(no subject)
last sunday while on a break at the photography studio i decided to use the work phone to ring the majority of my interstate friends for periods of time that would make my personal phone bill shrivel up and die. while talking to the fabulous adrian_fabian who has just relocated to melbourne, we came up with an idea for a zine..
a diatribe about happiness. a dissertation on leading seratonin-soaked existance. a parable about how being in love (non-platonic) just makes you want to suicide.
i can't fall in love. i find it virtually impossible. sure i have boundless love, time and energy for friends, hobbies, pets and family (most of the time in that order), but the minute someone with romantic potential comes along i tend to transmogrify into a total jerk. i start to ignore my friends, i put a cold stop to any creative activites, i don't talk or eat and i start to clamour on doctor's doors for prozac perscriptions. you see, love ain't worth the pain it brings. when i was in high school something happened to me. i had a GUT-WRENCHING crush on a boy that bordered on the psychopathic. he was one of those people that you could just sit across the classroom from and watch for hours at a time. he had a wit made for appreciating and a face made for sitting on, in all, pretty much everything you could want or expect. but as always, it ends in goddamn tradgedy, with me waiting too long to talk to him and him going out with some hot slut from a higher grade. now, i know yr gonna say this is because of my own inadequacies (being too shy to ask him out etc etc), but personally i don't think that was it. i mean, i've always been a pretty forward person. if you don't ask, you have no chance of receiveing, right? but after this incidence i figured out what it was! i guess because of my parents (married for 26 years and still going strong) i have some idealised concept of love. my standards are much too high, and anyone who might start to measure up (impossible) is put on some gargantuan pedestal and privately worshipped (in my thoughts) night and day. so after i've made a man into a god, I have fears about measuring up. but after a month or so i come to my senses, realise that i'm brilliant and that i just subjected myself to a few weeks of feeling horrible for absolutely no reason whatsoever, because, as we all should know by now, the joy (questionable) that love brings is not equateable to the cringe-worthy obsession involved. some people keep doing it to themselves over and over, like a retarded child that keeps running into a wall. but as a matter of fact, i'm looking forward to dying alone and happy, surrounded by my senile, incontinent friends and a multitude of ginger cats. so thanks for the good times kids, but for now the only person worth loving is myself.
xoxo
a diatribe about happiness. a dissertation on leading seratonin-soaked existance. a parable about how being in love (non-platonic) just makes you want to suicide.
i can't fall in love. i find it virtually impossible. sure i have boundless love, time and energy for friends, hobbies, pets and family (most of the time in that order), but the minute someone with romantic potential comes along i tend to transmogrify into a total jerk. i start to ignore my friends, i put a cold stop to any creative activites, i don't talk or eat and i start to clamour on doctor's doors for prozac perscriptions. you see, love ain't worth the pain it brings. when i was in high school something happened to me. i had a GUT-WRENCHING crush on a boy that bordered on the psychopathic. he was one of those people that you could just sit across the classroom from and watch for hours at a time. he had a wit made for appreciating and a face made for sitting on, in all, pretty much everything you could want or expect. but as always, it ends in goddamn tradgedy, with me waiting too long to talk to him and him going out with some hot slut from a higher grade. now, i know yr gonna say this is because of my own inadequacies (being too shy to ask him out etc etc), but personally i don't think that was it. i mean, i've always been a pretty forward person. if you don't ask, you have no chance of receiveing, right? but after this incidence i figured out what it was! i guess because of my parents (married for 26 years and still going strong) i have some idealised concept of love. my standards are much too high, and anyone who might start to measure up (impossible) is put on some gargantuan pedestal and privately worshipped (in my thoughts) night and day. so after i've made a man into a god, I have fears about measuring up. but after a month or so i come to my senses, realise that i'm brilliant and that i just subjected myself to a few weeks of feeling horrible for absolutely no reason whatsoever, because, as we all should know by now, the joy (questionable) that love brings is not equateable to the cringe-worthy obsession involved. some people keep doing it to themselves over and over, like a retarded child that keeps running into a wall. but as a matter of fact, i'm looking forward to dying alone and happy, surrounded by my senile, incontinent friends and a multitude of ginger cats. so thanks for the good times kids, but for now the only person worth loving is myself.
xoxo