(no subject)
So, I wrote this a few nights ago. Read it, comment, do whatever you like. Haven't re-read or corrected anything, it's just a (long) drabble. I'm off to work now, adios.
It's 0:30AM right now while I'm writing this. Usually I'd be in a pub right now, drinking excessive amounts of alcohol and talking to strangers about being drunk and vomiting on people. But tonight is different. I haven't got any money to spend (I'm gettin' paid the 23rd) and I don't feel like talking to strangers about being drunk and vomiting. For some reason I always end up talking about shit, vomit and piss. (No thanks to you, Val, but you know I love talking about matters like that with you. I love you!)
So, instead, I'm sitting at home, customizing my livejournal again and again and again. Now I know why I don't stay at home much, I turn into a total fuckin' neurotic. But I know some of you are the same. Yeah, you with the pretty-perfect layout and the too-good-to-be-true userpics. On a lighter note; it's wonderful weather outside and I can hear Extrema (dance festival) in the distance. I just ran out of cigarettes and I don't have any whiskey left. I guess I'll have to entertain myself without intoxicating myself.
I've been listening to a lot of Blur lately. I've tried to cut down on my Blur-binge, but I can't seem to stop. Not even Moondog, Charles Manson, Quasimoto or Manics can stop me. NOT EVEN MOONDOG, people, not even Moondog. And I just discovered his music today. Or yesterday...I can't remember. I like Moondog.
Life is good. I've been going to therapy again a lot lately, and I'm seeing my psychiatrist once every 2 to 3 months. (Maybe not as much as I should, but it's good enough for now.) My therapist has been trying to talk me into doing things like joining a group for people who suffer from Asperger's. Frankly, I won't. I won't sum up the reasons why I don't want to join the group, I could write a whole book on reasons why I wouldn't want to join a silly group in the first place. Anyway, I'm trailing off again. As I mentioned before, life is good. I haven't felt this great in a long time. Everything has suddenly become so very clear to me. I know for a fact that this all might change; I might feel miserable in a few months. My medication might not work as well as it does right now; something might trigger me into getting into a psychotic, manic or depressive fit, but I don't want to worry about that anymore. I'm working a "steady" job, I've lost some weight again and I've come to peace with my friends, family and most importantly, though, probably not as much as I'd want, myself. I still loathe the reflection I see of myself in the mirror. 60kg, it's still too much for me. I wish I could go back to 50kg, or even 48kg. But I know it doesn't work that way. I'll never have that 12-year-old body again, unless I starve myself, like I used to do when I was younger. But I've taught myself to like my body, not love, it's such a strong word, how silly it may seem. I'm still incredibly self-concious. I still hide my body when I go out, by wearing baggy jeans, long skirts or large sweaters. My self-loathing won't change, unless I learn to cope with the fact that yes, I'm growing older and yes, my body is changing. I hate that I've been brainwashed by the media and its idealistic views on beauty; heroin-chique and the terribly thin men and women. I hate you, Kate Moss, but I love you. But enough about body-issues. And to be honest, I'd rather read a book on existentialism, rather than beat myself up over such trivial matters as. (Which, in the end, aren't so very trivial when you really take a minute to think about 'em.)
Existentialism...I like philosophy. Xenophanes, Machiavelli, Schelling, Nietzsche, Sartre, Boethius, Plotinus and even Pythagoras, even though we all know he was a little bit of a crazy one, right? I love math, physics and science, even though I failed all subjects related to them all back in high school. Certain things are too hard for me to comprehend, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy reading about them. As a child I wanted to become famous. Beit as a painter, a dancer, a disc jockey, a rocket scientist, a famous guitar player, etc. I wanted to learn about the stars, the planets and the galaxy. But, given my age and the fact that my brain can't (or rather, doesn't want to) focus on studying (or anything related to it for that matter), I don't think I'll become a rocket scientist. Not anytime soon, at least. It took my mum, bless her soul, nearly fifty years to figure out what she really wanted to do in life. And even now, after 46 years, she still doesn't know what to do in life.
I love my mum. Without my mum, I'd be dead, I reckon. I love watching movies with her and I love talking to her about music and books and life and Jonathan Rhys-Meyers. (She loves Johnny.) She recognizes Alex, Damon, Graham, and even Dave, though, she just calls him the ginge. I can thank my mother for introducing me to David Byrne/Talking Heads, Brian Eno, Alpha Blondy, Bryan Ferry/Roxy Music, the Cramps, the Commodores, David Bowie, Iggy Pop, Gary Numan, the Psychedelic Furs, Barry White, Steel Pulse, Third World, Pink Floyd, Duran Duran, the Sisters of Mercy, Talk Talk, the Cult, Cameo (I don't want to hear it), Seal, the Jackson 5/Michael Jackson, Marvin Gaye, Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, Ofra Haza, Lou Reed, the Smiths, George Michael, Klezmer Conservatory Band, Miki Thodorakis, Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley, De La Soul, Busta Rhymes, Snoop-fuckin'-Dogg and some other artists I can't seem to remember. But who cares. Now, some of these artists might not mean anything to you; but these people/bands have helped me shape my own, what I like to call, faux-unique taste in music. Thanks, mum. I love you for that. And I know you're not young anymore and that you're not stuck in that cool, 80's New York punk/new wave scene anymore. You're in the Netherlands now, and it's okay if you listen to Celine Dion every now and then. I'm happy you appreciate Blur, Manics, Goldfrapp and Graham. Though, I'd love to see you in your old leather jacket, with big, curly hair, lots of mascara, rouge and big black boots. (Nowadays, just so you guys know, my mum's wardrobe consists of overalls, t-shirts and bedroom slippers.)
I'm feeling very sentimental right now. I reckon I should end this quick, before I start whining about my problems again. And here I am, thinking I'd have been better off in a pub, drinking excessive amounts of alcohol and talking to strangers about being drunk and vomiting on people. But I guess staying at home is good too, every now and then. I don't need to hide from myself anymore. And I don't want you guys to think I'm sad or troubled. I'm pretty happy now. I feel weird, yeah, all the time, but I guess that's just my hormones. (Or my medication, I don't know, what am I, a doctor?)
I love my friends, I love my family, I love some of you and I don't love some you of you, for obvious reasons, but that doesn't mean I hate or dislike you, it's just that I don't love you. Yet. I try to love. I'm going to start a cult, its main ideal being love. But I'm just being idealistic here. I'll shut up. Good day/night, konbanwa, bonsoir, etc. I'm too tired. I should get some sleep and quit listening to that same Fats Waller song over and over again; mum must think I've lost it.
Oh, and just in case you wanted to know, it's 1:46AM right now.