A quiet night in
I can't believe I'm getting into sitcoms that I used to think were clichéd, ike Everybody Loves Raymond or How I Met Your Mother. I can understand why I'm watching shows that remind me of home (Black Books, The IT Crowd, Gavin and Stacey etc), but it only hit me as I was composing this post.
I'm watching these shows because they're exactly the kind of shows I used to watch before I met Tom. When I was happier. Before I became miserable. I'm even starting to get back into older shows like Friends and Frasier, shows that he successfully made me feel embarrassed to admit liking, because they weren't weird enough for him or didn't contain frequent references to pot, and only featured normal, "boring" people. That's also why he didn't like Love Actually, one of my favourite Christmas movies, because he was waiting for a transsexxual to do lines of cocaine off a rare dog who could only talk while it was on LSD or something (and don't get me wrong on how he seems to imply that transsexuals = freaks & cool, which is homophobic).
Don't get me wrong, I like my weird shows, too, mainly because I have always grown up being a weird little kid, playing dress-up and pretending I was a vampire, or reading up about witchcraft and Halloween traditions when I was eleven years old (and transcribing a book on it in class while I was supposed to be doing work). But even now as I write this, I feel as though everyone is judging me as harshly and as unevenly as he is, and that instead of posting these thoughts and feelings and streams of consciousness to my personal journal, I feel as though I should be defending myself and disclaiming myself and explaining every thing I write so it isn't taken the wrong way. It's paranoia, something he's succesfully instilled in me. I can't leave the house without wondering what other people think of me, especially if I'm walking around town with him. I don't want to be seen in public with him.
After he threw his daily tantrum (they always surprise me, yet he continues to declare that I calculate them), he left, and I inadvertently ended up with a quiet night in. A broccoli pot pie and a some lovely Irish lager are calling my name.
I'm watching these shows because they're exactly the kind of shows I used to watch before I met Tom. When I was happier. Before I became miserable. I'm even starting to get back into older shows like Friends and Frasier, shows that he successfully made me feel embarrassed to admit liking, because they weren't weird enough for him or didn't contain frequent references to pot, and only featured normal, "boring" people. That's also why he didn't like Love Actually, one of my favourite Christmas movies, because he was waiting for a transsexxual to do lines of cocaine off a rare dog who could only talk while it was on LSD or something (and don't get me wrong on how he seems to imply that transsexuals = freaks & cool, which is homophobic).
Don't get me wrong, I like my weird shows, too, mainly because I have always grown up being a weird little kid, playing dress-up and pretending I was a vampire, or reading up about witchcraft and Halloween traditions when I was eleven years old (and transcribing a book on it in class while I was supposed to be doing work). But even now as I write this, I feel as though everyone is judging me as harshly and as unevenly as he is, and that instead of posting these thoughts and feelings and streams of consciousness to my personal journal, I feel as though I should be defending myself and disclaiming myself and explaining every thing I write so it isn't taken the wrong way. It's paranoia, something he's succesfully instilled in me. I can't leave the house without wondering what other people think of me, especially if I'm walking around town with him. I don't want to be seen in public with him.
After he threw his daily tantrum (they always surprise me, yet he continues to declare that I calculate them), he left, and I inadvertently ended up with a quiet night in. A broccoli pot pie and a some lovely Irish lager are calling my name.