind. The reason I didn't mention anything specific (which likely enough led some/all to believe I did horribly and was lying) is that I don't want to jinx it. I believe in such things as jinxing something good by getting in ahead of yourself. It may have been one of the things that went wrong with LesMisGuy (A talked of him as my future boyfriend). Anyway, now we wait.

Before now, we wrote questions for the exam. Questions I took a somewhat different approach at. I nerded out. I did well (but not great) with the last set, having to text the professor a correction to one of the answers. It had been bothering me since I woke up: even though you can order names in alphabetical order, they're not really ordinal variables. They're nominal. The order doesn't mean anything and shouldn't, in any reasonable context, be used to rank people. I included xkcd.com comics and did my best to use funny or relevant examples. I may have chosen too-easy questions just to be sure I got the answers right this time, but I'm not really ashamed of that. I felt I may have come across as pretentious last time. I don't mind calling myself out on my mistakes, but it's a bit embarrassing when I contradict a figure of authority while being on the wrong side of the statement. 

So there's that. Now, we watch YouTube videos until we can fall asleep and hope and cross our fingers that no one will think of throwing way our sleeping cools because there's not even a hint of cooler weather coming any time soon and it's going to kill us if we can't sleep. 

Friday, 27 September 2013

My sleeping cools!

It's evil. Outright evil. They threw away my sleeping cool! My bottle of frozen water! What's worse, they would have needed to thaw it out before emptying it and putting it in the recycling bin. Aunt A knew I use it to sleep because it's too fucking hot and I need it now more than ever because the air conditioning is not working at all! It's bloody 29ºC and I don't have the one thing that would help me make it through the night! Why? WHY?! There's plenty of things to throw away in the freezer, if it's a matter of space. It's not even taking up that much space to begin with! And what's it to anyone at all if I sleep with a frozen bottle of water? It helps me sleep!

To think I'd just catch up with the blog on the last couple of days' events and then try to get some work done... It will be hours before the bottle is even remotely close to freezing!

WHY?!

Catch up with the dreams now, catch up on life later

All right. So, I was too tired yesterday night to write about it, but I had a dream about LesMisGuy the night before last. I mostly remember just hugging him, holding him tight, and him telling me he liked me very much (dream words!). I also had a dream about a baby giant Dodongo and distinctly remember its teeth (like any baby's, in my dream world) had to be cut off with nail clippers. It only struck me when I was awake how horrifying a concept that is.

Fast forward to last night, where I also had a dream about LesMisGuy. The details are becoming a little less clear than I'd like, but there was a pool N1 and others were playing on, and the bit where LesMisGuy comes in is in a bus ride. I was sitting next to EBF and LesMisGuy was a few rows behind us. He was friends with EBF and had given him a (graded? there were red pen notes all over it) essay to look over. I remember wanting to read it, being curious about what goes through LesMisGuy's head... and also trying very hard not to read it or commit any of it to memory, because I knew I'd obsess about it. So I skimmed over it quickly when EBF asked me to read it and read only enough to point out some of the sentences might as well be written by EBF, that they had very similar writing styles. There were a couple of trips back and forth where EBF brought different pages of the essay. After he'd brought the last one and I made my remark, EBF produced a small piece of paper he'd apparently had all along where LesMisGuy had scribbled his e-mail address. For me. EBF explained LesMisGuy had found himself very busy and that's why he'd gotten out of touch, but he absolutely wanted to talk to me/see me/go on a date with me again. So if I could just contact him via e-mail and ask him out again, we could give things a try. I remember panicking, thinking I would only be around for another two months or so and anything that happened between me and LesMisGuy was doomed to be short-lived. I was overwhelmed by being so happy to think LesMisGuy actually liked me and wanted to see me again. Awkward as it was, I hugged EBF from the side and asked him if it was okay if I just stayed there, hugging him, while I sorted my thoughts and feelings out.

In another dream, A and I were in an old, abandoned house. It was cold (and lovely! I was wearing a sweater and had time, while walking up/down some stairs, to realise how nice it was). When we walked over to the part where the front gate would be, we noticed first a gnome riding a small animal around the other side of the fence. A talked to him and when I tried to point out to her his magical nature his appearance had changed and he no longer had the pointy red hat or white hair (though he was still very small and still had the long hair and beard, just red). Where the stairs to the main entrance should have been there was nothing, as if the house were literally falling apart. Then it turned a bit strange because it was suddenly all about King Arthur (played by a somewhat crazy-looking Eddie Murphy in my dream) and I remember talking to the king and telling him we were waiting for others (led by a woman whose name I can't remember), maybe even inquiring about their location. 

Long story short, I had two dreams about LesMisGuy. Two dreams where he fancied me and wanted to be with me. One dream where I got to hug him, and one dream where I got closure and the chance to start over. 


I think it's worth pointing out, because I normally don't remember anything I read in dreams, that LesMisGuy's essay was about Victor Hugo and that the final lines were something like "Victor Hugo is great. I like him." Except perhaps more literary-sounding. The "I like him" bit, though is verbatim.

Tuesday, 24 September 2013

Shut up, brain! Just STAAAHP!

Where to even start...?

I felt considerably less stupid today during class than I had in a while because I answered "what makes proteins?" with "ribosomes" and "where?" with "in the endoplasmic reticulum." A girl corrected me, said it was actually the Golgi apparatus, then double checked herself and felt the need to apologise at the end of the class. I found it was odd she felt this need, but I smiled and told her it was okay. I really did not give a flying fuck. 

