trolls
emotional regurgitation.
i thought i didn't do it anymore, yet, still, here it is, done and done and done again. and when i do it, i feel so embarrassed, so small, because i don't set out and thinK: a lovely night tonight, i know, let's top it off with a little trip, down ol' memory lane, let me show you some slides, let me let you in on a coupla hundred secrets...
and i also don't think, hmm, it's late, i've had more sangrias than i can remember because i don't think i even started a count... maybe just, shut it! hold it in, you're a big girl, you can wait til you get to the bathroom, the shrinks office, your diary, your journal...not evryone needs to know everything about you all sprayed out on them in one big glop...
but no. the words come pouring out of me, stories of people and places and a thousand yesterdays. and i can't stop it. i don't stop it. a bout of willful tourette's. i want to stop talking, but also i don't. the tears keep coming, one story leads to another, i'm exhausting myself and the person i'm speaking to, and _ i_ don't_ stop_talking!
i said when i was done, "god i talked myself sober!" but a second later i thought to myself, "no you didn't you selfish lush!" (and not just that - you're gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow and your audience might just suffer the same, and by hangover, i don't mean from merely just alcohol)
i feel naked and silly, juvenile; nervous and jumpy as a pre-pubescent girl at a sleepover...all ill-suited to my thirty eight year old body. and i know i making more of it than i should because i'm drunker than i thought, and it's not like i regret revealing anything i revealed, but i do wish i could turn back time and give us all back the lovely, pleasant evening we had before i started gushing. i wish i can make it so that everything wasn't so heavy all the time; and that we were still downstairs talking about simple things...like home decor, pretty photos, a beautiful book....
the only thing that's calming me down now (aside from repetitively regurgitating runaway feelings here on lj), is this one moment i shared with my boss weeks ago: she showed me a picture of her twelve-year-old self, proudly displaying on the table before her her beloved collection of 10 or so trolls.
she looked at the photo and said: "you know, i think i still feel like that; i still feel like i'm twelve-years-old."
i thought i didn't do it anymore, yet, still, here it is, done and done and done again. and when i do it, i feel so embarrassed, so small, because i don't set out and thinK: a lovely night tonight, i know, let's top it off with a little trip, down ol' memory lane, let me show you some slides, let me let you in on a coupla hundred secrets...
and i also don't think, hmm, it's late, i've had more sangrias than i can remember because i don't think i even started a count... maybe just, shut it! hold it in, you're a big girl, you can wait til you get to the bathroom, the shrinks office, your diary, your journal...not evryone needs to know everything about you all sprayed out on them in one big glop...
but no. the words come pouring out of me, stories of people and places and a thousand yesterdays. and i can't stop it. i don't stop it. a bout of willful tourette's. i want to stop talking, but also i don't. the tears keep coming, one story leads to another, i'm exhausting myself and the person i'm speaking to, and _ i_ don't_ stop_talking!
i said when i was done, "god i talked myself sober!" but a second later i thought to myself, "no you didn't you selfish lush!" (and not just that - you're gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow and your audience might just suffer the same, and by hangover, i don't mean from merely just alcohol)
i feel naked and silly, juvenile; nervous and jumpy as a pre-pubescent girl at a sleepover...all ill-suited to my thirty eight year old body. and i know i making more of it than i should because i'm drunker than i thought, and it's not like i regret revealing anything i revealed, but i do wish i could turn back time and give us all back the lovely, pleasant evening we had before i started gushing. i wish i can make it so that everything wasn't so heavy all the time; and that we were still downstairs talking about simple things...like home decor, pretty photos, a beautiful book....
the only thing that's calming me down now (aside from repetitively regurgitating runaway feelings here on lj), is this one moment i shared with my boss weeks ago: she showed me a picture of her twelve-year-old self, proudly displaying on the table before her her beloved collection of 10 or so trolls.
she looked at the photo and said: "you know, i think i still feel like that; i still feel like i'm twelve-years-old."