some things never change.
my stomach is in that queasy-nervous-shaky state again where i don't know if i'm going to throw up or just feel like this for the next six hours. probably the latter.
i am no longer capable of sleeping unless i have taken ambien first. i don't know why i'm so anxious, but whenever i try to put my head down for a nap, my mind races and races and races until my head and stomach spin and before i know it, it's been an hour and all i've done is laid in my bed with the lights off and my eyes open. what a waste of time.
i guess part of today's anxiety is that i got into a huge fight with my mom this morning at the neiman marcus cafe. she was being passive-aggressively critical again about how bad my skin looked and how runny my makeup was. if this were the first time she awkwardly backed into a conversation she knew i wasn't going to like by asking a seemingly only tangentially related question, i might have been able to accept it (for example, asking "if i had duac"--my acne medication--rather than just coming out and admitting, as she did several minutes later, that she thought my skin looked particularly bad. or asking if i had enough makeup pads for the third time this week, even after she bought me four packages of them, instead of just telling me that my makeup looked runny.) but i've been dealing with her bullshit since i was eight years old, which was when i started seeing a dermatologist for teeny-tiny microscopic blackheads that even i couldn't see, and it was my face.
i knew i was going to lose my temper right there in the restaurant in front of the newly weds at the table next to us and the soccer mom collective across the room so rather than make a scene--which i inadvertently did, anyway--i threw my napkin down on the table, grabbed my purse, and stormed out. not before yelling something about me being her "fucking barbie doll" first, though.
part of me wishes i had handled the situation better, like by maybe just ignoring her. but the other part of me is so, so frustrated that i've had to put up with twelve years of her passive-aggressive crap, and it's not fair. i've asked her to stop every way possible--nicely, meanly, whatever. it's just in her nature to pick on me about every little thing from my hair to my makeup to my skin to my weight to my clothes to my shoes. i have to spend double the time the average person spends packing up to go home for a week to see their parents because i have to carefully plan out outfits that won't offend her or start up a conversation about how my pants are too low and my shirts are too short (they're not. in fact, i think i'm a pretty good dresser.) i have to change the way i wear my makeup around her--no under-eyeliner--so she won't call me a tramp. (even though my makeup routine is so simple and underdone that it literally takes me five minutes to do in the morning. we're talking nude eyeshadow, brown eyeliner and mascara here. that's it.) i have to wash my face a thousand times a day so she can't accuse me of not taking care of my skin, although she does anyway because for some reason, she assumes that i don't care about it.
that's kind of the part that i don't understand. does she think that i don't want to look good? does she think that i'm happy when my skin is oily, or when i have big, red sores and painful cysts? why does she think that her motivation for me to look my best is the only one that exists?
ideally, i wish she wouldn't say anything at all. i wish she would just let me live my life and be a person so i wouldn't have to walk on eggshells around her when it comes to my appearance. but if i can't have that, i'd rather her just be honest with me when she doesn't like something about the way i look. maybe she thinks she's being tactful or gentle by bringing things up from a weird angle, like asking if i've thought about joining a gym rather than just coming out and telling me that i need to lose weight (which she hasn't done, to her credit. i'm just giving an example.) i don't know. all i know is, i'm sick of her ignorance act--not "knowing" if i have acne medication, not "knowing" if i still have the four packages of makeup removers she bought me last fucking week--and i think after twelve years, i shouldn't have to put up with it anymore. especially since i'm never home anyway.
i wish i didn't have to go home being in a fight with my mom but i guess that's the way it's going to be, because neither of us wants to be the first to apologize.
i'm pretty depressed so i don't know if i can find three things that make me happy, but
1. i wrote my sociology paper last night--the one i was dreading all week. it actually wasn't bad (the process of writing the paper, that is; the actual paper itself is a load of crap.)
2. i saw a new south park last night that was pretty hysterical: britney spears shot her face off, survived, but was eventually killed by a swarm of camera flashes. at first i thought the episode was a parody of "the wicker man" but then i looked it up and found out that it was actually a parody of a well-known short story from 1948 called "the lottery." if you google the story, you can find full-length versions of it (which aren't very long, anyway)--it's a pretty interesting read. it's about a barbarian agricultural society that thinks that the way to ensure a good corn harvest is to stone one person to death each year in june, determined by a lottery. also, the end of the episode made fun of miley cyrus, which made me really happy because i think she's the most obnoxious creature that ever walked the face of the earth besides this girl i went to school with in middle school.