I also found a technique that appears to work (sort of) in the impossibly boring classes: doodle. My doodle of choice is a Jordan curve in increasingly small grids. Drawing these as I listen professors talk in the background is more effective than actually trying to pay attention. You'd be surprised. That's how I managed to answer the bit about ribosomes and the endoplasmic reticulum. I was actually aware of what the questions were (and remembered the answers). 

Arrangements are being made to start this thing called networking. I hate it. I hate the idea. I hate the thought of how good jobs don't go straight to the people who are best qualified for them. I hate the concept of using leverage to get yourself anywhere. I hate selling marketing selling myself. Hate it. But... it's sort of necessary if I'm going to make things work in this made-up future where I can afford to pay for my sister's tuition. I doubt the salaries I can look forward to are as handsome as I'd like them to be in order to pay for rent, services, groceries, basic necessities, tuition, materials and transportation leaving enough to save... but if I can only just manage I can make it work somehow. I don't care if we're stuck in a tiny apartment that's a bit out of the way as long as it's functional, safe and affordable. Apparently, networking is the way to make sure I get the positions that won't be offered to the general public, the ones that will likely pay a bit more than most recent graduates can aspire to. Here's hoping I'm not terrible at it.

I've so far spent the better part of my afternoon doing my nails. And really just that, in the realm of usefulness. I removed the nail polish from Friday, even though it still looked decent/only needed minor fixes because it was too bright. I painted my nails a neutral-ish shade of pink and then painted them over with a paler shade, afraid even that was too bright. I'm already trying out primer/foundation combinations and bought a brush to straighten my hair.

In the non-vain side of this networking thing, I had my résumé corrected again. The counsellor suggested I open an account in LinkedIn and, finding the one I thought I had no longer exists, I opened up a new one. It was overwhelming, really. So many options. So much information needed. What sort of picture am I supposed to use? I'll have to take a picture of myself just for this purpose now and I don't even know what clothes or background to use. Who am I supposed to add? There are so many people being suggested! So many!...

... and yet LesMisGuy caught my eye. Fuck. Deleted from every other place (he no longer shows up as a Hotmail/Skype contact either, I'm not sure how LinkedIn found him) he shows up there and... It got me all flustered. 

*sigh*

I still need more time, I guess.

As for everything else... well, I didn't do much. I watched Castle. I... er... er... had lunch? But then ate nothing more than a teaspoon of chocolate for "dinner"? Remind me to buy water and a mug to have in the office, and to find out if the microwave oven there works. And to maybe consider buying hair clips to hold my hair while I'm drying it. And to exfoliate and moisturise and get my legs in dress condition. And to read for the research. And to study. And to print copies of my résumé. And prepare an elevator speech.

But instead I do my nails, buy a brush and e-mail SmTn.


Soundtrack for the last few days: "Lullaby of Birdland," as sung by the great Ella Fitzgerald and "I wanna be like you" from The Jungle Book.





Monday, 23 September 2013

To the kind stranger who cares

Hello,

Sorry I'm not actually answering your message, preferring a mock response in the form of a blog post you'll never see. I'll answer tomorrow, promise. Thank you for caring. Thank you for following up. I know you don't get paid for this and I really appreciate it. I daresay you seem to care more than the therapist who's going to see me next week. 

Goodness! Where is my head these days? First I promise the academic counsellor I'll e-mail her my résmé in a few hours and only remember to do so late at night. Then I bloody forget I'm supposed to consider moving Thursday's appointment to Wednesday, to account for the class we won't have. I have managed not to study one bit to start working and not to have done anything at all about the new set of problems we were given the task to help with. I started an e-mail for SmTn but haven't finished it. I did some laundry. I haven't even looked at the bioelectricity notes or textbook and the idea of showing up for class tomorrow and seeing my exam mortifies me. Add to that the fact that my suspicions about the starer are true. I should have noticed earlier that if I'm turned to look at whoever's speaking in the back and he's turned to look at me... well, he's bloody looking at me. 

I wish you were my therapist, you know. I already feel quite comfortable with you and I feel like I could ask you all the questions that worry me about therapy (how does it work? how bad is it that I lied? what should I say? what do you need to know? why?). Alas! I know all you're supposed to do is just be a really good listener. And you are. You are amazing. Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring. Thank you for being there. 


For the sake of balance, let me just mention something nice about my day: I'm really liking the nanomedicine class. I'm excited to be making all of these connections and I actually enjoy being in class because the professor's method of asking us what to do with the information he's just given us (is that the French method of teaching? where did I ever hear this nonsense...?) makes the gears in my head turn, it makes me think and thinking is one thing I like to do. I appreciate the fact that the professor is friendly and easy to approach when I have questions I didn't feel were part of the class and I even suspect he likes that I have such questions. I like to think I've come up with clever questions and that he thinks a little better of me for it. Goodness knows I already feel bad for how lowly Pf1 (especially him) and Pf2 may think of me. I'm saving face with the nanomedicine professor then. I'm not a complete and utter failure. I just don't know where my head is at.

