Perspective
So, Ica changed her profile pic to something she said she didn’t like, though I at the time did. I feel like it makes her eyes glow in a really cool way and as pretty as she is, it was a great shot. And it sucks not to be able to tell her I approve of the pic
It sucks that she called me boring, not funny. I wanted to tell that she never seems to want to do anything, and that getting her out to try something new is like pulling teeth sometimes. That her humor can be mean and that I don’t like making fun of people as much as she does, at least not in a serious way. It sucks that she told me I was not giving her space, when everything that went wrong was in a span of two weeks and much of what I did that bugged her was based entirely on her being a failure at communicating her needs. Not to mention the fact that she made plans and then would be annoyed when I followed through. It sucks that she told me that there was no chemistry, when I remember the things she said in Hawaii, the sweet notes she’d leave around the resort or my room or on the windshield of my car, telling me she couldn’t wait to see me later. All these things suck and they are so frustrating because I did really like her and felt that working on the things she wanted me to do to make us more compatible were making me a better person.
It sucks that I haven’t gotten my shit together to apply to PA school. It sucks that I live paycheck to paycheck because I am too nice with my money. It sucks that I can talk to Mich, the girl I thought I’d marry someday, and have her be very indifferent to our past. It sucks that Monika, the most formative person of my young life, hates my guts.
All these things are understandable, have logical explanations, and, in the long run, are ok. I will be ok. Doesn’t change that they suck, but it’s ok.
And they have me down. And then, I come to work one of these days and see one of my patients. 16yo, with a horrible genetic disorder that makes it so that she can’t walk, has multiple huge surgeries per year, has dysmorphic features and a hundred other problems that lead to a life that is a million times more sucky than anything I could imagine. Imagine high school, in addition to the obvious things, I imagine what the assholes at that age say and do to her. The toll it takes on her parents, the guilt, everything.
Why am I even complaining? How dare I complain. It’s cliché, but it’s also so true. I am so…effing…blessed. And so unappreciative it’s kinda disgusting.
Need to work on that.
It sucks that she called me boring, not funny. I wanted to tell that she never seems to want to do anything, and that getting her out to try something new is like pulling teeth sometimes. That her humor can be mean and that I don’t like making fun of people as much as she does, at least not in a serious way. It sucks that she told me I was not giving her space, when everything that went wrong was in a span of two weeks and much of what I did that bugged her was based entirely on her being a failure at communicating her needs. Not to mention the fact that she made plans and then would be annoyed when I followed through. It sucks that she told me that there was no chemistry, when I remember the things she said in Hawaii, the sweet notes she’d leave around the resort or my room or on the windshield of my car, telling me she couldn’t wait to see me later. All these things suck and they are so frustrating because I did really like her and felt that working on the things she wanted me to do to make us more compatible were making me a better person.
It sucks that I haven’t gotten my shit together to apply to PA school. It sucks that I live paycheck to paycheck because I am too nice with my money. It sucks that I can talk to Mich, the girl I thought I’d marry someday, and have her be very indifferent to our past. It sucks that Monika, the most formative person of my young life, hates my guts.
All these things are understandable, have logical explanations, and, in the long run, are ok. I will be ok. Doesn’t change that they suck, but it’s ok.
And they have me down. And then, I come to work one of these days and see one of my patients. 16yo, with a horrible genetic disorder that makes it so that she can’t walk, has multiple huge surgeries per year, has dysmorphic features and a hundred other problems that lead to a life that is a million times more sucky than anything I could imagine. Imagine high school, in addition to the obvious things, I imagine what the assholes at that age say and do to her. The toll it takes on her parents, the guilt, everything.
Why am I even complaining? How dare I complain. It’s cliché, but it’s also so true. I am so…effing…blessed. And so unappreciative it’s kinda disgusting.
Need to work on that.