Nothing To Do With A Buffalo... despite what Family Lunch conversations might imply
Weighed down with words too over-dramatic.
Do you ever have those moments where you're in a certain mood and the perfect song plays that just fuels you emotionally? For example, once while driving to Nickee's, I played "A Praise Chorus" by Jimmy Eat World and put the damn thing on repeat because a)it's like my personal themesong, b)it holds a special place between me & Nic, and c)it just never ceases to make me so happy and pumped up. Now, I haven't been to Nickee's in damn near a month, so I thought I'd shed light on a more recent example.
It happened last night. Twice.
So I've been having problems with my Creative Writing in the Community project, in part because of my own social anxiety, and in part due to an uncomfortable/unenthusiastic partner. After the oh-so-awkward Get Acquainted Tea and the equally disheartening yet considerably less awkward first meeting, I was a nervous wreck. Basically, as I've said before, I'm quite uncomfortable in new situations where I'm expected to carry the bulk of the conversation. I suck at small talk. That's why the Tea failed miserabley, and then at the first meeting, I ended up talking to Heather the staffperson the entire time. More comfortable, less productive. I began to wonder if Ginny was even capable of conversing, especially since the class had been lead to believe that she was "chatty" thanks to the presenter.
So I'm sitting in class and the professor asks us to do some freewriting about our partners. "What would your partner do in this situation?" and the like. Awkward. I don't know her. At all. How am I gonna write like her, tell her story, work with her if I can't get her to TALK TO ME??? Everyone else in the class is scribbling down stuff, writing furiously. I'm distracting myself with my crossword puzzle and a sketch of a street corner done in two-point perspective (such a fourth grade art project thing to do). I fully intend on using it as the head of a letter to someone. Who, I'm not sure yet. My appointment for my second meeting with Ginny was slated for that night, 7:00pm. But I had this thick, hard, lump in my throat, the kind when you're swelling with discomfort and trying not to cry. A lot of it was anxiety and frustration of this damn project, but some of it is still residual shit from last Thursday night's horrors. It's officially been a week exactly since I was safe at home, back in my own bed, trying to get some sleep desperately to forget all the things that happened. I can't. It's more serious than that. I feel like an idiot, like I was toying with my life.
Class ends, I bolt out of there, shoving my headphones on and walking briskly to the bus stop. "Dance, Dance" by Fall Out Boy comes through my ears:
She says she's no good with words but I'm worse.
Barely stuttered out, "A joke of a romantic," stuck to my tongue.
Weighed down with words too over-dramatic.
Tonight it's "It can't get much worse" vs. "No one should ever feel like..."
I'm two quarters and a heart down.
And I don't want to forget how your voice sounds.
These words are all I have so I'll write them.
So you need them just to get by.
Dance, Dance - We're falling apart to half time.
Dance, Dance - And these are the lives you'd love to lead.
Dance - This is the way they'd love if they knew how misery loved me.
Angry drums, intense guitars, lyrics about being shitty with words. I blared it as high as it would go the entire way home. It was all I could do to bite my lip and not cry while on the bus. I also near burst into tears when I was in the car driving to the appointment. I had to put in something upbeat and happy. My Death Cab CD had to come out. I popped in the Pentagon Mix, the most upbeat thing I had with me, and played "The Middle" by Jimmy Eat World in some attempt at motivation/calming. Again, I blared it and tried to sing along, choking out all the words about Just try your best / Try everything you can, how it just takes some time and everything will be alright, alright. The band was singing to my anxieties over the meeting with my partner, and residual fretting over the Indy Incident.
God, I'm so fucked up right now. I'm making an appointment with the counseling center. Today.
The meeting went well... she remembered a lot of things about my plans and my weekend, even things I didn't remember telling her (like that Nichole and I were going to get a pizza and watch a movie last Sunday instead of watching the Super Bowl). I will still have to do some prying to get a story out of her, but I think things are getting better.
It was nice to come home and de-stress with an evening of good company (Jenny came over for a spell), CSI (with Lady Heather! omfg), and log-whoring at La Bohemia. *Sigh* God I'm so glad it's the weekend.