Sunday, 22 September 2013

Rambling about relationships

Growing anxious about not having accomplished anything at all this weekend. My response to that, of course, was to watch YouTube make-up tutorials. Because that makes everything better somehow. And I'm actually a little serious, there: make-up tutorials are the modern day girl's equivalent of watching Bob Ross. 

Also on my mind, that protocol question about my relationship status is bothering me. Are you supposed to want to be in a relationship? Is that a measurement of how well you feel? Is the natural state of things one where you're in love (or on the way to feeling that way)? So much of what I see around me is centred about the idea of being with someone, you know. It could well be just my inner hopeless romantic at work, but then I have to realise I've had this notion since... well... since I was 4-5, at least. Even then I was quite eager to be liked, to find my blue prince. What could a 5 year old possibly want to do with a partner? I'm not entirely sure, but the idea was ingrained in my mind even then.

It's not sensible to want a relationship now and I can't say I actively look for one because Keinohrhasse really got to me and I firmly believe you're in no place to be in a relationship if you're not quite happy and stable on your own without it. I can't depend on someone else to make me happy. It's part of the reason every hint of rejection has such a horrid effect on me. I allow myself to think "I'll be happy when I am with him." Sometimes it's blatantly wrong (see: D) and sometimes it just doesn't happen (see: everyone else). Every time, happiness slips through the cracks.

Should I simply not want a relationship? Not need one at all? No can do, I'm afraid. It's built into me. At least part of it has to do with having grown up with my parents as an example. It only just hit me the other day when mum mentioned that the old man hadn't called at all that day. He calls every day around lunch time. Not to say "we need to buy groceries" or to say "have you done this yet?" but to say hello. For no reason other than to check in and ask how everything is going, to tell us a tiny bit about his day up to that point. They're far from being a "perfect" couple and yet you'd be hard pressed to find one like them. Mum worries about not being able to see him at all when he leaves very early and arrives very late, so she makes a point out of waking up extra early to be able to say hello and be there for him. The old man recognises that mum is a saint and loves her so very much. Wouldn't have thought of it being that way until.. well, quite recently, but they're really something. What went unnoticed for all of twenty four years is that they're actually very loving people. Whether it's the well thought, more-expensive-than-we-can-afford-but-I-just-know-it-would-make-you-so-happy gifts, helping around the house, making lunch/breakfast or just regular old "taking care of each other" it's there. Rough patches, unreasonable spells on both sides and problems being what they are, it all seems to stay the same. And they're such hard working people, too, you know. It's another one of those things that had sort of gone unnoticed until I realised the real scale of it. I reckon the hardworking bit is what keeps them going, no matter what kind of trouble pops up. 

Got me all sentimental. I'm crying and I'm not entirely sure why. Chemical imbalance, hormones, loneliness. all of the above, none of the above... I don't know. 

Not that there's an awful lot to go on, but I realised I've incorporated a lot of what I saw in my parents to my loving relationships. Whether it was the folly of confession, the meaningful gifts, wanting to check in every (other) day, or just the foolish belief that if I tried hard enough I could make things work. Of course, this vision is both narrow-minded and naïve: there's so much more to being in a relationship: namely, how the other person feels about you and what their approach to being in a relationship is. Oh, and just how stupid it makes me to be head over heels for someone. Stupid has a tendency to fuck everything up. 

Oh dear, it really does feel lonely. Makes me feel more than a little empty. 

Sorry, dear blog, I'm not making an awful lot of sense today. I wanted to write a post about how admirable I realised my parents were, how I'd never realised how "functional" their relationship is (even through its ups and downs) compared to what I've seen around these parts and it would seem I struck a nerve somewhere. 

Still not studying (have you noticed a theme yet?)

Today Yesterday's day started with lunch, followed by going shopping and coming back. I got a new phone on Friday and I'm worried about ruining it. One of the more likely ways to ruin it is by scratching it. Ok, so my day didn't so much start with lunch as it did with "toying around with the new phone." While we were out shopping,* I looked for a small cloth pouch/elegant sock to put it in before it goes into my bookbag but I had no luck. 

1) They are likely sold elsewhere, even for my not-that-popular phone.
2) Work will apparently finally start this week and I haven't a clue what it is I'm supposed to be doing.
3) I have not studied at all, not even to make up for the test I spectacularly fucked up in on Thursday.
4) I have not eaten anything all day besides lunch (and an afternoon frappuccino... which is admittedly not even solid food and consists almost entirely of empty calories).
5) I have not read one iota for the teaching job. I haven't a clue if the last questions I submitted to become future problems are any good and now is a time as good as any to burst my bubble and point out that Pf2 had to ask me what the answers to my questions were. Because they fucking sucked and he just couldn't say that to my face because he's too nice.

Try to guess what I did with myself all night then. 

If your answer was "make a pouch for the new phone with an old shopping bag, a t-shirt I was giving away, fabric paint and my bare hands" you are both correct and inside my head. Please kindly leave. I didn't even go out to get water. I just stayed there, sewing, painting, cutting cardboard pieces, pinning bits of fabric together, measuring things out and what not... Until bloody 2:30am!

What's worse is that I had time to be proud of myself for how well it was coming along. I had time to think about how nice it is to be able to make something out of "nothing." About how creative it all was on my part to use the old t-shirt and grab a string from an old gift bag. In the back of my mind, when I think these thoughts, is the idea that I am magical. I tried to excuse my waste of time by thinking it was soothing to be in a creative mode and it was somehow useful.


