That film of oil over my face...
I screwed up my second presentation this week today.
Only papers and one test left though.
I went to see my temp. therapist today. He asked me why I needed therapy, and I really didn't know how to answer. I told him my story and where I was, but he still didn't really understand me. It scares me. I miss Julia so much already and its only been a week. My life is crumpling away all around me, and I have nothing left to hang onto.
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Here's a fun little thing I wrote too...(optional reading)
Recently, I lost my shoes. I have lost an old friend of mine. We met six months ago and it was love at first foot. You ought to know first and foremost, my feet are very picky. I have kept telling them to be more open minded; that shoes are made to cater to them. But they never listen. My feet feel that shoes are just arrogant and rigid, that they have to conform to the shoe. However, these were not your average shoes. They were a comforting confidante when my feet were in pain, as well as a compadre who would always be there supporting my feet in all their endeavourers without question. But, sadly, all of this has come to end. Last month, at a party, I took the wrong pair of shoes by mistake. The shoes that I took did look a lot like my shoes, and at least they seemed like my shoes from the outside. However, when I slipped them on, my feet knew something was horribly wrong. They contorted and withed in pain. They were screaming at me that these were the wrong pair. I didn’t listen; I was too busy just trying to leave the house in one piece. When I finally did get back home and looked at the mangled creatures I mistook for my own, I was shocked in disbelief. They were in fact the same brand and size as my pair of shoes, but they were somebody else’s object of affection. My feet were distraught; they felt that they had been cheating. It got so bad after this my feet refused to wear shoes altogether for two days, I obviously forced them to comply but they did not like it. I developed a callus on two different spots on my right foot, and I’m still convinced my feet tried on purpose to inflict pain as a way of taking their revenge against me for not listening to them. Needless to say my feet miss my shoes. Since that fateful night my feet have forgiven me. They saw me make phones calls and write emails asking about where my shoes could have gone, but we both have realized that the trail has run cold. My feet and I both know that the shoes are out there somewhere, but we have decided that it would be best to move on. My feet know that my old shoes would want us to carry on and still be productive, and not to just mope around. My feet know things will never be the same, but they have been touched. All they hope is to find another friend.
Only papers and one test left though.
I went to see my temp. therapist today. He asked me why I needed therapy, and I really didn't know how to answer. I told him my story and where I was, but he still didn't really understand me. It scares me. I miss Julia so much already and its only been a week. My life is crumpling away all around me, and I have nothing left to hang onto.
---------------
Here's a fun little thing I wrote too...(optional reading)
Recently, I lost my shoes. I have lost an old friend of mine. We met six months ago and it was love at first foot. You ought to know first and foremost, my feet are very picky. I have kept telling them to be more open minded; that shoes are made to cater to them. But they never listen. My feet feel that shoes are just arrogant and rigid, that they have to conform to the shoe. However, these were not your average shoes. They were a comforting confidante when my feet were in pain, as well as a compadre who would always be there supporting my feet in all their endeavourers without question. But, sadly, all of this has come to end. Last month, at a party, I took the wrong pair of shoes by mistake. The shoes that I took did look a lot like my shoes, and at least they seemed like my shoes from the outside. However, when I slipped them on, my feet knew something was horribly wrong. They contorted and withed in pain. They were screaming at me that these were the wrong pair. I didn’t listen; I was too busy just trying to leave the house in one piece. When I finally did get back home and looked at the mangled creatures I mistook for my own, I was shocked in disbelief. They were in fact the same brand and size as my pair of shoes, but they were somebody else’s object of affection. My feet were distraught; they felt that they had been cheating. It got so bad after this my feet refused to wear shoes altogether for two days, I obviously forced them to comply but they did not like it. I developed a callus on two different spots on my right foot, and I’m still convinced my feet tried on purpose to inflict pain as a way of taking their revenge against me for not listening to them. Needless to say my feet miss my shoes. Since that fateful night my feet have forgiven me. They saw me make phones calls and write emails asking about where my shoes could have gone, but we both have realized that the trail has run cold. My feet and I both know that the shoes are out there somewhere, but we have decided that it would be best to move on. My feet know that my old shoes would want us to carry on and still be productive, and not to just mope around. My feet know things will never be the same, but they have been touched. All they hope is to find another friend.