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Here We Go Again
May. 20th, 2003 01:52 pmThere are three thoughts going through my head at the minute:
1) "Shoot me; stuff me; mount me." Actually, that sounded a whole lot better when Nicholas Brendon said it, but only because of its hentai connotations when spoken by a female.
2) "But I was only trying to help!" Which in turn leads me to "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."
3) "California can go collectively fuck itself."
In case you haven't guessed, sweetheart's a little bit peeved just at the moment. Overworked, overstressed, overtired and generally hacked off. And you know what? I don't care. I know I should care, but I don't really. I suppose it's a miracle that I care that I don't care. Wonder how long that'll last.
The physical state of play? Well, I'm eating out of obligation for the time being, but since even a half-sandwich is making me feel ill, I think I'll just eat when I damn well feel like it. I'm not really sleeping in what you'd call a restful way and I'm not getting into bed until one in the morning no matter how physically tired I am. And yeah, I will be pulling overtime tonight even though I feel like hell on wheels because it needs to be done and I just don't care. (If this sounds familiar to any of you -- yes, this is about what was going on on the outside pre- and mid-breakdown.) And as for the California holiday ... Nakanaide notwithstanding, the Arctic Circle would be more fun. Anyway, just now I don't feel like having a holiday anywhere.
This won't last. It can't last. I don't have the stamina I did the last time I did this to myself. I don't even know quite why I'm feeling this way anyway. I mean, surely it shouldn't bother me. This kind of thing happens. Relationships are two-way streets and every so often, someone pulls up the tyre damage spikes. And, to take the analogy further, it's my own lookout if I get hurt trying to drive on the rims, or when I literally ram into the next line of defense -- in this case a brick wall. So do I actually have any right to complain, or tell the world that I am hurting?
Damn straight I do. The hack-offedness has snapped my last thin thread of patience with people who will insist that this constitutes the "Pity Party" revival. I am not actively seeking pity. Hell, I don't much like getting pity. Sympathy is fine, empathy is preferable -- pity sucks. I mean it; it sucks. I don't want your pity or anyone else's. I am telling the people who read this thing what is going on in my life. It just so happens that right now, what is going on in my life is pain. It is leading me to be a little bit stupid with my physical well-being, maybe because I like it to match my mental well-being. If you want to sympathise with me, fine. If you want to empathise with me, you're quite welcome if you're capable (and if you don't know the difference between sympathy and empathy, find a dictionary). If you want to pity me, go right the fuck away. And if you want to judge me on the basis of what I feel the need to write about in an online journal that I know some complete nimrods read, I would point you at some of the commentary that was made during the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pottersginny affair if I could be arsed -- "Judge not lest ye be judged".
Oh, but PS -- I still take my little joys where I find them. Turns out the Sens had a nice little bounce-back. Despite the Devils having momentum on their side, the Sens managed to beat 'em and now it's a 3-2 race. If they can keep this up, we will not only need a game 7 after all, but there might be a Canadian team in the finals this year. In the end, it doesn't bother me overmuch so long as whoever it is beats the Mighty Fucks of Anaheim.
Thess
1) "Shoot me; stuff me; mount me." Actually, that sounded a whole lot better when Nicholas Brendon said it, but only because of its hentai connotations when spoken by a female.
2) "But I was only trying to help!" Which in turn leads me to "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."
3) "California can go collectively fuck itself."
In case you haven't guessed, sweetheart's a little bit peeved just at the moment. Overworked, overstressed, overtired and generally hacked off. And you know what? I don't care. I know I should care, but I don't really. I suppose it's a miracle that I care that I don't care. Wonder how long that'll last.
The physical state of play? Well, I'm eating out of obligation for the time being, but since even a half-sandwich is making me feel ill, I think I'll just eat when I damn well feel like it. I'm not really sleeping in what you'd call a restful way and I'm not getting into bed until one in the morning no matter how physically tired I am. And yeah, I will be pulling overtime tonight even though I feel like hell on wheels because it needs to be done and I just don't care. (If this sounds familiar to any of you -- yes, this is about what was going on on the outside pre- and mid-breakdown.) And as for the California holiday ... Nakanaide notwithstanding, the Arctic Circle would be more fun. Anyway, just now I don't feel like having a holiday anywhere.
This won't last. It can't last. I don't have the stamina I did the last time I did this to myself. I don't even know quite why I'm feeling this way anyway. I mean, surely it shouldn't bother me. This kind of thing happens. Relationships are two-way streets and every so often, someone pulls up the tyre damage spikes. And, to take the analogy further, it's my own lookout if I get hurt trying to drive on the rims, or when I literally ram into the next line of defense -- in this case a brick wall. So do I actually have any right to complain, or tell the world that I am hurting?
Damn straight I do. The hack-offedness has snapped my last thin thread of patience with people who will insist that this constitutes the "Pity Party" revival. I am not actively seeking pity. Hell, I don't much like getting pity. Sympathy is fine, empathy is preferable -- pity sucks. I mean it; it sucks. I don't want your pity or anyone else's. I am telling the people who read this thing what is going on in my life. It just so happens that right now, what is going on in my life is pain. It is leading me to be a little bit stupid with my physical well-being, maybe because I like it to match my mental well-being. If you want to sympathise with me, fine. If you want to empathise with me, you're quite welcome if you're capable (and if you don't know the difference between sympathy and empathy, find a dictionary). If you want to pity me, go right the fuck away. And if you want to judge me on the basis of what I feel the need to write about in an online journal that I know some complete nimrods read, I would point you at some of the commentary that was made during the
pottersginny affair if I could be arsed -- "Judge not lest ye be judged".Oh, but PS -- I still take my little joys where I find them. Turns out the Sens had a nice little bounce-back. Despite the Devils having momentum on their side, the Sens managed to beat 'em and now it's a 3-2 race. If they can keep this up, we will not only need a game 7 after all, but there might be a Canadian team in the finals this year. In the end, it doesn't bother me overmuch so long as whoever it is beats the Mighty Fucks of Anaheim.
Thess