*For the sake of fairness, I must point out aunt A was in a very generous mood today. Dare I say she was actually trying to be nice. 

Friday, 20 September 2013

Have you ever noticed...?

Technically, I only have two things that appeal to the general public. And something I suddenly realised today which has nothing to do with those two. Good enough reason to write a post, I figure.

1) If you have an analogue wristwatch, like me, you may have suddenly looked at it and, as if you'd startled it, thought the second hand ticked counterclockwise and then went on ticking. I will often keep looking at it, wondering if it will tick backwards again even though I know it won't. The child in me wants to believe maybe you can startle your wristwatch so much it forgets to keep track of the one second. Or that perhaps, time being the thing that keeps moments apart, trying to cram one unexpected moment (the one where you look at the time) so suddenly makes time go back just a tiny bit to be able to fit it. 

2) Shit. What was the second thing? I know there were two of them! Here's to hoping I remember later. One paragraph later, I did remember. Maybe someone out there knows if there's an explanation for it. Maybe no one out there has ever seen them and I'm completely mad. It's been years since I last went to mass. But there was a time when mum liked to drag us all to church and it made her feel good, so I did my very best to behave while not really paying attention to what the priest was saying (which has the remarkable habit of being very boring, even to a girl curious about religion who hasn't quite discovered she's agnostic yet). In big cathedrals there's usually this big dome right over the table where the father stands to speak (I'm sorry, I'm sure I'm being wildly inaccurate and there must be names for things like the table, and the dome, and proper titles for the holy men who speak in churches... but I don't know them). That's neither here nor there. What entertained my bored thoughts during mass is that I found a small mirror, no bigger than the palm of my hand, hanging from a thin, almost invisible string, that was apparently attached to some place in the middle of the dome. I would have written it off as a one time thing, or an illusion, but I remember seeing it in more than one church (should it be cathedral? sorry religious people!). Child me wondered if I was somehow special for being able to see this mirror, if there was a magical purpose behind it only church people knew, if it served some mysterious function.


The unrelated bit comes from a conversation with SmTn the day before yesterday (I think). I'm not sure how we arrived at this conversation, but I ended up telling him about how if I won the lottery I'd buy a country house in the mountains in a little town not unlike the one where summer school was hosted. He asked how much such a house would cost and if that was my dream for the future. Once I was done thinking nonsense, I suddenly realised that he was asking about my dreams. I don't believe anyone has ever asked me about that. Not really. I mean, I do remember having a brief conversation of what I'd do if I won the lottery with someone from the maths department, but it wasn't phrased that way. I do remember talking to LesMisGuy about who I'd like to meet, but it wasn't phrased that way.

Wednesday, 18 September 2013

Let's play house therapist

Why can't I get him out of my head...?

Right.

Mating season. Remind me to look elsewhere in the blog, but I'm almost sure it's around the same time every year. This time I know it's definitely mating season because I've seen insects copulating everywhere the last week or so. Just everywhere. One insect stuck to another. They fly like this, walk like this, crawl over my hands as I type like this.

While we’re on the subject, dear blog, I spy a suspicion and a familiar feeling. Methinks we’ve got a starer on our hands. Not quite like it was with LesMisGuy. Not quite. Admittedly, he’s kind of handsome and I had caught myself glancing his way as I pretended to turn to look at whoever was talking in the back, but there’s something off about him. It didn’t jump right at me in MrInteresting until he showed his true colours but something is off about this one. He’s… broken, somehow. It’s almost like when you see the military types. The ones who’ve seen what cannot be unseen and are (rightly) shaken by it. Even though they’ve learned not to show it. Won’t give him a name just yet. I’d need more information. He has the benefit of my doubt.

If you were wondering, yes, my reaction was to flip out and very decidedly not look his way… for a while. I then checked myself and tried the all too familiar glance-back trying to check if he was, in fact, looking at me like I’d thought the first few times. I can feel him looking my way when I’m not doing anything in particular and it bothers me. What’s also bothering me is that I’m not sure (I can’t be) how much of this instinct that whispers “Watch out!” is just past experience being biased by the creep magnet I haven’t been able to get rid off just yet.

I suppose this is the sort of thing you’d want to talk about with a friend. Or  a therapist. And the therapist did ask me today if I was in a relationship, or I’d ever been in one, or I was interested in having one. And my sexual orientation, for good measure. My answers? “No” (of course not!), “… er… not really” and “I guess not.” Because I’m not interested in anyone (who could possibly be interested in me). Interesting question from the mentor therapist (I think it was her, at any rate) was: am I still friends with D? No. I suppose the nature of my relationship to him would be a picnic for them.

Would I have talked about LesMisGuy, I wonder…? What is there to say? “There was this guy in the maths department. We had this shy flirtation going on for about a year. I mustered up the courage to ask him out and we eventually did… twice. First time we just had coffee and talked a lot and said goodbye. Couple of months later we went out again and, after talking for hours, we ended up kissing. Then I didn’t hear much from him ever again. What do I mean? That I tried talking to him a few days after the fact but he was busy. I barely got to say ‘hi’ if he showed up for class at all. I tried asking him out again and all he said was ‘No can do, maybe some other time.’ And that time never came. What did I do then? Try to become invisible. I didn’t try talking to him again (and he didn’t approach me either). I did my best to run away from him and ignore him when I saw him around campus. This one time we were just walking straight into each other and it would have felt rude not to say anything, so I greeted him. And he greeted me. And then we both kept on walking our separate ways and have never spoken again since.” Awesome, isn’t it? And that was almost two years ago. And that’s about it as far as relationships go for me.

