(no subject)
What's wrong with me, seriously? What happened? Why am I doomed to be left? Doomed to be rejected? I need answers.
High Fidelity is a strange movie. It always makes me feel incredibly secure, because it's about this guy who is emotional and melodramatic and grumpy and overthinks everything when it comes to women; he has the same hangups and insecurities and problems that I seem to sport every now and again; he handles them in outrageous ways because he just doesn't get it and therefore sees himself as blameless (until the end, and even then his mind still wanders once he gets what he wants); and yet, and yet it all comes down to a matter of him growing older and dealing with the fact that romance and dating and being in love is absolutely fucking ridiculous for awhile if you're a certain type of person. I guess it makes me feel secure because if a guy like that can ultimately be loved and taken seriously and accompanied by someone in a mine field where he takes it upon himself to practice his dance steps, maybe it isn't as hopeless as all that.
I've had the house to myself for the past couple of days, so I've been rocking out and shouting and peeing with the door open and such. Editing stuff for the magazine.
I finished reading Settlers of the Marsh, and I've come to the conclusion that there was something seriously wrong with Frederick Philip Grove. The pain that he captures in people is so intense and real, lasting for such a long period of time that it's almost masochistic. It's about a man who has a vision of establishing his own homestead and marrying his neighbour, but when the time comes to ask her, he finds out that she'll never marry or so much as touch anyone because of the relationship her parents had. So he despondently seeks out another woman, loses his virginity and feels obligated to marry her even though he doesn't love her. They're married for years and drive each other crazy and it eventually becomes a story of her trying to get revenge on him for pretty much keeping her prisoner. Every time I read a book like this I feel like I'm being warned about my emotions. And I have to read The Mountain and the fucking Valley next. I should just find a hill to freeze to death on and get it over with. Or I would if it weren't one of my favorite books of all time.
Speaking of books, for some divine reason Chapters got in The Road to Oz and The Emerald City of Oz hardcovers, books 5 and 6, as BARGAIN BOOKS. I picked up both for a mere $20.
Oh, by the way.
On November 1st, as an early birthday present to myself, I'll be cleaning up my friends list and making this journal friends only. There will probably be a reminder to this effect before then, but let me know if you want to stick around.
High Fidelity is a strange movie. It always makes me feel incredibly secure, because it's about this guy who is emotional and melodramatic and grumpy and overthinks everything when it comes to women; he has the same hangups and insecurities and problems that I seem to sport every now and again; he handles them in outrageous ways because he just doesn't get it and therefore sees himself as blameless (until the end, and even then his mind still wanders once he gets what he wants); and yet, and yet it all comes down to a matter of him growing older and dealing with the fact that romance and dating and being in love is absolutely fucking ridiculous for awhile if you're a certain type of person. I guess it makes me feel secure because if a guy like that can ultimately be loved and taken seriously and accompanied by someone in a mine field where he takes it upon himself to practice his dance steps, maybe it isn't as hopeless as all that.
I've had the house to myself for the past couple of days, so I've been rocking out and shouting and peeing with the door open and such. Editing stuff for the magazine.
I finished reading Settlers of the Marsh, and I've come to the conclusion that there was something seriously wrong with Frederick Philip Grove. The pain that he captures in people is so intense and real, lasting for such a long period of time that it's almost masochistic. It's about a man who has a vision of establishing his own homestead and marrying his neighbour, but when the time comes to ask her, he finds out that she'll never marry or so much as touch anyone because of the relationship her parents had. So he despondently seeks out another woman, loses his virginity and feels obligated to marry her even though he doesn't love her. They're married for years and drive each other crazy and it eventually becomes a story of her trying to get revenge on him for pretty much keeping her prisoner. Every time I read a book like this I feel like I'm being warned about my emotions. And I have to read The Mountain and the fucking Valley next. I should just find a hill to freeze to death on and get it over with. Or I would if it weren't one of my favorite books of all time.
Speaking of books, for some divine reason Chapters got in The Road to Oz and The Emerald City of Oz hardcovers, books 5 and 6, as BARGAIN BOOKS. I picked up both for a mere $20.
Oh, by the way.
On November 1st, as an early birthday present to myself, I'll be cleaning up my friends list and making this journal friends only. There will probably be a reminder to this effect before then, but let me know if you want to stick around.