They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
--Philip Larkin
So I've started getting counseling. Or therapy. Or head-shrinking, which is what I like to call it. I find it really frustrating and annoying. I don't care about my childhood, that my parents made me this way, that I'm a perfectionist with a fear of failure, blah blah blah. I just want to stop crying a few times a week. I hate that it's so hard to fix this. I really don't want to solve all my problems or find out reasons why, I don't want to hear things about my motivations or whatnot. Psychspeak is so cliched. Why can't they just prescribe an assload of Valium like they used to for "hysterical women"? Bastards.
--In other words, I am addicted to
Seriously, I cannot get enough. I go through a pack a week. They should make sugar patches instead of nicotine patches, then I could get off the sugar monkey off my back.
--Some of my college friends will be able to come to our wedding, which thrills me. I knew I could get their attention if I mentioned the open bar! ;)
--My dad is such a medical dork. While not actually a doctor, he has a wealth of medical information from his years working with doctors. He was just diagnosed with shingles yesterday. I was on the phone with him and he said, "It's just varicella-zoster," which is the name of the virus (and yes, I had to look up how to spell it!) Who would say that? Dork. Man, I miss him.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
--Philip Larkin
So I've started getting counseling. Or therapy. Or head-shrinking, which is what I like to call it. I find it really frustrating and annoying. I don't care about my childhood, that my parents made me this way, that I'm a perfectionist with a fear of failure, blah blah blah. I just want to stop crying a few times a week. I hate that it's so hard to fix this. I really don't want to solve all my problems or find out reasons why, I don't want to hear things about my motivations or whatnot. Psychspeak is so cliched. Why can't they just prescribe an assload of Valium like they used to for "hysterical women"? Bastards.
--In other words, I am addicted to
Seriously, I cannot get enough. I go through a pack a week. They should make sugar patches instead of nicotine patches, then I could get off the sugar monkey off my back.
--Some of my college friends will be able to come to our wedding, which thrills me. I knew I could get their attention if I mentioned the open bar! ;)
--My dad is such a medical dork. While not actually a doctor, he has a wealth of medical information from his years working with doctors. He was just diagnosed with shingles yesterday. I was on the phone with him and he said, "It's just varicella-zoster," which is the name of the virus (and yes, I had to look up how to spell it!) Who would say that? Dork. Man, I miss him.