3. i'm going back to boston tomorrow earlier than planned. as of this morning, i didn't especially want to go back to school just yet, but after the fight with my mother this morning i'm more than ready. also, my old flight would have gotten me into boston at 8:00 and i probably wouldn't have gotten back to my dorm until 9:00 so that would have made for sort of a late night as far as unpacking and showering and stuff. it'll be nice to get in at 3:30 and have the whole evening to myself.
i am no longer capable of sleeping unless i have taken ambien first. i don't know why i'm so anxious, but whenever i try to put my head down for a nap, my mind races and races and races until my head and stomach spin and before i know it, it's been an hour and all i've done is laid in my bed with the lights off and my eyes open. what a waste of time.
i guess part of today's anxiety is that i got into a huge fight with my mom this morning at the neiman marcus cafe. she was being passive-aggressively critical again about how bad my skin looked and how runny my makeup was. if this were the first time she awkwardly backed into a conversation she knew i wasn't going to like by asking a seemingly only tangentially related question, i might have been able to accept it (for example, asking "if i had duac"--my acne medication--rather than just coming out and admitting, as she did several minutes later, that she thought my skin looked particularly bad. or asking if i had enough makeup pads for the third time this week, even after she bought me four packages of them, instead of just telling me that my makeup looked runny.) but i've been dealing with her bullshit since i was eight years old, which was when i started seeing a dermatologist for teeny-tiny microscopic blackheads that even i couldn't see, and it was my face.
i knew i was going to lose my temper right there in the restaurant in front of the newly weds at the table next to us and the soccer mom collective across the room so rather than make a scene--which i inadvertently did, anyway--i threw my napkin down on the table, grabbed my purse, and stormed out. not before yelling something about me being her "fucking barbie doll" first, though.
part of me wishes i had handled the situation better, like by maybe just ignoring her. but the other part of me is so, so frustrated that i've had to put up with twelve years of her passive-aggressive crap, and it's not fair. i've asked her to stop every way possible--nicely, meanly, whatever. it's just in her nature to pick on me about every little thing from my hair to my makeup to my skin to my weight to my clothes to my shoes. i have to spend double the time the average person spends packing up to go home for a week to see their parents because i have to carefully plan out outfits that won't offend her or start up a conversation about how my pants are too low and my shirts are too short (they're not. in fact, i think i'm a pretty good dresser.) i have to change the way i wear my makeup around her--no under-eyeliner--so she won't call me a tramp. (even though my makeup routine is so simple and underdone that it literally takes me five minutes to do in the morning. we're talking nude eyeshadow, brown eyeliner and mascara here. that's it.) i have to wash my face a thousand times a day so she can't accuse me of not taking care of my skin, although she does anyway because for some reason, she assumes that i don't care about it.
that's kind of the part that i don't understand. does she think that i don't want to look good? does she think that i'm happy when my skin is oily, or when i have big, red sores and painful cysts? why does she think that her motivation for me to look my best is the only one that exists?
ideally, i wish she wouldn't say anything at all. i wish she would just let me live my life and be a person so i wouldn't have to walk on eggshells around her when it comes to my appearance. but if i can't have that, i'd rather her just be honest with me when she doesn't like something about the way i look. maybe she thinks she's being tactful or gentle by bringing things up from a weird angle, like asking if i've thought about joining a gym rather than just coming out and telling me that i need to lose weight (which she hasn't done, to her credit. i'm just giving an example.) i don't know. all i know is, i'm sick of her ignorance act--not "knowing" if i have acne medication, not "knowing" if i still have the four packages of makeup removers she bought me last fucking week--and i think after twelve years, i shouldn't have to put up with it anymore. especially since i'm never home anyway.
i wish i didn't have to go home being in a fight with my mom but i guess that's the way it's going to be, because neither of us wants to be the first to apologize.
i'm pretty depressed so i don't know if i can find three things that make me happy, but
1. i wrote my sociology paper last night--the one i was dreading all week. it actually wasn't bad (the process of writing the paper, that is; the actual paper itself is a load of crap.)
2. i saw a new south park last night that was pretty hysterical: britney spears shot her face off, survived, but was eventually killed by a swarm of camera flashes. at first i thought the episode was a parody of "the wicker man" but then i looked it up and found out that it was actually a parody of a well-known short story from 1948 called "the lottery." if you google the story, you can find full-length versions of it (which aren't very long, anyway)--it's a pretty interesting read. it's about a barbarian agricultural society that thinks that the way to ensure a good corn harvest is to stone one person to death each year in june, determined by a lottery. also, the end of the episode made fun of miley cyrus, which made me really happy because i think she's the most obnoxious creature that ever walked the face of the earth besides this girl i went to school with in middle school.
3. i'm going back to boston tomorrow earlier than planned. as of this morning, i didn't especially want to go back to school just yet, but after the fight with my mother this morning i'm more than ready. also, my old flight would have gotten me into boston at 8:00 and i probably wouldn't have gotten back to my dorm until 9:00 so that would have made for sort of a late night as far as unpacking and showering and stuff. it'll be nice to get in at 3:30 and have the whole evening to myself.