So, about that subscription...[3:3]
[was Trusted] (Historical note: StarFire = Wolfs_Daugher)
I've tried to make this entertaining, but what you need to understand from my end about all this is that I went in prepared for a fantastic, epic battle - remember my subscription?
Instead I am reminded that hell, to me, is ICS or Crosspoint on a Saturday when my Dad won't pay attention to me, and there's nothing to do, and good gods, will I have to work 7 days a week when I grow up, and ignore my children, and eat nothing but overcooked microwaved popcorn and Lipton tea?
I just want to go outside and be in the sunshine with my friends and my family and talk and laugh and dance and sing and GO.
But maybe I have to hold still in the clickety clickety flickering fluorescent light dullness and make money to pay bills, and maybe I don't have a choice and my whole life has to be like that when I grow up, but if I don't then I'm a bad grownup, and that means I'm a bad person...
But worse, maybe my issues underneath myself aren't big and scary and interesting like Tangible Darkness That Eats Little Girls - maybe I'm just afraid of being bored.
Gods, how boring am I?
I don't have an epic battle to tell you about, where I fought my fears to the death in a grand last-man-standing encounter. I'm not afraid of the Dark, really, I'm afraid of the grey. And I'm afraid that I'm just wrong, and I don't really deserve a life that's better than grey. And I'm afraid that I'm really just a stupid, boring person, and you're all just being nice to me because nice people are like that.
And I really, really hate being myself right now.
And I have no patience for anything, and I don't believe anybody really likes me, and I just want to curl up and cry, or run away, or get hugs from my mommy, but she's out of town, and I really, really don't want to disappear to the Renaissance Faire to make Money while you all forget I exist because I'm not constantly in front of you to prove it for the next six weeks, even though it's only two days at a time and I haven't seen some of you in months.
And I think at least half of this is PMS, really, but if I look a little rough around the edges lately, or depressed, and I say it's nothing, it's because I don't have a really cool story to tell you about what's bothering me.
I'm just afraid that I'm obliged to be boring for the rest of my life, and I have no idea how to handle it, and I don't want to bore you with the details.
--Ember--
I've tried to make this entertaining, but what you need to understand from my end about all this is that I went in prepared for a fantastic, epic battle - remember my subscription?
Instead I am reminded that hell, to me, is ICS or Crosspoint on a Saturday when my Dad won't pay attention to me, and there's nothing to do, and good gods, will I have to work 7 days a week when I grow up, and ignore my children, and eat nothing but overcooked microwaved popcorn and Lipton tea?
I just want to go outside and be in the sunshine with my friends and my family and talk and laugh and dance and sing and GO.
But maybe I have to hold still in the clickety clickety flickering fluorescent light dullness and make money to pay bills, and maybe I don't have a choice and my whole life has to be like that when I grow up, but if I don't then I'm a bad grownup, and that means I'm a bad person...
But worse, maybe my issues underneath myself aren't big and scary and interesting like Tangible Darkness That Eats Little Girls - maybe I'm just afraid of being bored.
Gods, how boring am I?
I don't have an epic battle to tell you about, where I fought my fears to the death in a grand last-man-standing encounter. I'm not afraid of the Dark, really, I'm afraid of the grey. And I'm afraid that I'm just wrong, and I don't really deserve a life that's better than grey. And I'm afraid that I'm really just a stupid, boring person, and you're all just being nice to me because nice people are like that.
And I really, really hate being myself right now.
And I have no patience for anything, and I don't believe anybody really likes me, and I just want to curl up and cry, or run away, or get hugs from my mommy, but she's out of town, and I really, really don't want to disappear to the Renaissance Faire to make Money while you all forget I exist because I'm not constantly in front of you to prove it for the next six weeks, even though it's only two days at a time and I haven't seen some of you in months.
And I think at least half of this is PMS, really, but if I look a little rough around the edges lately, or depressed, and I say it's nothing, it's because I don't have a really cool story to tell you about what's bothering me.
I'm just afraid that I'm obliged to be boring for the rest of my life, and I have no idea how to handle it, and I don't want to bore you with the details.
--Ember--