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I hate having my picture taken. Why? I'm not photogenic, I usually have my eyes closed, and I just feel silly posing for pictures. I guess the best way to get a picture of me is to sneak up behind me and catch me off guard. Candid shots. I don't want to be a pessimist like my mother. I want to have everything under control and be an independent adult... but who is truly an adult? Even people who have kids themselves can be childlike and immature. So it doesn't matter the age of the person. I've been through this.
I don't know why I let other people's mental issues bother me so much. I do what I can. They interpret it in whatever way they please. There is no fathoming other peoples' minds. He is sitting here in a passive-aggressive manner trying to define "red flag" to me when he himself is a big walking red flag. He just doesn't see it. He lives in some kind of dream world. I wish he could see that, but I don't think he does. I wonder if he still talks to his therapist. I wish he did. It might help.
6/4: Two things I want to give up from my life permanently are coffee and music. Why? I hate to say this, but I get a sense of superiority when I hear that everyone else relies on caffeine to function. If I could get rid of coffee, I'd be good. Music is generally garbage these days, depending on what you listen to. Classical is always good, but most everything else is terrible. The pop music on your local top 40 station is raunchy. I'd be ashamed to say that I let my kids listen to it. No TVs allowed.
Having an old lady rant now. Every time I get around this time of the month, I start ranting about anything and everything. I think it's pretty constructive ranting most of the time. I want to rant against the pervasive peer culture that has taken over American adolescents. Do what your friends do, and you will be considered "cool." Do what everyone else does, and you will be considered "cool." Key word is "considered." Whether you are actually "cool" or not is another matter. Is being "cool" worthwhile? I sure don't think so, at least not by society's definition of the word.
6/6: Going to get my wedding dress altered today. I'm bringing three pairs of shoes, but I want to try them all on to see which look best with the dress. In all the places I've gone for my wedding, I've felt rushed, like I don't have enough time to relish the moment. The engagement photo session zipped by. The moment I got my dress went by so quickly that I almost felt like I wanted to get out of there quicker because there were too many other people around me. The cake tastings, the trips to meet people...
The cake tasting and food tasting went by so quickly. It has been a theme. I've felt rushed. I wonder if that is because they are equally busy or just because I don't know what the hell I'm doing and going for the cheapest option, so they don't feel obliged to give me the star treatment. I did not like the dress shop. Herded into this tiny cell with no mirror, I tried on dress after dress, stepping out into the hall of mirrors, vying with other brides for that perfect spot to check myself out. Do I look like a bride?
6/8: Work got even busier, if that's possible. I think it's the busiest it's been since I started there. It's a good thing, but it's also bad since this is the year I get married and I would like more free time to plan. The weirdest thing about this is that I knew who I would be married to. I looked at him and thought he belonged with me. Yesterday I saw the proofs of our engagement pictures and the thought was confirmed. We are a better-looking couple than Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie (although they have broken up).
Yet you could look at us and never believe we have any issues. That we are perfect. That sweet Catholic couple that you always see at church. Little do they know. It's funny how people assume you are sweet and innocent just because of how you look. We have mastered the art of deception, not that we intend to deceive anybody. I suppose it just happened that way. I try to set the record straight all the time. I'm not perfect. I'm just a girl who happened to look cute and sweet in this one picture. Doesn't reveal the interior life.
His family is big on scrapbooks, videos, pictures, preserving memories. My family isn't. I guess that's why I keep my journals. To write down everything that happens (or at least the most important things), so I can process them later and try to make sense of them. Not all writing has to be shared. The scrapbooks, the journals, the videos, the pictures, everything, would all be totally meaningless to someone outside the family. Who are these people? Why do I care? Now, to fictionalize it would be different. People would care, but they would care in a different way.
6/12: Too much going on. I was thinking of a poem the other day and actually managed to write it down before it escaped from my head. It was about how my fiance and I were riding in the car to church and the way we go always takes us east, when the sun is rising. He squints. He holds his hand up to his face and squints although he is wearing his sunglasses, but he is excited and talks enthusiastically. Today, the sunlight was perfectly positioned to align with his mouth, so it looked like his lips were gilded with sunlight.