Would I mention SmTn? What would I say? “Well… there sort of is someone else. But not really. Except… yeah, it’s complicated. There was this maths and physics summer school two years ago. It was in this small town for two or three weeks and you got to meet and hang out with people from all over the world. Town festivities were in place and we got to party, even with the professors, and it was the most fun I’ve had… ever. I don’t think I’d ever enjoyed partying until I went out partying with my own kind. People who understood I don’t like to be hugged, I’m a terrible dancer and I’m not as sexually experienced as some would apparently believe. I met someone there. Sweetest man I know, hands down. He… It’s not fair to say he was infatuated with me, because it was more than that, and I can’t say he fell in love with me at first sight. Can we pretend there’s a word for something in between? His words were something along the lines of “I felt an instant connection to you, the likes of which I’d only ever felt with one other person.” He said he wishes he’d held me in his arms and kissed me, if only once. He mentioned it was cosmically wrong that we couldn’t be together. In those words. Not that long ago, he said I made him want to be a better person and I was very special for him. He also said he has a girlfriend… who he lives with. I asked. It’s the reason all we ever did before he left the summer school was hug goodbye and exchange e-mail addresses. Two years later we’re still good friends and I hold him very dear. I try my best to keep our conversations on the safe side of “he has a girlfriend” and yet I know, deep down, that this is an emotional affair. I know for a fact that he only talks to me when he’s alone in his office, or late at night when his girlfriend is asleep, or whenever he’s alone. I mentioned I don’t like the idea of him having to sneak behind her back to talk to me, and I want to believe we don’t talk of anything worth sneaking around for… but there are complicated feelings at play. And impossibility. Above all, impossibility. “

Except the therapist wouldn’t let me talk that much. I don’t think so, no. I would take too long to explain all this and she’d probably have questions or she’d decide none of this is worth her time (or anyone’s really.) She’s not supposed to help me with relationship problems, after all. I even lied a bit and downplayed the sadness and underlying depression. It’s bad enough that mention (why did she have to ask again?) of suicide still makes me cry. It’s bad enough that I (again) failed to mention that I did go as far as thinking of plans to carry it out. I didn’t try them, but I thought about it. I even thought of making a statement with it. College shouldn’t be so fucking expensive that people kill themselves to get out of the pressure of having to pay for it and perform well as a student. Something about this therapist (could be just the lack of eye contact, could be something else) just doesn’t invite trust. Something about her makes me feel like she doesn’t quite understand me (not that I think the others did understand me, but they could at least pretend that they did and make me feel like they did). Someone told me once that psychologists have some underlying problem they hope they’ll be able to solve by studying psychology. My hypothesis is that good psychologists have learned to get over it and this therapist hasn’t. I may be reading a bit too much into it, though. Don’t quote me on that. For now, it may be best to search online and find out how to better express myself and help her understand me. It may be best to find out what she needs to know to help me and give her those answers. Without the dry protocol. I just want the tools to be a smart patient. It would probably help me treat myself better, too. I guess. Just being able to talk to myself or write to myself and have a vague notion of the criteria a therapist is looking for and what they’ve been trained to say to such things. What are the important questions that need asking?

What are the important things that need to be studied? The things they’re asking me tomorrow in the exam I still haven’t studied for.

Fuck.

[9:05pm edit]
Come to think of it, I told more than just the one lie. I also made omissions in the history of depression in the family and the drinking problems. Do you get to correct these?

Still not fucking studying

I had two counselling sessions today. One where they were supposed to help me get a job when I get the degree, the other was the therapy one. Would you believe it: though the secretary got down my phone number, my student ID number and my e-mail address, the woman who was supposed to see me could not reach me and, since she thought (from the description left by the secretary) that my needs did not meed the purposes of the office she works in she decided to just write someone else in for my scheduled appointment and write to say she was sorry she couldn't contact me earlier. Can that woman be serious? She even knew what my appointment was for! What could she possibly mean "she couldn't reach me"? Of course she could! She had my name, she had my ID number, she had my programme my e-mail and my actual mail address! And all they say when I get there is "We're so sorry. We have someone new working here and the appointment was probably not saved correctly. Someone else has been scheduled for your time. Thank you for being so understanding." Her e-mail saying she actually was aware of the fact that I was supposed to have an appointment with her just makes things worse. 

Nevertheless.

I answered explaining how I do need her help, granted what I want is something she'd be able to help with (which of course it is, that's sort of what they're supposed to do over there).

*sigh*

That was followed by a mid morning cup of tea as I chatted for a little while with SmTn, waiting for it to be time for the therapy appointment. He left to get on the way home and a short while later I was on my way out of the office. A therapist called my name and introduced not only herself but her "apprentice." Some final year psychology student. Nowhere near ready to be a therapist just yet. It should be taught somewhere in the first classes: you're supposed to make eye-contact with the person you're talking to instead of looking at your board and reciting from memory/reading the protocol bits of the talk. You know, it was exactly like the preliminary appointment, except I know for a fact it could have been accomplished in half the time. Maybe even less, considering she already had quite a bit of information about me, did not really need to ask all the questions she asked (I'm talking about the protocol ones) because they had already been answered. Not impressed at all. And she'll be my therapist, not the other person. I know. Be understanding. She's new and that's precisely why she's practising now. She's supposed to treat me like a number and be as scientific as psychology allows. But I'm pretty sure she's not supposed to let it show. And step one in "not letting it show that I don't really care" is looking at the person you're talking to. In the eyes. Not at your board. 

