Scotty. He totally reminds me of Scotty, and that is why I am having a difficult time disengaging in the game playing. It’s exactly what Scotty and I would do.
Who can appear calmer, cooler and more collected. Although, I always end up looking like the psycho and the other ends up looking like “the misunderstood, all around good guy” whom everyone likes. Typical.
When deep down he’s just as scared and just as young and just as fucked up as the rest of us, only his shit apparently smells like roses.
And the other reminds me of every asshole who has ever used me and then discarded me like a piece of fucking meat, well, technically he was one of those assholes-and he still is… he still uses me, only I keep my clothes on this time.
It took me a long time to completely get rid of Scotty, a long, long time, because I didn’t want to feel as though I was admitting defeat. It took me a long long time to stop seeking my revenge on assholes by pinpointing them out in crowds, seducing them, making them cum and then breaking their snake-hearts.
I need to keep reminding myself of where I am, of who I am, of all I am and all I want to be. I need to jump off this train before I end up derailed.
I purchased a notebook for my daily Brad/relationship notes
as well as
an amazing garter belt for my thigh highs.
I also reaffirmed my intolerance for insincerity (heh, positive double negative).
I don’t care anymore about whether or not I will spend the next five months alone at the back of the classroom. I do not have the patience anymore to silently observe, and thus inadvertently approve of, faltering scrupulousness.
I suppose at this point in my life, I do not have the energy for anything other than meaningful, reciprocal relationships.
I love getting e-mails from him. He sends me new lesson plan ideas and resources and links.
He sent me one on Christmas that dealt with Hegel and tennis balls.
He sent me one this morning that had to do with bringing in a live lobster, then said he thinks he may need to see a shrink. Hah.
He was scheming during the last week, to try and figure out how I could get hired at Basil’s so he and I could collaborate and run a wicked department with other like-minded teachers.
I wrote about him for one of my assignments and consider him to be a great support and influence. He’s writing me a reference letter, which will help, because then I’ll have two from Basil’s and who knows, maybe I will end up getting to work alongside him and the two of us can conjure up some amazing lesson plans.
“The brief release of seeing other people when I leave my room turns into a desperate need to be alone, and then being alone turns into a terrible fear that I will have no friends, I will be alone in this world and in my life.”—Elizabeth Wurtzel (via thechocolatebrigade)
i hate the disturbing dreams from one, but need it to keep me from spazing out on the other, so my crashes aren’t volatile, but my subconscious is. i guess all that emotional upheaval has to go somewhere. i had the choice this week to raise my adderall dose to 30mg, but hesitated because it was 30mg that summer. i settled with 25 to see how it goes and if i need more, ill get another non time-released one for the afternoon. i just don’t want to have to up the other, because of the one.
she mentioned the others, concerta-no, strattera-god no, been there, did those.
sometimes dr.l echoes in the back of my mind and i wonder if there was any merit in his warning years ago.
emily and i baked this week. she asked if i was ever ‘into’ baking. i told her i was, very much so, in and after beacon house. obsessively so. filler. replace one addiction with another compulsion.
this brought back the amusing memory of marge figuring out my kitchen obsession and the discussion we had in group one morning about my not being allowed to cook, bake or clean, and the fit i threw over how absurd that sounded. i smile as i type now, oh marge.
this brought on thoughts of my inability refusal to keep in touch with people, despite really wanting to. i said goodbye to beacon house, just as i said goodbye to floor 9, just as i said goodbye to camh and everyone else in my past and dropped off the face of the earth.
i don’t know why i still do this. well, i do, but i don’t know why i don’t change it. well, i do. but i don’t know why i like to pretend i don’t know why i do what i do. heh, well, i do.
fuck. sometimes shit is too lucid. sometimes my head is too loud.
hence, my despise for prozac dreams. they really fuck with my ‘waking’-life.