I got into a fight today. I said things I never dreamed I’d ever say. It was heated, vicious and very hateful. This fight was also all in my head. While I was blow drying my hair this morning, no less.
As I blew hot hair into my face, the anger I felt was…different. It was disdainful, and very cruel. As I imagined what I’d say to this person, I distinctly remember that my main goal in this hypothetical conversation was to hurt and humiliate them as much as possible. Preferably in front of a bunch of people. I wanted to take an emotional knife and twist it.
It turns out - I’m not a nice person.
I’m often told “oh you’re so nice.” But I’m really not. I just don’t say half of what I want to. I can be a first class bitch when I want to be.
And right now, I want to be one more than anything. I’m so sick of this person, their drama and their shit. I’m tired of not being able to escape them. I hate the cocktail of feelings I experience when around them - a mixture of derision, helplessness and just being generally pissed off. I hate how I always end up running into them. I hate how they act around me, and how I end up acting around them. I’m sick of their complaining and negativity. I’m sick of THEM. Period. Just go the fuck away.
I know I’m going to see them again soon. But my fight with myself and my hair dryer was cleansing. I feel purged of negativity and I probably will be able to take the high road and be nice.
But then I’ll just see their face and suddenly I know that given half the chance, all I’d want to do is say two things:
I knew this day would come. I knew that the days of coasting through this semester with few tests and little homework would eventually pass. I knew that the shit would hit the fan - for at least a couple days.
It’s days like today when I wish I wasn’t a procrastinator. But I am, and usually it works for me. This weekend, however, is most definitely going to be piled up with school.
Today was spent in the architecture computer lab and library, squinting over sanborn maps of Buffalo from 1894. They’re kind of beautiful, in a minimalist sort of way. We had a quick research meeting, then the boy and I went back to his place to buckle down and get stuff done.
I mostly just freaked out. I was upset with myself for not having gotten on the project sooner, and frustrated that my writing was not flowing at all. I had all the research done, but putting them in coherent order without plagerizing was escaping me. I must have started the narrative part of the research packet three times, each time deleting what I wrote and pulling a little more of my -unwashed - hair.
And there was the boy, doing his own thing, tired but mostly chill. I really envy how he works. I stress out too much.
At least the topic is interesting. I find it highly poignant, and when I took an exhausted nap I had dreams about the poor displaced people I was writing about. The sleep helped, I was able to clear my head and start semi fresh. I wrote a page and I didn’t hate was written.
Just take a deep breath.
Stay on top of the syllabus, so surprises like this due date don’t happen again
Get out of this weird funk I’ve been in and mellow out a little
And since I don’t want this whole post to be about school:
Today was rough. After an unorganized and late start to school I received possibly the lowest grade on an exam I have ever gotten. As I stared at the blue book in my hand I felt disgusted. With my self. With school. With life. I’m always good at keeping things in perspective.
I’ve always been a good student. I’ve teetered on the brink of being a “good” student and a “great” student. I was driven, I studied, did my homework early. The results were straight As.
But lately it’s been different. I’ve lost interest. I don’t care much anymore. I don’t respect the teachers, either personally or intellectually. Perhaps being a teacher myself I now know just how much of a teacher’s authority is made up and a figment of the student’s imagination. Little of what they’re teaching seems like it will apply to my life after school. Most of it I learn for an exam then forget.
It’s moments like these when I wonder about the “point” of school. It certainly no longer seems to be for improving my mind. It’s a means to an end, and not a guaranteed end at that. Even if it were guaranteed, I’m not sure if I’d want it. I can honestly say I’m not sure I know what I want to do with my life anymore. This is not like me. I’ve always been sure. I had the timeline. I had the goals. I had the passion.
I don’t know where it all went.
The girl who was so sure and confident is now lost. I just don’t know anymore. I could continue down this path I’m on. Perhaps outside of UB, during the internships and secondary education I have currently planned I’ll find my passion again. Or perhaps I will realize what I’ve always feared in the back of my mind: that I chose this major because Em said I should and not because it’s what I really want.
It doesn’t help that I don’t live in the most supportive environment. When I told my aunt about my test, the first thing she said was “That’s what you get for not studying, miss cocky”. I went from frustrated to miserable and emotional instantly. She has the capability to make me feel like crap in .003 seconds without even trying it seems. She’s said before that she’s not the softest person in the world, and apologized for it, but it’s this cloud over my head suffocating me at all times.
She makes me feel like shit for the stupidest things. The hairdryer wasn’t working - she was the last one to use it but still managed to make me feel guilty for no reason. i opened my window to let in some air, knowing that if she “caught” me I’d get in trouble, since it’s winter and one just doesn’t open windows in the winter. Her negative and nitpicky energy feels like it is slowly killing me.
This is so different from the environment I grew up in. My mother was the sweetest, most unconditionally loving person I ever knew. I feel that void in my life more and more, now that I realize how rare that quality is.
But I am lucky. I’m with someone who will drop whatever he’s doing to give me a hug, who never judges me and who knows that the words “I love you” can never be said too much. I have friends who are always there for me. For that I am so grateful. Without this unconditional love, I’d be a broken and numb human being.
"I don’t see Valentines Day as much of a holiday - you should show love for people every day if you care about them."
-John Cornelius O’Callaghan V
Yesterday was one of the most hated holidays of the year. Valentines day. Singles hate it because they’re “alone” and most couples hate it because they feel obligated to do someting “romantic”. Also, the spiteful looks directed towards them by aforementioned singles might have something to do with it. “No, Honey! Don’t make eye contact! They’ll think we’re being smug and showing off!”
It’s supposed to make us feel warm and fuzzy. It’s supposed to remind us of how much we love our other half. Instead, we often get this:
People stress about how to handle it. Play it cool? Pretend not to care? Give in to pressure and “celebrate”? Instead of appreciating the other person, often it is nitpicking which is the theme of the day. The gift wasn’t enough. The Restaurant too busy.
This is seriously fucked up.
I’ve always been ambivalent about the holiday. This hasn’t changed, even with The Boy in my life. The idea that you need an official holiday to tell someone you love them is sad. Giving someone flowers or chocolates because it’s Valentines day is boring and contrived. Hell, give them to each other because it’s a Wednesday in April, or a Saturday in November, or because you bloody well feel like it. The gesture would be all the sweeter because it would be unexpected.
But of course, it’s not all the holiday’s fault. I’m sure it didn’t ask to be the holiday dedicated to love. It’s a rather daunting prospect - how do you celebrate something which so few understand and appreciate? Even the English language does the word a disservice. We should not be able to say “I love ice cream.” and “I love you.” and use the same word to describe those wildly different emotions.
Even the symbol of love is trite - the heart. ♥
Look at a real heart beating, the muscle pulsating and warm. Real hearts bleed. They swell. They break. They are not stereotypically beautiful to look at. But they are complex and strong and fragile all at once. Rather like love itself.
I’m not saying we should boycott Valentines day. It’s a harmless enough little holiday and it keeps some greeting card writers and florists in business. What I am saying is, don’t wait for an official day to bombard your sweetheart with love.