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© 2004-2008 Linda Escaip
"I may be grumpy, but I like you."
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The Suns and Moons of the Grumpiest Girl in the Room.
Welcome to my journal, loverbuns.
Circles 15-Jan-2005 5:03 a.m.
When you keep telling yourself "I really need to update my journal," it can become this weird pressure, like performance anxiety. Similar to psychogenic impotence, only I don't have a weenie.
So here's the thing; I've been feeling blue lately. My friend said earlier, "When you're blue, I get BO." Body odor. Or odour, if you prefer. I am not from England but do prefer the British spelling of certain words. Words like colour and flavour. Why? Because the u makes them more beautiful in my opinion. So there. But sometimes I feel more in the mood for the u-less American version, so please do not become frazzled by this variation. Back to my friend and her alleged stink. I wonder why she gets BO when I'm blue? She swears it's true. Ooh, I should really write a song about that.
When I'm blue You start to stink, 'Cause you don't like The crap I think. You get those Big sweat rings, Oh, that stench It kinda stings...
I never knew my being blue Could cause someone to smell so ew. I have to go, it's just as well Because you seriously smell like hell. (But you're still really nice.)
I'll put music to it later with my harpsichord.
I have attempted to update two other times, but ended up deleting what I had typed. I hate that. I am judging every move I make lately, as well as every word that stumbles out of my head. The sound of my own voice makes me want to tape up my mouth, and I am wanting to duck under tables and hide behind large appliances, but the problem is, I tag along. It's tricky trying to get away from yourself; I have never accomplished it. Not even in sleep, as I do tend to turn up in my dreams.
I feel inconspicuous and have for years. The dilemma is that I do not wish to blend in or disappear. Maybe that's why I sit here, unarmed, typing my little confessions. I guess I'm trying to unfetter myself from years of repeating the mantra "don't rock the boat." To me, as a kid, that translated into "I don't matter." But I do matter, and I'm fuck-all bored with thinking otherwise. Useless thoughts flying through my head, stinging me here and there like wasps—they serve no purpose other than to upset me.
Everybody wants to fit in. Some of us go to greater lengths than others to try to edge our way into coveted circles. I am very fond of circles, like rings. I love a good ring, preferably sterling silver. In fact I got a new ring for my birthday; it's a beautiful, whimsical flower. Other circles I like: bubbles, although they are spheres, but a sphere is just a three-dimensional circle, so it works; round spectacles; monocles; drinking glass rims; the iris of an eye; DVDs, etc. The list goes on for miles, I'm sure. But the thing is, I am not into circles that are made up of people, the ones that seem to scoff at the idea of new members. I don't even have a gym membership.
I have considered what it would be like hanging out with certain people in various circles, but that wondering did not ignite in me a fire to pursue the elusive bunch. I don't know how to be anything other than myself; I cannot shape and twist myself to fit others' criteria. I don't know how to do or say the "right" things; I don't know how to schmooze; I don't play social games. And therefore, I don't fit in.
What is important to me in a friendship is sincerity, loyalty, tolerance, and genuine kindness. Those are my prerequisites; I don't give a shit what you're wearing, who you know, what kind of car you drive or how much money you have in your bank account. Or how many people sign the comments area of your blog. Those mean nothing in the scheme of things. But how we treat ourselves and each other means everything. Ass-kissing should not be a requirement. Friendships are not business deals.
I have been going around in circles in my mind. I know what's important and what is not, yet at times I carry on as if mindless. I get caught up in bullshit. I talk about pointless subjects until sometimes I just stop talking mid-sentence. It is not always easy remembering who you are. Inside, I know I am powerful beyond measure—we all are. It's unfortunate how often we use that power to drive ourselves a little mad, or completely self-destruct. Thoughts shape our world every minute, affecting everything. They are energy. One thought can ruin an entire day. Another can lift you out of the doldrums. That energy spills over into everything you do during those days, affecting others around you. We become the words in our heads.
So, it's time for me to think new thoughts, because the old ones suck. I guess the only way to do that is to do it, and not think about how long it's going to take to actually believe I am not a piece of shit. In my heart I know that, but my head takes over like a motherfucking Nazi. One affects the other, so I better get crackin'.
Quote From My World
"I worship the ground you walk on, you freak."
Well, I'm off to work on a song. I start guitar lessons in February—I've always wanted to learn. The piano is my volcano, so maybe the guitar will be my... I don't know. I'm fresh out of metaphors this morning. Hopefully I'll find some in the next cup of chamomile. I wonder if that bird is still crapping on the solar lights. I hope.
Thanks for reading.
Linda
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