she's chatty when she's drunky
so I decided to go all out the other day and post on dead journal too. Shit no one really reads this crap I write anyway but since I could I did. There is something comforting about writing away all one's troubles that doesn't quite compare with the therapists office and I won't get started with the psychiatrists office (why I write on this is a bit of a mystery to me as I know at least 2 people that may or may not be reading, but whatever - the whole argument about validity and the supposed need for recognition can be saved for another overly long entry that will bring even the most patient to their humble knees out of boredom). In any case I read an interesting - what should I call it? Quote? Idea? Anyway - it goes like this "The problem with talking about the past is it becomes disturbing. You start thinking of a thousand anecdotes, and your life merely as a collection thereof." Which I find to be a fascinating concept albeit depressing (but probably why I am so drawn to the idea). Speaking of depressing the 3rd or non -interest has called me 5 times today and while it's tempting to try to justify it away as being something other than an almost creepy infatuation it's getting to the point that I don't think I can any longer. Something will need to be done, steps will have to be taken. What is it about some people that they don't have a self-edit button (n.b. I am one to cast judgement, of course, as I sit here and write about my almostly mostly innermost thoughts and feelings except of course that I can't even quantify what're real thoughts and feelings...)? Sleeping with people becomes an emotional mine-field. What makes someone feel like they have a claim (or even a chance?) after simply having sex? Drunken sex, no less. Meaningless sex. I don't mean to sound as if I am woe is me - I'm really just curious. I know there is no explaining the human emotion but again - isn't there maybe a little part in one's head that says maybe your being obsessive? Now I know there may be an arguement made for me being possibly a bit hungup on my ex but shit - the day I call him 5 times is the day I hang myself from the rafters (if I had rafters...). In any case, morbidity aside, sigh-. I'll go to Portland and stay drunk for 2 1/2 days and pretend that there isn't a problem. I'm that kind of girl. It's shitty but oh well. Would I like to be treated that way? No. Would I want to be told that I was an obsessive freak while I was on vacation? No. Catch-22 it's not but I tend to overthink things (obsessive? maybe that's why I recognise it and know when to say no) and perhaps that's why I sit at home and drink and type out crap on my computer. That went downhill quick. Goodnight.