Plans, shopping, and a watch.
So yeah, creating posts to edit in later is a tad lame, but I wanted to make sure I had chronology maintained. I hate when canon's inconsistent, y'know? And for better or worse, this journal's the public canon version of my life. Might as well keep it in order.
I'll be visiting Megan tomorrow, down in Mankato. I wish I knew what my motives were. Or hers, for that matter. She's quietly made sure we'd have this meeting, and I'm not sure why. I have to admit, I'm conflicted. On the one hand, if I'm totally honest with myself, I'm still attracted to her physically, probably always will be. On the other, I know things wouldn't ever work out between us, so this visit will be a bit like re-opening an old wound. Two wounds actually, since we tried twice to make this thing work, and it didn't. I was immature, her life was/is a very small and unhappy one, and we were fundamentally different. Everything else worked, we just didn't really have much to talk about. Ah well. It was a good relationship, all told, and with a bit of temporal distance, not a bad thing to re-examine for lessons. The two of us had some really great times, (some of the best of my life, in fact) and I'm sure we can chat for an afternoon without doing much harm. There's a dark part of me that wants to bring up that we still owe each other that night of drunken truth-or-dare we always talked about... But that's not a winning game. Cheap thrills aren't worth the emotional pain; they hardly live up to the name in the long run.
(Off snagging laundry. Went shopping today, lots of new stuff. More on that when I get back)
Been wanting to buy some clothes for a while now, so I checked my bank account this morning, decided there was enough in there to go on a fiscal bender, and drove up to the Mall of America. I like shopping there. I mean, if you're going to be spending money, you might as well go all out, right? Place is like a freaking temple. I shopped around quite a bit, but the only place besides Bloomingdales I spent any money was at Old Navy. I know, I'm a tool, but they had 2 t-shirts for $12, and 2 polos for $20, and I'm a weak man. Also, jeans that aren't overpriced, and I can actually wear to work. Express was having a crazy sale (no, really, we'll give you money! please, just take this crap away from us!), but there's a reason things were so cheap. The items that survived to today's bargain bin underwent a sort of survival of the tackiest; only those so bad that *no one* who shops at Express has ever wanted them, those who managed to blend such stylish colors as puke green and salmon pink in patterns too hideous to contemplate, were on display. It was like a store-wide penance for being preppy all the time. Stunning, really.
The other thing I bought was a watch, from Macy's. It was only a hundred bucks, and I really, really like it. Kind of a big deal for me. See, when I was about seven, my dad decided that I was old enough to have a knife of my own, and bought me one. It was the coolest thing in the world. I carried it with me everywhere, carved anything I could get my hands on, gave myself cuts all over my hands, worried my mom, it was fantastic. I loved that knife. For at least a week, until I lost it. I still swear to this day I put it on the bedstand before I went to sleep, and it just *dissapeared*. There was the sick, panicked period of a morning spent searching, desperately hoping that I had left it in the freezer, or behind the couch, or on the stairs for some reason; no such luck. Then there was the obligatory living in fear that my dad would find out, which lasted for several nauseating days. Then suspicion, the inquisition, the yelling, the crying, and the angry vow to not buy me anything more until I'd learned to take care of my things, especially ones given to me for being mature, which had clearly been a mistake.
About nine months later, my dad bought me a watch. Similar story, with more timing everything I did, and less cutting and carving. Same result. The loss, the panic, the discovery, the yelling, etc. Nine months later, he bought me another knife. I don't know whether it was a sort of indomitable hope, an attempt at self esteem boosting, or just plain forgetfulness, but every nine to fourteen months, my dad would buy me a watch or a knife, alternating. And I'd always enjoy it, lose it, and get yelled at. The saddest part for me was watching the yellings became more and more resigned, watching paternal optimism gave way before the sheer proponderance of evidence for my incompetance. Around twelve, he gave up entirely, except for one short panglossian bout when I got my first pair of glasses and the final watch. The glasses lasted for several years, until it was time for a new pair, in fact. I still have them. The watch survived for a few months. Its loss was met with complete indifference, which stung.
So much so, in fact, that I decided not to buy a watch, or wear one. I wasn't sure when this self-imposed exile would end, but I'd decided, and that was that. When I worked at Walgreens (summer after high school through winter of my sophomore year), I actually stood next to a watch case every day, but intentionally ignored it. It wasn't a money question. I just hadn't earned it. I don't know when the idea first crossed my brain, but during a more difficult stretch of assignments and tests and midterms and finals and projects, I vowed to myself that if I graduated college, I'd buy myself that damned watch. I'd have finally earned it. During my last semester, I even told myself I'd buy one when I found a job, but when I did, it didn't feel like enough of a success to merit it. Graduation was still in question then, since my grades were shaky, and it just didn't feel right.
It has a slim profile, analog, comfortable band and glow in the dark hands, black face and silver accents. I've made it a month in my first real job, and I've graduated from a real university with a real degree in a real major, and I'm damned proud of that. Yeah, I really like this watch. I like even more that I've earned it, from the only person whose judgement of me matters in the end. Myself.