We'll see if Thursday is any better. 

Wake up and smell the hummus

Not studying.

I finished working on the homework problems I said I'd have ready around 10:30pm last night. Still left me with at least an hour to go over some of the things I should study for tomorrow's test. I arrived early today and I'm still not using the time to study. Last night, again, I almost opened LesMisGuy's profile. In a spurt of the moment thing, I actually made up my mind and did everything except actually open the profile. I managed to hold myself back. The silly argument that prompted me to look at once and for all is that I can't focus on anything and maybe if I took a peek I could leave it alone already. Except I wouldn't, and there's quite a bit more on my mind than just LesMisGuy (even if he's a big part of it). So instead I just watched the season première of New Girl. Aaand it brought about the realisation that LesMisGuy has all the good qualities of Nick without being a deadbeat loser with a drinking problem. So, you know, there's that. Still didn't study. Today I quickly checked my e-mail and a few other websites instead of studying. Not that studying isn't a more pressing subject, but right now I'd rather write on the blog, for instance.

Today's bus ride was littered with thoughts of LesMisGuy and it wasn't until I was about to get off the bus that the idea struck me: he just made out with the sort of good looking girl from maths who was drooling all over him. And I'm still thinking about him. What could there possibly be to think about? He just wasn't that into me! How hard could it be to get it into my head? It's been two years!

Tuesday, 17 September 2013

Hypocrisy in my business idea

Remember that business idea I had a while back, about owning the parts of you that you're not 100% proud of? I was thinking about it today and about the hypocrisy of being willing to wear a t-shirt with cellulite, spider veins and stretch marks while wearing make-up every day. 

I can't deny it. It's hypocritical of me to believe in wearing your stretch marks out if you hide your pores, oiliness, acne scars and the like. Even so, I'd like to make a small defence for my cause. Your face is special in the fact that it's the part of you most often associated to the concept of "being you." When you wear make-up, you do it to look like the person you want to be. It's the very definition of its purpose, I think. 

I can't speak against the use of cosmetic procedures and expensive products to get change the parts of your body you don't like. If you can afford it and have weighed all the pros and cons, by all means go for it. If you can't afford it or can't otherwise justify these procedures, you hide these parts or maybe use some make-up when they're exposed. Then, you could also not care quite so much and not bother covering them up. Some will judge you for exposing the world to your "ugliness" but I'd hesitate to chime in. True, maybe it's in bad taste to flaunt unpleasantness (mind you, this is not about being rude or inappropriate, I'm just talking about wearing shorts if you've got cellulite on your thighs, or a tight shirt if you've got a bit too much fat/skin on your abdomen). However, consider that these things are not on their own ugly. We, as a society, have made them ugly by comparing them to some very hard to attain ideal of what "beautiful" is supposed to look like. "Beautiful" is what we decided looks "healthy" (see how the quotation marks were necessary right there?). And yet healthy people have acne, scars, stretch marks, cellulite, what have you. Morbid obesity being a problem I'm not going to touch on this occasion, having a body fat percentage slightly over over the "fit" limit is not a death sentence. If you're not healthy, by all means do everything in your power to help yourself. If you're healthy and unhappy with you're appearance, I'm talking to you.

No matter how much your favourite celebrities feel shame in being seen with these imperfections, no matter how the media tell you that beautiful people don't have them, you are not ugly because of them. You are healthy. You look like you. You look like you've lived your life the way you've lived it. If that means you didn't do whatever it took to avoid/treat/remove these uncomfortable features, then that's what it means. It's part of who you are. 

Wearing make-up needs not be in this category, though. If you feel comfortable in your own skin every day and can look at yourself in the mirror happy with the image staring back at you, go on doing what you're doing. For some people, that means wearing make-up. Maybe you just want to brighten the area under your eyes so you can pretend you had a good night's sleep. Maybe you are trying to counteract the sallowness of an illness hoping that looking good will help you feel good and look better. Maybe you just like what you look like with longer eyelashes, bright colours on your eyelids or a statement lip. Maybe you like to look like yourself if you had a more even skintone. It's a matter of what you like and what you want to look like. You get to look like the person you want to be, knowing that's what the rest of the world will look for first when getting to know you. 

That will be all for today. I have to remember I have more pressing things to do.

Monday, 16 September 2013

Crazy idea

Still thinking of LesMisGuy. Still. Crazy idea got into my head. That maybe he wanted to be near me and failed spectacularly. Because the same three letters stand for more than one university and he's next to another? Yep, that's all I've got to go on. Of course, the reasonable reason is that it's a prestigious university that does well at what LesMisGuy is good at. Never mind the silence, the madness in me found a way to make it about him wanting to see me. 

Soundtrack of the moment: "California Gurls" by Katy Perry. 




Shit.


[10:59pm edit]
I was this close to visiting his profile. I had to remind myself of what I might see (nothing out of the ordinary) and what it would do to me (cause me to freak the fuck out, of course... over bloody everything). 