6/12: We got our engagement pictures back from the photographer and my mother said that I look better than my fiance. That I'm better looking. Well, you know, we don't have the same taste in men. She likes blondes. I don't. (Well, most of the time.) I tend to like men with heavy, Mediterranean features and dark wavy hair. Dark eyes, usually, although my fiance has hazel eyes that get strangely light when you look at them from a certain angle. Perhaps it is because I am half Italian myself and am always looking for that kind of resemblance.
Painful honesty. You want me to tell you everything? You better be ready. Some things are better to let go of. It's not worth it to bring them up, especially when they are not caused by the other person and are just a product of cognitive distortions. The hardest part is discerning what is a cognitive distortion and what is legitimate, although that gets easier and easier with time. Most things are very easily forgotten. Not much can be done to speed up the forgetting process except not mentioning things, leaving well enough alone, and letting the subconscious do its work.
I like that new song about how the girl has issues and one of them is that she needs her man. That is an issue these days. A very serious one, I might add. Women aren't supposed to need men. Like a fish with a bicycle, a woman can totally do without a man. I don't agree. I'm sorry. Yet we expect men to need us to take care of them. It doesn't quite work that way. Without men and women, without the gender binary, we would never be where we are today. That's why I'm so tired of all the SJWs.
6/16: I don't have much to say, but at the same time I have a lot to say. I was in an accident and I don't know whether the fault was mine. I swear they crossed into my lane, but it was hard to say what happened because it happened so quickly. My life is average. I heard that there is an automobile accident every five minutes in the United States. I can believe it. I see them all the time on my way home from work, and I guess the only conceivable solution is to be more careful.
6/16: You know, I do the best I can. I'm sure as hell not perfect and I never want to be perfect. Perfect would be pleasing, but after a while it would be boring. I want to curl up in a ball like a hedgehog, afraid to do anything for fear my spines will hurt someone needlessly. People talking makes me so tired. The effort of listening is getting to be too great. And remembering what they said... forget about it. It's hard enough just remembering all the craziness that goes on at work. But that's all I can think of.
Someone shot people just because they were Republicans. I think it was some disgruntled Bernie Sanders supporter. I mean, I get the fact that it sucks that your candidate lost and you're a little mentally unstable, but you don't have to exact revenge in that way. The guy was supposedly 65 years old. Honestly, man, where do you get the energy? It makes no sense. I wonder what his wife thought. Maybe he had no wife. I think they said he was separated or divorced. I forget which. I'm supposed to be resting from my injuries, but I have stuff to do.
Recovering. The insurance company is breathing down my neck. They are a pain in the ass. But it's whatever it is. I have to get used to dealing with life stuff, and I guess that's why this all happened. God is trying to test me and give me practice. On top of everything else, I dropped my phone in the toilet and had to get a new one. I was going to get a new one anyway since the old one was from 2011 and hadn't been updated. It gave me a pretty good run for its money and I liked it.
Everyone wanted to know how I was. I have a second family there. Four families, actually. My biological family. My in-laws. My work family. My church family. I am blessed to have these families. I suppose my online friends would be another family, but it is hard when I never see them face to face.
In other news, Beyonce gave birth to twins. Maybe she will make motherhood fashionable. It's probably a long, hard slog, like most of life.
My new phone is weird. Good but weird. They tried to upsell me at the store. I wasn't pleased.
Recovering. My foot is huge and swollen and black and blue. Looks nasty and itches. I keep thinking of that episode of Courage the Cowardly Dog where the old man's foot gets this weird fungus and envelops him, then the toes start talking and the big toe is the leader and they act like they're in the Mafia. It sounds like a real acid trip when it's written out like that, but then again, all kids' shows are acid trips. The entire thing is weird. I still feel somewhat lazy today. Not lazy enough to watch trippy kids' shows, though.
If he really loved me, he would care, but perhaps he just doesn't have the capacity to truly love me or care. The love is buried under his own issues, the mudslide that came down when we first met and he told me everything. He is the most important person in my life and I feel as though I have been abandoned by him. Like now he thinks I am boring. Marriage is in good times and in bad, in boring times and in excitement, and in love and hatred and illness and injury. Just because I can't see you doesn't mean I don't love you.
