Carry on, Carry on...
Jan. 31st, 2009 11:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
generaljanuaryI've got a lot of silly stupid things to write about so if you are in a hurry feel free to skip my sure-to-be overly long post and carry on with whatever it is that you are doing.
I burnt both my hands in separate incidents today at work. They've got these painful, ugly blisters and I can't remember if they hurt less or more if you burst them. One would think that someone who burns herself as often as I do would remember something like that, but no. I don't.
Sebastien is sort of pampering me and I can't bring myself to tell him to stop. He'll be hurt, he won't understand and I won't want to explain. It would go something like this:
Fannie: Stop acting like you're my boyfriend.
Sebastien: What?!
F: If you do everything for me I won't be able to stand on my own when you leave.
S: Pish posh! I'll never leave!
F: Stop saying that. One day you will get a boyfriend and I will expect you to care more for him than you do for me.
S: I don't need a boyfriend, I've got you. Besides, you might get a boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Whatever.
F: I won't.
S: (now he'll look sad, he always does when I say something that makes him see just how low my self-esteem can reach) That again!
F: That always. This is not about my personal drama, this is about you being too kind and me being almost selfish enough to let you do it. I know you're only trying to be a good friend but I want to be a good friend too. I'll never learn to do things on my own if you're always there to do them for me.
S: But I don't feel like I have to, I just like doing stuff for you.
F: This conversation is making me sound like Jennifer Anniston's stupid character in "The Object of my Affection".
S: Yeah, whatever, if you feel inspired enough to write imaginary arguments in your livejournal go write a play or something.
... anyways.
A childhood memory came over me today for no reason at all. I remember being with my mother at the drug store and she spent hours choosing a lipstick. She'd test them on her hand, see what the colours looked like. She tried all sorts of reds, pinks and mochas. My mother was never an elegant lady. She was a stay at home mom, she'd usually only wear make up if we went out to the mall or the restaurant, but as a little girl, that fact didn't enter my mind as she asked my opinion about certain colours. After an eternity and a hand smeared in a true pallet of lipstick shades, we left the store, both beaming, with this precious, tiny tube of bright, outrageously red lipstick. I don't think she ever wore it. Maybe she thought she couldn't pull it off. Or even worse, maybe inside, she felt like the kind of woman who could pull it off, but when she saw it on herself in the mirror she felt actually really silly and frustrated for ever thinking that she could be this fabulous, daring woman. I know for a fact this has often happened to me. I'd spend the longest time applying make up just to look at myself in the mirror at the end of it all and bursting into frustated, self-berating fits of self-esteem crash, complete with tears and throwing stuff around. In my teens, my mother gave that tube of lipstick to me. I wonder if it was a thoughtless act or if she actually felt like she was giving away her hopes of ever being the kind of woman who can pull off bright red lipstick. I wonder if she was hoping I'd grow to be he kind of woman she knew she could never be. Well, mom, I do wear crazy shades of lipstick, but as you know I am not a case of study in self-confidence, I hope you are not disapointed.
I have to apply to go back to college. I have to. If I don't, I fear I will just... crumble up into ashes and disapear completely. This year, I really feel that it's now or never and if it's never, the shame would overwhelm me and I'd never be able to look anyone in the eyes ever again. Expecially not my poor disapointed dad.
I was thinking earlier today that there are rooms in my house that I haven't been in for years now. Which brought on the thought (of which I've been aware for a very, very long time, but shied away from) that my house hasn't felt like home for many, many years and yet I do not feel any need to move out, or be elsewhere. I do not feel the need to be anywhere at all, most of the time, anyway. I do not really recognize my needs anymore. They're sort of swallowed up in strange mood waves and expectations and lethargicity. The only need I know to be entirely true is the need to fill every available inch of my mind with absolutely anything. So that I don't have to think about real stuff for too long. I don't know if I'm glad or sad to have finally found out why I've always been so eager to read every book that's ever been written and watch every movie that's ever been made.
I burnt both my hands in separate incidents today at work. They've got these painful, ugly blisters and I can't remember if they hurt less or more if you burst them. One would think that someone who burns herself as often as I do would remember something like that, but no. I don't.
Sebastien is sort of pampering me and I can't bring myself to tell him to stop. He'll be hurt, he won't understand and I won't want to explain. It would go something like this:
Fannie: Stop acting like you're my boyfriend.
Sebastien: What?!
F: If you do everything for me I won't be able to stand on my own when you leave.
S: Pish posh! I'll never leave!
F: Stop saying that. One day you will get a boyfriend and I will expect you to care more for him than you do for me.
S: I don't need a boyfriend, I've got you. Besides, you might get a boyfriend. Or girlfriend. Whatever.
F: I won't.
S: (now he'll look sad, he always does when I say something that makes him see just how low my self-esteem can reach) That again!
F: That always. This is not about my personal drama, this is about you being too kind and me being almost selfish enough to let you do it. I know you're only trying to be a good friend but I want to be a good friend too. I'll never learn to do things on my own if you're always there to do them for me.
S: But I don't feel like I have to, I just like doing stuff for you.
F: This conversation is making me sound like Jennifer Anniston's stupid character in "The Object of my Affection".
S: Yeah, whatever, if you feel inspired enough to write imaginary arguments in your livejournal go write a play or something.
... anyways.
A childhood memory came over me today for no reason at all. I remember being with my mother at the drug store and she spent hours choosing a lipstick. She'd test them on her hand, see what the colours looked like. She tried all sorts of reds, pinks and mochas. My mother was never an elegant lady. She was a stay at home mom, she'd usually only wear make up if we went out to the mall or the restaurant, but as a little girl, that fact didn't enter my mind as she asked my opinion about certain colours. After an eternity and a hand smeared in a true pallet of lipstick shades, we left the store, both beaming, with this precious, tiny tube of bright, outrageously red lipstick. I don't think she ever wore it. Maybe she thought she couldn't pull it off. Or even worse, maybe inside, she felt like the kind of woman who could pull it off, but when she saw it on herself in the mirror she felt actually really silly and frustrated for ever thinking that she could be this fabulous, daring woman. I know for a fact this has often happened to me. I'd spend the longest time applying make up just to look at myself in the mirror at the end of it all and bursting into frustated, self-berating fits of self-esteem crash, complete with tears and throwing stuff around. In my teens, my mother gave that tube of lipstick to me. I wonder if it was a thoughtless act or if she actually felt like she was giving away her hopes of ever being the kind of woman who can pull off bright red lipstick. I wonder if she was hoping I'd grow to be he kind of woman she knew she could never be. Well, mom, I do wear crazy shades of lipstick, but as you know I am not a case of study in self-confidence, I hope you are not disapointed.
I have to apply to go back to college. I have to. If I don't, I fear I will just... crumble up into ashes and disapear completely. This year, I really feel that it's now or never and if it's never, the shame would overwhelm me and I'd never be able to look anyone in the eyes ever again. Expecially not my poor disapointed dad.
I was thinking earlier today that there are rooms in my house that I haven't been in for years now. Which brought on the thought (of which I've been aware for a very, very long time, but shied away from) that my house hasn't felt like home for many, many years and yet I do not feel any need to move out, or be elsewhere. I do not feel the need to be anywhere at all, most of the time, anyway. I do not really recognize my needs anymore. They're sort of swallowed up in strange mood waves and expectations and lethargicity. The only need I know to be entirely true is the need to fill every available inch of my mind with absolutely anything. So that I don't have to think about real stuff for too long. I don't know if I'm glad or sad to have finally found out why I've always been so eager to read every book that's ever been written and watch every movie that's ever been made.