I had a 2-foot-long curly fry from Arby's yesterday. I considered stuffing and mounting it. It was quite the trophy.
Do you ever have those moments where you're in a certain mood and the perfect song plays that just fuels you emotionally? For example, once while driving to Nickee's, I played "A Praise Chorus" by Jimmy Eat World and put the damn thing on repeat because a)it's like my personal themesong, b)it holds a special place between me & Nic, and c)it just never ceases to make me so happy and pumped up. Now, I haven't been to Nickee's in damn near a month, so I thought I'd shed light on a more recent example.
It happened last night. Twice.
So I've been having problems with my Creative Writing in the Community project, in part because of my own social anxiety, and in part due to an uncomfortable/unenthusiastic partner. After the oh-so-awkward Get Acquainted Tea and the equally disheartening yet considerably less awkward first meeting, I was a nervous wreck. Basically, as I've said before, I'm quite uncomfortable in new situations where I'm expected to carry the bulk of the conversation. I suck at small talk. That's why the Tea failed miserabley, and then at the first meeting, I ended up talking to Heather the staffperson the entire time. More comfortable, less productive. I began to wonder if Ginny was even capable of conversing, especially since the class had been lead to believe that she was "chatty" thanks to the presenter.
So I'm sitting in class and the professor asks us to do some freewriting about our partners. "What would your partner do in this situation?" and the like. Awkward. I don't know her. At all. How am I gonna write like her, tell her story, work with her if I can't get her to TALK TO ME??? Everyone else in the class is scribbling down stuff, writing furiously. I'm distracting myself with my crossword puzzle and a sketch of a street corner done in two-point perspective (such a fourth grade art project thing to do). I fully intend on using it as the head of a letter to someone. Who, I'm not sure yet. My appointment for my second meeting with Ginny was slated for that night, 7:00pm. But I had this thick, hard, lump in my throat, the kind when you're swelling with discomfort and trying not to cry. A lot of it was anxiety and frustration of this damn project, but some of it is still residual shit from last Thursday night's horrors. It's officially been a week exactly since I was safe at home, back in my own bed, trying to get some sleep desperately to forget all the things that happened. I can't. It's more serious than that. I feel like an idiot, like I was toying with my life.
Class ends, I bolt out of there, shoving my headphones on and walking briskly to the bus stop. "Dance, Dance" by Fall Out Boy comes through my ears:
She says she's no good with words but I'm worse.
Barely stuttered out, "A joke of a romantic," stuck to my tongue.
Weighed down with words too over-dramatic.
Tonight it's "It can't get much worse" vs. "No one should ever feel like..."
I'm two quarters and a heart down.
And I don't want to forget how your voice sounds.
These words are all I have so I'll write them.
So you need them just to get by.
Dance, Dance - We're falling apart to half time.
Dance, Dance - And these are the lives you'd love to lead.
Dance - This is the way they'd love if they knew how misery loved me.
Angry drums, intense guitars, lyrics about being shitty with words. I blared it as high as it would go the entire way home. It was all I could do to bite my lip and not cry while on the bus. I also near burst into tears when I was in the car driving to the appointment. I had to put in something upbeat and happy. My Death Cab CD had to come out. I popped in the Pentagon Mix, the most upbeat thing I had with me, and played "The Middle" by Jimmy Eat World in some attempt at motivation/calming. Again, I blared it and tried to sing along, choking out all the words about Just try your best / Try everything you can, how it just takes some time and everything will be alright, alright. The band was singing to my anxieties over the meeting with my partner, and residual fretting over the Indy Incident.
God, I'm so fucked up right now. I'm making an appointment with the counseling center. Today.
The meeting went well... she remembered a lot of things about my plans and my weekend, even things I didn't remember telling her (like that Nichole and I were going to get a pizza and watch a movie last Sunday instead of watching the Super Bowl). I will still have to do some prying to get a story out of her, but I think things are getting better.
It was nice to come home and de-stress with an evening of good company (Jenny came over for a spell), CSI (with Lady Heather! omfg), and log-whoring at La Bohemia. *Sigh* God I'm so glad it's the weekend.
I had a 2-foot-long curly fry from Arby's yesterday. I considered stuffing and mounting it. It was quite the trophy.