psychotic
So I know you're really getting the split-view here...I was thinking about that today. I only post when elated or upset, and it must appear that I'm completely and unsaveably psychotic. Guess I can't really apologize, though, because ecstatic and heartbroken are the times that I need to write, and what the hell else is this thing for? However, in the hope that one day one of you will donate an organ or at least stand in a court in defense of my sanity, I will try to post more, and not only at those...extreme points?
While of late my posts about Patrick have been less than sunny, it's really not as bad as I've made it sound. He's a peacock print skirt in the clearance section. Two or three of you already know what I mean, and you throo are frighteningly intuitive or, even more frightening, have spent too much time with me.
ANYWAY, so you come home from school and you're going to, like, Lenscrafters to get your frames bent back into shape, and though you were scarce expecting it there's a clearance sale at your favorite store. You don't have much cash, actually you're almost completely spent after the semester, and you don't have much time, but you pop in and take a look anyway. Straight to the clearance racks and the FIRST thing you see is the most gorgeous peacock print skirt. You check the price tag and your purse, and are surprised to find you have JUST enough money. It's gorgeous, all your favorite colors, the right length, A-line, and you go to try it on, only to find it's just a SMIDGE too small.
I have always said that I hate this skirt more than a thousand ugly skirts.
We complain about that which we expect more, we are the harshest judge of that with which we are closest and have the highest regard and connection. That's just the way it is. He's a peacock skirt, and my history has taught me to just put it down and walk out of the store. I mean, you can buy it and try to get it altered, but by the time you're done you've spent twice as much as you intended and it has all those holes from where the seam used to be because it's silk, not cotton, and it's just bad. On top of which, if you recall, this time into the store I only had enough for the skirt in my purse, I didn't have one extra penny.
For the first time, though, it's working. It's working about as well as my car was in the Colorado mountains last week with a spark plug that'd been replaced with no cap put on it, misfiring into the engine block causing more sputtering than an old woman with emphysema, but it's working. For the first time I'm learning concepts like...temperance. Is that the word? All things in their measure? Someone very wise told me that I'd make him more emotional and he'd make me less. While it scarce feels like it's working this week, which I can also post about at some point, I am changing. Maybe one or two of you who are particularly astute have seen it...I hope you have. I hope it's true and not just another feeble delusion. I'm wearing the damned skirt, uncomfortable as it may be right now. And in time it'll stretch a little, and I'm working to lose a little weight, and it's a skirt I can buy. Have bought, I think. There was a conversation in the mountains, about how this...may just be it for me. He may be it. Tristan says the best way not to make mountains out of molehills is to not look down, so I'm not really thinking about all of that. I'm just...trying to lose some weight, trying to get the skirt to stretch a little, and am truly uncomfortable in the process.
I'd post about the trip, but I don't know how to post pictures in livejournal. Which is too bad, because there's some good ones. Finally a good picture of the two of us, albeit under a "WANTED BY THE LAW" sign at the Flying W, some cute ones of him, two of the most religious fast food joint in the country... Yeah. Tell me how to post pictures and then you can judge him, me, and our vacation from the privacy and anonymity of your own homes.
oooooh.
Anyway, while I may post at the extremes, I'm starting to live life in the middle, and really okay with it. Which is, as Patrick would say, "Is a good thing." And insists that he coined the phrase and Martha Stewart stole it from him. ...Yeahokay.
While of late my posts about Patrick have been less than sunny, it's really not as bad as I've made it sound. He's a peacock print skirt in the clearance section. Two or three of you already know what I mean, and you throo are frighteningly intuitive or, even more frightening, have spent too much time with me.
ANYWAY, so you come home from school and you're going to, like, Lenscrafters to get your frames bent back into shape, and though you were scarce expecting it there's a clearance sale at your favorite store. You don't have much cash, actually you're almost completely spent after the semester, and you don't have much time, but you pop in and take a look anyway. Straight to the clearance racks and the FIRST thing you see is the most gorgeous peacock print skirt. You check the price tag and your purse, and are surprised to find you have JUST enough money. It's gorgeous, all your favorite colors, the right length, A-line, and you go to try it on, only to find it's just a SMIDGE too small.
I have always said that I hate this skirt more than a thousand ugly skirts.
We complain about that which we expect more, we are the harshest judge of that with which we are closest and have the highest regard and connection. That's just the way it is. He's a peacock skirt, and my history has taught me to just put it down and walk out of the store. I mean, you can buy it and try to get it altered, but by the time you're done you've spent twice as much as you intended and it has all those holes from where the seam used to be because it's silk, not cotton, and it's just bad. On top of which, if you recall, this time into the store I only had enough for the skirt in my purse, I didn't have one extra penny.
For the first time, though, it's working. It's working about as well as my car was in the Colorado mountains last week with a spark plug that'd been replaced with no cap put on it, misfiring into the engine block causing more sputtering than an old woman with emphysema, but it's working. For the first time I'm learning concepts like...temperance. Is that the word? All things in their measure? Someone very wise told me that I'd make him more emotional and he'd make me less. While it scarce feels like it's working this week, which I can also post about at some point, I am changing. Maybe one or two of you who are particularly astute have seen it...I hope you have. I hope it's true and not just another feeble delusion. I'm wearing the damned skirt, uncomfortable as it may be right now. And in time it'll stretch a little, and I'm working to lose a little weight, and it's a skirt I can buy. Have bought, I think. There was a conversation in the mountains, about how this...may just be it for me. He may be it. Tristan says the best way not to make mountains out of molehills is to not look down, so I'm not really thinking about all of that. I'm just...trying to lose some weight, trying to get the skirt to stretch a little, and am truly uncomfortable in the process.
I'd post about the trip, but I don't know how to post pictures in livejournal. Which is too bad, because there's some good ones. Finally a good picture of the two of us, albeit under a "WANTED BY THE LAW" sign at the Flying W, some cute ones of him, two of the most religious fast food joint in the country... Yeah. Tell me how to post pictures and then you can judge him, me, and our vacation from the privacy and anonymity of your own homes.
oooooh.
Anyway, while I may post at the extremes, I'm starting to live life in the middle, and really okay with it. Which is, as Patrick would say, "Is a good thing." And insists that he coined the phrase and Martha Stewart stole it from him. ...Yeahokay.