Between thinking of LesMisGuy, bouts of online procrastination, waiting for aunt A to fall asleep so I can fetch my sleeping cools, wondering what I'm doing wrong all the time and remembering all the shit I should do but am not doing (obviously, I'm typing on the blog... which helps no one!) I'm certain not to finish the homework problem questions for today like I'd hoped. Which means it's put off until tomorrow, when I should be studying for the test on Thursday (let it be Thursday, please?... yes). It struck me today: I don't remember what it was like to go a day without worrying about money. I mean, there were the days where I worried about losing what little money my parents had given me to spend on snacks, but I'v completely forgotten what it was like before I worried about having money to pay for tuition, about what it means to buy groceries on a tight budget, about what calls still reach my parents from people they owe money to, about what I need to do if I want to ease these problems. I just don't. I want to believe I might have been a better student. I'd like to think I would have had more choices at the end of my career to go anywhere I liked and go on studying what I liked, being decently good at it. I might have even finished the degree in philosophy, you know. But that's for the people who don't worry about money and the very brave people who become inspirational stories. Not for me.

Sunday, 15 September 2013

Where do you go for reasonable conversations?

The nice people over a 7cupsoftea.com, just like therapists, aren't there to talk to you. They're there to be clever listeners. 

Aunt A and uncle A could make flowers wilt just by starting a conversation about them. Yesterday it was suicide and today it's everything is out to harm you. Never mind science. Never mind reason. Never mind that such sordid topics are unpalatable during any meal. 

Couldn't get a hold of SmTn. Had he answered I would have asked him to say anything in the union of "things that are clever," "things that are nice" and "things that are reasonable." 

Talking to AOB didn't feel quite right. A started a conversation about the new Richard Linklater film but it's not really going anywhere. 

I can't stop thinking of LesMisGuy every 10min or less. 

*sigh*

That's sort of what EBF was for, and the whole reason I started this blog. It's too bad it won't write back. I'm just another crazy person thinking out loud.

Saturday, 14 September 2013

(somewhat unnecessary) Update

Some catching up is due and yet... first thing I want to write about is LesMisGuy. 

For no particular reason, I've had him in my mind lately. Could be because of the Nick dream, could be that my thinking about him caused the dream. Wouldn't know how to know the difference between the two.  Knowing myself to be prone to obsess a bit much about everything, I've forbidden myself to open his profile on Facebook. Being prone to obsess a bit much about everything, this hasn't stopped me from starting to type his name in the search bar, if only to see how many letters it takes for his name to show up (I can proudly who am I kidding? say it takes two letters, not one). I'd say I don't do it too often, but in the context of me obsessing with LesMisGuy any amount of looking for him is too much, isn't it? If you have any doubts, let me say it: it's too much. How do I know? Today, only. just. now I looked up his name. I'd noticed yesterday and the day before (perhaps) that it did not appear and wondered if he'd maybe closed his profile or changed the settings or... Never fucking mind. I was starting to obsess and it didn't stop me from looking for him again (read: typing the two magic letters) and noticing a change under his name. Namely, the list of universities he's attended. And it let out the crazy in me. Fortunately, Unfortunately Oddly enough, though he's "close" hah! he's actually much farther away than if he'd stayed in Bta. So, no chance of running into him, at least. Right. No chance of seeing him. Except maybe when I go home for the holidays, then all bets are off and I'll go mad thinking of every possibility. Fuck. See? It unleashed the crazy. 

*sigh*

So, let's write about a different kind of crazy. Following instructions, I left aunt A a note on the fridge with the pre-agreed upon apology. Would you believe it? She walked into my room and asked why I hadn't said it to her face with a somewhat angry tone and she actually shut herself up when I explained I didn't want it to start another argument. Instead she offered she was going out for lunch with uncle C and aunt B and asked if I'd like to come with. Appetite not quite back yet, I had only half of my lunch (the chicken) and left the rest for later. It bothered me that she was still trying to stir up an argument over the manner of my apology, but I, again, followed instructions and told myself to let it go. I also have to let go of the idea of her having to apologise because she quite simply won't. And it's not okay but it's what it is. For what it's worth, she's actually trying to be nice and let me be, so I'll write that off as a plus and go on waiting for Wednesday. 

To those of you who would wonder if the crisis is not already averted and I can't go on just carrying on, I'll kindly inform you that an innocent conversation about whether or not uncle A had read a book during lunch quickly turned into a somewhat morbid discussion about suicide. And I just can't stomach that without some kind of external help. Thank goodness for cousin S's girlfriend because even if our conversations are mostly about make up and nail polish and what's "in trend" for a given season, it seems like she also doesn't have a mind for such darkness. 

To me: Get some work done, you! We've got a bloody text next week that we actually have to study for! Pf2 has already mentioned there work will start soon and Pf1 has asked for problem questions I can't even begin to understand. 


Also to me... but probably back as part of a post. 

I didn't want to write it down before for fear of making it "real." I lied to SmTn when I said I'd do anything to be in summer school two years from now because saying it confirmed just how false the statement was. I can't go. Giving up maths as a career is all but final. I'm stuck with the life of having a job, and it's all I can do to make sure I don't fuck it up too badly. I've made arrangements so that I can tailor myself to that life. As nice as it is to think that I can study maths on the side and do something worthwhile with it, the truth is that I grow dumber by the day. I don't have the discipline to make myself into a brilliant engineer, leave alone study anything else on the side. It's all I can do to read real literature to tickle my brain. Maybe I'll do something about the discipline thing. It's just something that will have to be fixed after the other things that worry me. 

