growing up is not child's play
Making mountains out of molehills, circa 1991
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Love Lessons from the Eternal Failure, #2
I’m learning to be less irrational and less insecure. I’m telling myself that one cannot control the actions of others, and that trust is fragile but strong. Trust is essential and trust is easy, and mistrust makes you sad and lonely. I’m sometimes tired of being jaded with the world, with all the overthinking of people’s actions and association to ulterior motives, you know what? Fuck it! Im going to be happy because I want to, and I’m going to be happy with you as long as you make me happy and i make you happy, and to everyone else who likes it, or doesn’t, or wants to be a downer, they’re making the world a colder, lonelier and more hateful place to be in.
Screw that. I’m ridiculously happy and I fucking well know it so I shall clap my goddamn hands.
*CLAP*
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Love Lesson from the Eternal Failure, #1
So you know what I absolutely love? Those two seconds before you kiss someone you cannot wait to kiss. There’s all that Disney magic in the air, and no matter how many times you’ve done it before, you’re still nervous and giggly, and so in awe of the fact that the person you like actually likes you back. There’s all that electric tension, and you’re wondering if it’ll be now, or now, or now, and it’s so comfortable that you could stay in that moment forever, but at the very same time, the agony of being just that close but just that far, you think it’ll be the very death of you.
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Skeletons in the Closet
So I’m packing up my stuff because summer is nearly here and I get to leave my fabulous single bedroom for two months until I move back in (but the airconditioning will be fitted in when I get back, so wooot).
Going through all the stuff I found this year and I found the two letters Idiot had written for my 19th and 20th birthdays. The first from when we’d been going out for some two months, the second being about two months after our breakup.
I feel nothing. Not even faint nostalgia or a hint of a smile because of all the memories. I feel like I’m reading someone else’s mail, I don’t know what the words mean and what effect they intended to have on the reader because they had no effect on me. I didn’t feel bad, or sad, or even glad that we’re over, I felt absolutely nothing.
And as liberating as it is to realise that I’m finally out of that phase in my life where he means something to me, it’s sort of depressing that I’ve successfully managed to eject a whole person and a year or more’s worth of moments out of my head and life. It’s a great thing to have accomplished and I couldn’t be happier, but this is one of those rare moments of clarity when I realize that maybe this is what it is like to be grown-up and what it is like to finally be at peace with all the things that once used to let loose your internal hounds of self-loathing.
