The smaller person.

You tell me to watch my back and be wary of certain individuals. I have never thought about being guarded in that respect until you mentioned it. Then I look back at certain incidents which point to possible “small people syndrome”, which I tell you about and you say “be careful”. As part of my analysis today, I tell you what happened and ask if I am overreacting. You tell me “perhaps”.

 

THEN. You proceed to make excuses for the behaviour when you were the person who asked me to watch my back in the first place. Seriously!? I think you’re just fucking around with me so that you won’t be the only jittery on tenterhooks person around. I don’t think I have done anything to you to warrant such efforts to screw me over. I think the person I should be wary of, is you. Friendship my arse. 

The issue of privacy

The Sister called yesterday to yell about her $500 dress being thrown into the wash. Having known her for the last 24, almost 25 years of my life, you’d imagine she would know better than to yell at me. Post call, after I denied all allegations against me, I sms to say that I think it was The Mother who threw it in the wash rather than the Domestic Help. Which. She agreed.

 

Which. Brings me to the issue of privacy and the lackthereof of respect The Mother has for privacy. She recently cleaned out my room much to my disdain, but not wanting to rile more tempers, I keep my mouth shut and take big breaths. I didn’t pursue the issue, but I was internally raging. Human nature tends to forget history. The same way The Mother forgets exactly how mad I can get when it comes to the cleaning of my room. I dislike you cleaning my room because it requires you to move things around, to places I would have no memory of and therefore cannot find. I dislike it even more than you still insist on cleaning my room much to my ire. I detest that you clean it out, and when I look for something and come to you, you tell me, “I don’t know, I didn’t touch it”. BULLSHIT.  And what I detest the most, is that you take the liberty to clean out my drawers and cupboards like its your OWN. It really isn’t your room, even if it exists in your house. You don’t find out about your child’s life through rummaging through their things in hope of finding incriminating evidence. You don’t throw out their stuff because YOU deem it to be useless and you sure as hell don’t take their christmas presents, re-package it and give it away on account that they don’t need it, then YELL at them when they tell you they have already used it. Toiletries I buy, gifts I receive just disappear from my room. When I ask, “oh, I thought you didn’t WANT it.” Seriously. WHAT THE FUCKKKKK.  Have some respect for your children, Mother.

 

I love you, but I’m reaching my tolerance limits.

When FB pings one too many wedding photos.

I log into facebook an average of once a week on the weekends when I am home. Every week, I see new updates of someone else I know getting married. It doesn’t have to be someone close to me, I just need to see more happy glowy people and it makes me envious. It is a terrible thing to say and I acknowledge how bad it sounds, but I do feel rather envious and look rather green when I say this.

I don’t need to be married. I need to feel loved and I need to feel like I have someone by my side to hold my hand through the good times and the bad. I need someone who makes me fly and I want to make someone else fly. To disagree and to conflict yet love at the end of the day. To feel that sort of feeling where you burst with love for an individual. To glow in each other’s presence. To have and to hold till death do us part. To hold eternally hopeful for happily ever after.

 

I’m acknowledging my inherent fault in hope that I will be better able to manage my emotional spiral. Because I know that if I don’t, I will always be in the same spot thinking the same thing. I need to be able to feel whole alone and I’m working towards that with every last sinew in my body. “Happy married people make me green, not.”

Surprising on the upside

Take a bearish view, expect the worst and most likely you will be surprised on the upside. Alternatively, you expect nothing and everything you receive will surprise. I have always expressed bearish sentiments, but internally I hold out for a bull outcome and hence, ALWAYS feel disappointed, angry and upset. I have reached the point where I can no longer deal with extensive disappointment, so I have decided to change the game plan and be internally bearish.

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You have surprised on the upside, and I smile thinking about it. 🙂 I don’t know for how much longer the surprise will last, but I endeavour to revel in knowing that current data is better than previous data, instead of worrying about when things are going to take a dip.

Urban fairytales

In my boredom, inability to work and process more spreadsheet formulas, I turn to surfing the internet quite listlessly and aimlessly. Surfing through a host of rubbish, I revisit some of my usual blog haunts such as Xiaxue, Kennysia and JoannePeh. It has been quite some time since I last blog surfed, 3 month perhaps, maybe more. Xiaxue’s THE LOVE STORY made me tear. Like zomg. I am not usually or easily moved by love stories, but the imemonemo self seems to have grown pathologically. Stories like hers are few and far between, but it gives hope that true love can be found in the strangest of places, in the most unlikely and unusual circumstances. Her love story is sweet. Clawingly. In some weird part of me, I feel happy for her fairy tale ending. Fairytales are labelled ‘fairytales’ for the specific reason that they are not real and they do not happen in reality.  To hear a real far-fetched fairytale is even less likely, with the odds at a million to one or something.

 

There is no point to this post. I just felt strangely compelled to write about her happy ending and how it all ties in with my inner princess-in-distress waiting for her prince charming to sweep off her feet and into happily ever after. Random. Very.

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