Tuesday. 10.26.10 6:47 pm
My dad wanted me to see a psychiatrist after I withdrew (no penalty) from college. Today I finally went to the one my dad found for me; the guy is supposed to be one of the best diagnosticians in the area.
He told me three things:
1) He isn't worried about my anxiety problems. Basically, he told me that it would be a waste to treat me for something that rarely happens, and only stays for a couple of minutes.
2) He has a couple of ideas, but in general, he's unsure of how to treat what IS affecting me. Mostly because he isn't sure what that thing affecting me IS. He told me to go home and do some research, then come back to him with my thoughts.
3) I'm controlled with my emotions to the point where it makes his job more difficult. People only tell me that when they actually listen.
My dad laughed when I told him that his recommended psychiatrist kind of sent me away with a shrug of his shoulders. He told me he wondered if this was the first patient he didn't know how to treat.
I'm almost kind of proud of myself.
AND HOW ARE YOU?
the first of three.
Monday. 10.25.10 1:26 am
I have a deficit of attention UH OH UH OH
Sunday. 10.17.10 1:32 am
My hair keeps twirling around my earrings and it's getting super obnoxious.
TIME TO PUNCH MY HAIR. OR MY EARS.
So Sarah went with me to get my ears pierced, the other day. It was pretty cool, because I was totally fine without my mother around. I guess I'm kind of canine like that. If the people around me are chill, I'm chill. If they're anxious, I'm anxious.
But whatever. They're pierced (my ears, not the people I'm around). Again. Last time was just bad luck...they both got really infected just after I took them out and I couldn't get other earrings in. It was a bunch of poop.
It's going to take a few months for me to take them out because I like to be sure that they've healed.
And after that...I get to indulge in all the dangly earrings I've stocked up on.
In other news, my mother is moving out, Monday. I've been thinking more on who I'm going to visit when. I was considering living with Mom during the week and Dad over the weekends, but then I like to have friends over, sometimes, on the weekends, and I don't want to seem like I'm using him and his house. Parents aren't just there to buy stuff, contrary to popular belief. Not that I even have a lot of things that I would like.
Just a couple of Christmas presents to potentially last me till I'm grey. Whatever my parents don't get me, I'll sooner or later get around to buying myself. Honestly, I'm more concerned about what to get them. They're...hard to buy for.
My mom always asks for socks. My dad always says he doesn't care and can buy himself whatever he wants.
When you're unwrapping a present from someone...unless it's a customary gift thing where you bring whoever hosts you in his or her home a token of appreciation, or whoever hosts a party a bottle of wine...
It's nice to have that person unwrapping something, too.
But I guess Christmas is going to be weird, anyway, since I'll be hitting two houses instead of one.
Eyes feel sleepy, Sunday is my car cleaning day, INCLUDING A WASH AND VACUUM. I am such a loving mommy.
But, you know, my womb doesn't exist, as far as any men/probing relatives/my mother (WHICH YES IS PLURAL K THANKS) are concerned.
JUST FOR MY CAR.
DEVIOUS CHARLES, MY LOVE FOR YOU IS FOREVER.
Thursday. 10.7.10 11:33 pm
So some of the people in lab were making a big fuss about something, today. I couldn't see what, because our lab stations are puny and face-to-face so that there's no leg room. People were asking about it so my professor told us, "Oh, I caught a cockroach in a little cage and named him Pete."
I feel like, in some weird way, she and I are far more alike than I'll ever know.
Oh, and there was this kind of big spider on the floor. (By the way, I'm home right now for undisclosed reasons, but I'm commuting back in the morning for class.) Probably the size of my thumb. I saw one Post Secret a long time ago about how the person was scared of a spider and got his/her dog to eat it, AND THE DOG DIED. I said, No sir. I don't want my crazy hunter dog to think that the spider is some sort of game.
So I picked up one of my mother's loafers (yes, my mother wears loafers).
--What you need to know about me is that I was raised on baseball. My grandpa played it, he taught it to my mother and all her sisters, and she taught it to my brother and me. We guard our house with baseball bats instead of guns, but I assure you that any intruder should think twice.
--I wound my arm to alleviate any dislocation my shoulder might have been experiencing (because I'm hypermobile and my shoulder is practically always experiencing dislocation) and eyed the spider thoughtfully. It eyed me thoughtfully back.
She winds up...there's the pitch...!
The shoe I threw ended up cutting the spider clean in half. I can't say I haven't witnessed something so dedicatedly accurate, before, because my friend's brother threw a knife from his patio and pinned a bird to a tree (far more depressing because a bird isn't creepy, I know, but also really impressive).
But it was pretty damn accurate. I checked the pieces, before squashing them to make sure they were dead.
GUYS DON'T BE GROSSED OUT IS WAS SO COOOOL.
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