Thursday, 12 September 2013

Following instructions

So... My day today. I've seen better days. I've had days when I didn't have to hold back the urge to cry since 8:30am, days when I didn't break down after lunch. Unlucky for me, I was already tearing up on my way to the counselling centre and had to hide in the restroom for a bit to try to calm down before walking in. Calming down went only as far as my second time asking "Can I get an appointment any earlier?" and even as the sweet secretary said "Well, maybe we can move it to Tuesday..." I just broke down and started crying. Lucky for me, there are such things as emergency/crisis appointments and they're designed exactly for moments like this. I'd refrained from using the emergency contact number because my forms of self-harm are on the milder side and I always figured it's best to leave such resources to the people who need them most, but I had no idea about the emergency sessions. I'm glad they thought about it.

I was glad there was someone willing to talk to me. I was glad there was a record of me already and I didn't have to start from scratch. I was glad the therapist who saw me tried to agree with me, told me I was a strong young woman and that I'd get through this. I'm glad she gave me a set of calming down techniques. I'm glad she told me I didn't have to apologise, like uncle A asked this morning. She agreed apologising for something I don't feel is at fault will do no good. She made an emphasis on how all my actions until the therapy session need to be aimed at survival. It's all about doing what will keep me sane the longest. However, even after ending the meeting, I was still uneasy. So I logged on to 7cupsoftea.com again. The person who talked to me tried to make me see aunt A's side. It's not that I don't see it, I just think it's fundamentally wrong at it's core: her issues don't entitle her to lash out at anyone, no matter whose house she's in. This person insisted I absolutely had to apologise. I only half-agree and that because I'll feel bad if I have to tell mum I haven't yet. 

On the brighter side of things, and they'll never know how much it meant to me, both ON and Ck asked how my week was going. I lied and said it was going well, and chitchatted a bit after that. It meant the world to me to have two friendly faces so "close."

For what it's worth, even though some are redundant, I'll write down the instructions I received from the therapist:
 - listen to music/sing
 - write a journal (I won't be forgetting about the blog anytime soon)
 - phone a friend (don't think I'll be bringing AOB into this mess)
 - free massages (believe it or not, I'm actually considering this)
 - eat small meals throughout the day and schedule them so I don't miss them
 - go to calm.com
 - let it slide, let it all slide as often as I can
 - something I've asked AOB to help me figure out (ok, maybe I will sort of taint him with this mess)
 - oh, and "grounding"
 - and "eyes on the prize" (maybe not in so many words)*

As for the second online stranger, the apology we settled for is something along the lines of "I meant no offence or disrespect with what I said. I am sorry it made you feel that way. I hope we don't fight again." It's a much more polite alternative to "I am sorry what I said upset you. I'd like to ask you to never again yell at me."

* So I actually made an appointment with someone who can hopefully help me figure out how to make money away from here and close to where my sister would like to study.


Things being what they are, this was, of course, the day I spilled black beans on my crotch and red pomegranate juice on my white t-shirt. *sigh*

LesMisGuy/Nick. Again.

Had a dream about New Girl last night. I was Jess and Nick was LesMisGuy, sort of. As usual, I guess. In the dream we were young, though, young enough for LesMisGuy's parents and someone else's to forbid them from being with me. I was somehow a bad influence. We'd made arrangements to get together some time, which in Nick's case and I meant, maybe, finally getting together. I seem to remember thinking "they're old enough to make their own decisions, how can their parents decide for them?" but I still think we can't have been in our 30s like they are in the show. 

We somehow end up together, nonetheless. Aided by Nick's dad (who actually seems to remind me more of the actor playing Jess' dad, but never mind that. In the end he says something like "Off you go, you two. Get together." In the context of the dream that meant "Swim off to the middle of that natural water pool (could have been the sea, could have been a spring, wouldn't know), and get nekkiiiiddd. I'm not sure why it had to be done there, but it was apparently not the first time. 

Somehow related to this dream but not quite was one of Japanese Pop Star Utada Hikaru, who was invited (or not?) to a big event not so unlike a wedding/concert. I was there with others though we were not supposed to, so we went from one table to the other, greeting people (strangers) and pretending to be too busy to go to our seats lest we be found out.

Wednesday, 11 September 2013

Pat in the back

I did one thing right today. One thing, and it's still better than zero things. Pf2 liked the problem questions I suggested. Well done, me. Admittedly, it's a task we were given four days ago and Pf1 was asking about it being done today (even though Pf2 said he'd need it in about a week). So I feel like I was late and they were just waiting for my input. Which brings the excitement down to a Fuck. I'm the worst of the assistants and they had to wait for me. But we won't mind that, I could have also failed to offer good questions but I didn't. I'm not a complete educational failure.

[7:56pm edit]
You know, I'd left AOB a not-that-quick message with my "homework assignment" and what I initially intended to do (doctors through the ages and research methods to cure a headache). He sent me something he did really quick: a five page document with references. Even if most of it is copy-pasted, he actually went out of his way to find actual studies that used the techniques described. Now I feel like my "Well done" was the equivalent of putting a toddler's doodles on the fridge door.