I'll be visiting Megan tomorrow, down in Mankato. I wish I knew what my motives were. Or hers, for that matter. She's quietly made sure we'd have this meeting, and I'm not sure why. I have to admit, I'm conflicted. On the one hand, if I'm totally honest with myself, I'm still attracted to her physically, probably always will be. On the other, I know things wouldn't ever work out between us, so this visit will be a bit like re-opening an old wound. Two wounds actually, since we tried twice to make this thing work, and it didn't. I was immature, her life was/is a very small and unhappy one, and we were fundamentally different. Everything else worked, we just didn't really have much to talk about. Ah well. It was a good relationship, all told, and with a bit of temporal distance, not a bad thing to re-examine for lessons. The two of us had some really great times, (some of the best of my life, in fact) and I'm sure we can chat for an afternoon without doing much harm. There's a dark part of me that wants to bring up that we still owe each other that night of drunken truth-or-dare we always talked about... But that's not a winning game. Cheap thrills aren't worth the emotional pain; they hardly live up to the name in the long run.
(Off snagging laundry. Went shopping today, lots of new stuff. More on that when I get back)
Been wanting to buy some clothes for a while now, so I checked my bank account this morning, decided there was enough in there to go on a fiscal bender, and drove up to the Mall of America. I like shopping there. I mean, if you're going to be spending money, you might as well go all out, right? Place is like a freaking temple. I shopped around quite a bit, but the only place besides Bloomingdales I spent any money was at Old Navy. I know, I'm a tool, but they had 2 t-shirts for $12, and 2 polos for $20, and I'm a weak man. Also, jeans that aren't overpriced, and I can actually wear to work. Express was having a crazy sale (no, really, we'll give you money! please, just take this crap away from us!), but there's a reason things were so cheap. The items that survived to today's bargain bin underwent a sort of survival of the tackiest; only those so bad that *no one* who shops at Express has ever wanted them, those who managed to blend such stylish colors as puke green and salmon pink in patterns too hideous to contemplate, were on display. It was like a store-wide penance for being preppy all the time. Stunning, really.
The other thing I bought was a watch, from Macy's. It was only a hundred bucks, and I really, really like it. Kind of a big deal for me. See, when I was about seven, my dad decided that I was old enough to have a knife of my own, and bought me one. It was the coolest thing in the world. I carried it with me everywhere, carved anything I could get my hands on, gave myself cuts all over my hands, worried my mom, it was fantastic. I loved that knife. For at least a week, until I lost it. I still swear to this day I put it on the bedstand before I went to sleep, and it just *dissapeared*. There was the sick, panicked period of a morning spent searching, desperately hoping that I had left it in the freezer, or behind the couch, or on the stairs for some reason; no such luck. Then there was the obligatory living in fear that my dad would find out, which lasted for several nauseating days. Then suspicion, the inquisition, the yelling, the crying, and the angry vow to not buy me anything more until I'd learned to take care of my things, especially ones given to me for being mature, which had clearly been a mistake.
About nine months later, my dad bought me a watch. Similar story, with more timing everything I did, and less cutting and carving. Same result. The loss, the panic, the discovery, the yelling, etc. Nine months later, he bought me another knife. I don't know whether it was a sort of indomitable hope, an attempt at self esteem boosting, or just plain forgetfulness, but every nine to fourteen months, my dad would buy me a watch or a knife, alternating. And I'd always enjoy it, lose it, and get yelled at. The saddest part for me was watching the yellings became more and more resigned, watching paternal optimism gave way before the sheer proponderance of evidence for my incompetance. Around twelve, he gave up entirely, except for one short panglossian bout when I got my first pair of glasses and the final watch. The glasses lasted for several years, until it was time for a new pair, in fact. I still have them. The watch survived for a few months. Its loss was met with complete indifference, which stung.
So much so, in fact, that I decided not to buy a watch, or wear one. I wasn't sure when this self-imposed exile would end, but I'd decided, and that was that. When I worked at Walgreens (summer after high school through winter of my sophomore year), I actually stood next to a watch case every day, but intentionally ignored it. It wasn't a money question. I just hadn't earned it. I don't know when the idea first crossed my brain, but during a more difficult stretch of assignments and tests and midterms and finals and projects, I vowed to myself that if I graduated college, I'd buy myself that damned watch. I'd have finally earned it. During my last semester, I even told myself I'd buy one when I found a job, but when I did, it didn't feel like enough of a success to merit it. Graduation was still in question then, since my grades were shaky, and it just didn't feel right.
It has a slim profile, analog, comfortable band and glow in the dark hands, black face and silver accents. I've made it a month in my first real job, and I've graduated from a real university with a real degree in a real major, and I'm damned proud of that. Yeah, I really like this watch. I like even more that I've earned it, from the only person whose judgement of me matters in the end. Myself.