"Someday I Think You And I Are Going To Have A Serious Disagreement."
Today is miserable here in Iowa.
It's Homecoming weekend at Cornell, it's cold, rainy, and dreary, and I didn't have the motivation to take a shower until 12:30. My ten-page paper on Edward of Woodstock (The Black Prince) is due on Tuesday and I've only written half a sentence today. That brings me up to a page and a half completed out of the four I'd like to have by day's end.
Oh, but there's more. I sent an encouragement card yesterday to the girl I've mentioned I have feelings for, and I had to force myself to push the envelope through the mail slot. I expect all the negative outcomes I can think of (she utterly ignores me from now on, slaps me in the face, etc., etc.), because I feel that's a creepy thing to do. As I told Shana the other night, from junior high on I've had this idea in my head that being attracted to someone and all the crap that comes with it is abnormal and creepy and just plain wrong. Rationally, I know that's not true, but I can't get myself to think differently. I still remember how in eighth grade the entire school was talking about my nerve-wracking phone call to Kelsey, the oh-so-pretty girl of my class. TV shows depict this sort of scenario ad nauseum, failing to show the mental scarring I realize it causes. When everyone's gossiping about you in a way to make you out to be some sort of freak, that's what you picture yourself as in time.
Bright spots: Boondock Saints and Killian's Irish Red with Shana and Kim last night, and Marie Antoinette in Cedar Rapids tonight with same company. Plus, despite perceiving myself as some abnormal creep, the sensation of being in love (infatuatory love, not full-fledged love) is much as I remember it, and that's delightful, once you remove the negative self-image out of it.
It's Homecoming weekend at Cornell, it's cold, rainy, and dreary, and I didn't have the motivation to take a shower until 12:30. My ten-page paper on Edward of Woodstock (The Black Prince) is due on Tuesday and I've only written half a sentence today. That brings me up to a page and a half completed out of the four I'd like to have by day's end.
Oh, but there's more. I sent an encouragement card yesterday to the girl I've mentioned I have feelings for, and I had to force myself to push the envelope through the mail slot. I expect all the negative outcomes I can think of (she utterly ignores me from now on, slaps me in the face, etc., etc.), because I feel that's a creepy thing to do. As I told Shana the other night, from junior high on I've had this idea in my head that being attracted to someone and all the crap that comes with it is abnormal and creepy and just plain wrong. Rationally, I know that's not true, but I can't get myself to think differently. I still remember how in eighth grade the entire school was talking about my nerve-wracking phone call to Kelsey, the oh-so-pretty girl of my class. TV shows depict this sort of scenario ad nauseum, failing to show the mental scarring I realize it causes. When everyone's gossiping about you in a way to make you out to be some sort of freak, that's what you picture yourself as in time.
Bright spots: Boondock Saints and Killian's Irish Red with Shana and Kim last night, and Marie Antoinette in Cedar Rapids tonight with same company. Plus, despite perceiving myself as some abnormal creep, the sensation of being in love (infatuatory love, not full-fledged love) is much as I remember it, and that's delightful, once you remove the negative self-image out of it.