I decided today in my seemingly perpetual state of slow-burning, fire starting anger that today was the day I was going to start a blog. And every time something added itself to my little campfire that was my attitude, I thought "I'm going to put this in my blog and it's going to be great, and I'll feel better." So, here goes nothin'.
Welcome to the Inaugural Blog...ural!
I decided that instead of telling someone the mean things I thought about them, I would save myself some guilt and write it a blog. I don't do journals because my hand gets tired, thus a tired hand, thus bad handwriting, thus more anger, thus journal going back to the dusty abyss it originally came from. (usually some sort of drawer or box labeled "Stuff" that I just can't throw away)
Today in my painting class, my professor asked us to share something that has happened to us in the past week that has altered the way we look at life and the things around us. A fellow classmate (who is already on the "Dislike" list due to his not-funny jokes (that no one can seem to resist) and infallible "shock value" statements constantly coming from his lips) shares with us that he has decided he does not want to live past 60 and will die by offing himself.
He explains more, has some cheap laughs, and is genuinely full of shit. He finally said enough to piss me off and I told him so. I also told him that I was annoyed by everything that came out of his mouth. I know, I know...too much! And the sweet, nice girl held captive inside me knows this too, but the mean bitch keeping her there just doesn't seem to let her talk much.
I wish i knew was it was about myself that made it sometimes IMPOSSIBLE to not blurt out exactly what I was thinking. Even though I completely feel justified because I think that the person deserves it and even though I know guilt will follow. It's like in You've Got Mail when Meg Ryan finally zings Tom Hanks. She FINALLY gets him, says exactly what she's thinking exactly when she's thinking it, and then subsequently feels horrible about it.
That's how I felt...and feel every time i say something like that. I will try and do better. It's my spring resolution.
Welcome to the Inaugural Blog...ural!
I decided that instead of telling someone the mean things I thought about them, I would save myself some guilt and write it a blog. I don't do journals because my hand gets tired, thus a tired hand, thus bad handwriting, thus more anger, thus journal going back to the dusty abyss it originally came from. (usually some sort of drawer or box labeled "Stuff" that I just can't throw away)
Today in my painting class, my professor asked us to share something that has happened to us in the past week that has altered the way we look at life and the things around us. A fellow classmate (who is already on the "Dislike" list due to his not-funny jokes (that no one can seem to resist) and infallible "shock value" statements constantly coming from his lips) shares with us that he has decided he does not want to live past 60 and will die by offing himself.
He explains more, has some cheap laughs, and is genuinely full of shit. He finally said enough to piss me off and I told him so. I also told him that I was annoyed by everything that came out of his mouth. I know, I know...too much! And the sweet, nice girl held captive inside me knows this too, but the mean bitch keeping her there just doesn't seem to let her talk much.
I wish i knew was it was about myself that made it sometimes IMPOSSIBLE to not blurt out exactly what I was thinking. Even though I completely feel justified because I think that the person deserves it and even though I know guilt will follow. It's like in You've Got Mail when Meg Ryan finally zings Tom Hanks. She FINALLY gets him, says exactly what she's thinking exactly when she's thinking it, and then subsequently feels horrible about it.
That's how I felt...and feel every time i say something like that. I will try and do better. It's my spring resolution.
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