May 16, 2002 :: 12:03 a.m.
some people wear their heart up on their sleeve
Attention: I will be passing into fat-people hell very shortly. Perhaps I'll see you there.
Amanda and I went to the Middlesex Diner and I completely blew my diet. I'd intended to just go and hang out while she ate, because I wasn't hungry, but of course that didn't happen. I got cheese sticks. Then a piece of cheesecake. I only ate half the cheesecake, but still. Fuck me and my lack of willpower. Then we went to Wal-Mart and I spent $17 on pens, pencils, and a legal pad. I've determined that the reason I've been losing weight and having cash is because I haven't been around Amanda. She's such a bad influence on me. Grrr. You will rot with Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen, woman! Do you hear me?? I swear.
Now I feel like shit, physically, and a nasty little bit of paranoia just sprouted in my head. I'm such a nosy bastard. When combined with paranoia, this means that not only do I want to know everything (everything!), but when I don't know something I automatically assume that the reason I don't know is because the person doesn't want me to find out, because it's something really bad and signals the impending end of a relationship. Even when there's nothing TO know, I latch onto some small comment and blow it totally out of proportion, hanging my various delusions and fears off of it like jackets on a coat rack.
Isn't it wonderful how completely aware of my issues I am? One would think. However, in this case awareness does little but make me feel like a nutcase, because even when I know I shouldn't be worried, I am. I can't help it. Sometimes knowledge does not equal power. Sometimes knowledge just reinforces the fact that you probably need therapy. That you must be somewhat unhinged, mentally or emotionally, because you continue to think or feel a certain way despite knowing that you shouldn't, that there's no reason to, that the only thing you should be afraid of is your own insecurity and rampant imagination.
I really feel like talking right now. Calling Adam up and telling him how unsure I am sometimes, how even though he does nothing to provoke these thoughts I'm always steeling myself against the worst possible outcome, and that's why I seem so inexplicably sad all the time. That's not all I want to talk about, though. I think good things, too, it's just that usually they're overshadowed by the sour things. I don't know why I'm in this mood - talking isn't really my forte, but I just feel like spilling all of my feelings into his lap and hearing him reassure me that I don't need to worry. And then I want him to do the same. But unfortunately, it's after midnight and my dearest boy is sleeping. I know. I called him about half an hour ago to say goodnight. I wasn't feeling so talkative then, though. It wasn't until I started writing this that I got the urge to expunge all this.
Alas. I'm going to read for a bit, maybe write with my new instruments. I've had a poem in my head all day, so perhaps I'll work on that. There's something about a legal pad that is, for me, conducive to creativity. However, I�m very anal retentive about my legal pads, so it must be the correct shade of yellow and have very crisp lines in order to spark my muse. Heh. A very particular creature, that one.
Goodnight.
back & forth
Wait, there's more!
I like pina coladas - March 30, 2005
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Mr. Postman delivers the good stuff - March 18, 2005
when everything is bad - March 16, 2005
of fruits and menstruation - March 15, 2005