The ambulance chasers have found me. They've bombarded me with mail that I neither want nor need. Fortunately, two of them did send me a printed copy of the police report, so I don't need to print one for myself. I guess that's the upside to all this nonsense. I don't feel any need to sue anyone, although I could and get away with it. Don't see the need to cause any unnecessary mess. Just let insurance do their job and take care of everything the way they're supposed to. I'm just grateful the accident wasn't worse than it was.
I dreamed that I was going out with some guy who had a black Honda Civic coupe. I don't know why that detail was important. We drove someplace (I think it was a guy's house) where there were all these carnivorous plants. Almost like a carnivorous plant florist. Imagine having that at your wedding. A bouquet of Venus flytraps. What does that symbolize? Or pitcher plants, Venus flytraps (and what's the other one? there was a trifecta of carnivorous plants that I've now forgotten) all arranged nicely as a floral centerpiece for the tables. Maybe I ought to do that.
Men apparently need sex. It is a nonnegotiable if you are married. You marry a man, you must provide him with sex. I don't really understand it because I'm not a man, but I can see how it would be crucial. I guess they need sex like women need cuddle time or affirmations or whatever else it is that women need. Sex is a fairly simple request to fulfill, unless they start asking for weird stuff that you don't feel comfortable with. I guess in marriage, everything must be negotiated and picked at until a reasonable conclusion is reached.
I just wanna be someone's little wifey. I don't think that's too much to ask. The woman who greets you at the door when you come in from work and asks how your day was, then makes you dinner and lets you rant about your idiotic coworkers. The nice, compliant little wifey who sits around the house and watches soap operas when she's not cleaning. She uncomplainingly bears your children and puts up with your dark moods and your mid-life crisis and even that affair you have that crushes her heart. She does it because she loves you and she's lost.
6/26: Sometimes you get punished for being honest. They always tell you that honesty is the best policy and that you can't go wrong being honest, but you get punished for it all the time. You say the wrong thing that was actually the true thing. Or you defend the truth and get persecuted. I guess that's just the way truth is. It's ugly, it's hard to face, and it's definitely not easy to swallow. Truth must be like a fistful of nails. Or a mouthful of glass. Or something that I can't figure out how to take.
You know, we realized what marriage is yesterday. It's getting through all the mood swings and all the physical injuries. Sickness and health. You expect me to be committed to him? Well, he damn well better be committed to me. None of this wishy-washy, namby-pamby nonsense. If I love a person, I am loyal to him. I pull myself up even when I am low and I attend to him. I can't neglect someone who belongs to me, who is a part of me. He is my love. God sent him to me for a reason. I will not abandon him.
What kinds of things are you supposed to get as gifts for wedding attendants? I'm having a hard time with this. Also, I have to go by Party City and get some more floral invitations. Then I will be able to do everything right. The invitations have to go out pretty soon so we can be ready. With my bad foot, I'm not sure if I will be able to dance, so I guess everyone else will have to dance for me. That's the way I'd prefer it, actually. In a way, this wedding will be what I wanted most.
South of the Border is supposed to be a huge ripoff. My cat started coughing this morning for no apparent reason. She was sitting on my lap and vibrating like she was going to cough up a hairball, but the coughing fit subsided.
Is it so bad that I don't want to meet people for lunch? That I don't want to be bothered with that kind of conversation? Does that make me less than human? I don't know. It just makes me an introvert, as far as I'm concerned. I have friends who care about me. I'm not a sociopath.
6/30: Didn't realized I missed writing yesterday. Real life is ridiculous sometimes. You get so caught up in crap that you forget reason. I'm so agitated that I don't know what to do. I think I'm stupid for making the same mistake over and over again. Fooled you once, fooled you twice, that kind of thing. Or maybe on the flip side, it just means that I'm pathetically and eternally hopeful. I don't know if it's really hope as much as it's me going passively through life, trying to make the best of things. I don't know what else to say.
I try. I'm sick of "I try." I want to do something. I'm sick of sitting on my hands, exhausted, while giving responsibility to everyone else. I always manage to do the wrong thing somehow. But that's a cognitive distortion. I sometimes might do the wrong thing, but the majority of the time, I do the right thing. Trying to work on problems. Trying to be stronger. But when does trying become doing? I guess that's the question of the age. I just remembered that my post posted last night. Don't even remember what the heck I said in it.
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