This Is The Pink
I've been feeling all emotional and melancholy, so I've been blaming it on the birthday, the coming of the late 20's. I feel like Meg Ryan screaming, "I'm going to be thirty!!" and then Harry yells back, "In three years!"
I guess there's two parts of me at war, the one says, Why in the hell aren't we more grown up? More established? It looks around at my house, my car, my paycheck, throws it's hands up in disgust and says, "What the fuck?" And the other is sitting around playing with the PS2, reading a book, fucking around with their hair and saying, "But remember? We were never going to grow up. THAT, my friend, was the pact."
And how can you argue with that? Sure, I didn't plan on life being this chaotic in my late twenties, but the problem is I didn't really ever plan on being here. Anyway, self one is kicking self two in the ass and I'm kind of left alone to pick up the pieces.
Just so you know, I was pissed off at myself for the same exact fucking thing last year. The difference this year is that I'm actually doing something about it. Cue the enrollment into 401k, the actually looking into different savings plans with higher rates, and the planning for GASP the future. Anyway, when reading the below bits understand that you're still reading chronicles of madness, it's just, this is the pink.
*******************************
Hi bottle, sitting up there on the shelf. You're the place I stick all my icky emotions, and lately you've been pissing me off. Leaking all over the place. Sure, I shove things under the rug, pretend it's not happening, but what of it? What the fuck of it? I mean, doesn't everything sort itself all out in the end? No, I don't believe that shit, the squeaky wheel gets the grease. The squeaky wheel gets the bad reputation, then everyone sits around ignoring it. So there. What do you think of that?
I had to go to a training seminar where they talked about communication effectiveness. I've been working on communicating better at work because I'm not always very happy here, so I thought this would be a good place to start. Especially since I'm not the best at communicating my wants and needs even on a good day. For some reason I always piss the shit out of people and have a rep for being way too blunt. God. I wish people would stop being such pansies. Anyway, so I try to keep my mouth shut for the most part. And in the middle of this seminar guess what hits me? A fucking epiphany that's what. Not a field of dreams moment exactly, but a holy shit moment none the less.
I'm angry.
Really fucking angry.
And somewhere in the last three years I became highly passive aggressive, and even that has made me angry. It's why I'm always late, it's why I'm such a flake. And sure, some might think, oh that's just Terra. But it's not. I was never late like this, and part of all of that anger is me being angry at me. Make sense?
It's a vicious circle, and it involves work so I'm not really going to get into it, but suffice it to say, that I am my own worst fucking enemy. I'm mad, so I'm late, I'm mad that I'm late and that makes me late again. Anyway, I haven't been late since this seminar. Here's hoping it sticks.
**************************
I told my mom (who's on a cleaning binge) that she could finally get rid of my dollhouse. It's huge, but I've always thrown a fit whenever she mentioned giving it away or letting my little sister play with it. Which really doesn't make sense, unless you're me.
We didn't have much growing up. I always had about a fifth of the toys my friends had, which kind of made me sad, but not in the way you might think. I never asked for new clothes, mentioned when my shoes were too tight, or asked for many toys because I figured it might make my mom feel bad. And when I did ask for something big it always took me around two years to get it. Do you remember Teddy Ruxpin?? And his friend Groggle or something like that? Anyway, cute ass cartoon when I was little, and they came out with these interactive toys. I wanted one so desperately, but they were like a hundred bucks or so. So I figured I wasn't going to get one, but I kept asking anyway, figuring, maybe. Just maybe. I got him the year I was in third grade, just so you know, a little too old for him. But my mom was so DAMN excited!!
I know she had to wait 'til the price went down, but I can still feel my dissapointment when I opened that big box, and there she was with her eyes so big and excited.
So when she screamed, I screamed. And I played with that damn thing anyway. For two whole years.
Then there was the barbie mansion. Oh my! It was so big, so beautiful! Four hundred bucks I think... and I had never wanted anything that bad. I actually had a poster of it up on my wall. Why in the fuck I thought that I could get that when I didn't even have a barbie car is beyond me, but, eh. I was in the fourth grade, I'm thinking I didn't have very good reasoning skills. Anyway, end story is that my mom bought it for me for Christmas, the year I was in the sixth grade. Yeah. I had already stopped playing with my barbies and now I had this big HUGE FUCKING BARBIE MANSION.
Again, I didn't know what to do. And again I decided to just play with the damn thing. For two whole fucking years. Look, don't let into me about how lame it is for a kid in the eigth grade to be playing with Barbies. I KNOW.
So even knowing that now, at 27, I'm finally giving the dollhouse away I feel a little twinge. It's that twinge of wanting something so bad for so long, and then getting it when it no longer holds the exact same allure. It's something slightly bitter. I still have Teddy Ruxpin though. And he still works. I was the kind of kid that never broke their toys and even all of my barbie mansions features still work.
Sometimes I wonder if this is why I don't have patience with other people. Like maybe I used up all my niceness and understanding when I was a kid. Then I remember that I'm just a bitch.
************************************
"Why do you care so much about what other people think? Fuck them. You should be strong enough to understand that!"
Except I do care. And who doesn't? If you say you don't care what other people think about you than you're a god damn liar. You care. If you say you don't it's to cover up some hurt inside. Don't tear me down in the name of maturity when we both know the shit spewing out of your mouth is an ideal that no one ever quite lives up to.
You're not trying to make me better, you're trying to point out my inadequacies, tear me down, you want to watch me crumble.
And how fair is that? How fair is that to tear me down when I'm at my weakest, when I'm tired from all the trying, just when I feel as if I'll never quite succeed. My mother always told me, let them say what they want, but don't ever insult them back.
And that made me so mad that I wanted to hurt someone. So I asked, "Why? What's the good in that? They're just all happy from being mean, and everyone believes them because you didn't say anything back!"
My mother, apparently big on the 'turn the other cheek' philosophy replied, "Because someday they'll be sorry. They'll miss your friendship, and even if they never say it, inside they'll know they're wrong. But if you say something then you become the bad person. And they will never be sorry, they will never come back. In their head, they'll be justified."
So that's great. No apologies, no nothing, you get treated like shit but in the end you can sleep soundly knowing that you're the better person. What a crock of shit.
This might be where my passive aggressive tendencies pop up. This might be where I write this:
I wish I could peel back your skin, like layers on an onion. Then you would cry, I would cry, and we would look at your heart, laid bare in my hands, and speak the thoughts people only dream. Tell me who you are when I'm not here.
I guess there's two parts of me at war, the one says, Why in the hell aren't we more grown up? More established? It looks around at my house, my car, my paycheck, throws it's hands up in disgust and says, "What the fuck?" And the other is sitting around playing with the PS2, reading a book, fucking around with their hair and saying, "But remember? We were never going to grow up. THAT, my friend, was the pact."
And how can you argue with that? Sure, I didn't plan on life being this chaotic in my late twenties, but the problem is I didn't really ever plan on being here. Anyway, self one is kicking self two in the ass and I'm kind of left alone to pick up the pieces.
Just so you know, I was pissed off at myself for the same exact fucking thing last year. The difference this year is that I'm actually doing something about it. Cue the enrollment into 401k, the actually looking into different savings plans with higher rates, and the planning for GASP the future. Anyway, when reading the below bits understand that you're still reading chronicles of madness, it's just, this is the pink.
*******************************
Hi bottle, sitting up there on the shelf. You're the place I stick all my icky emotions, and lately you've been pissing me off. Leaking all over the place. Sure, I shove things under the rug, pretend it's not happening, but what of it? What the fuck of it? I mean, doesn't everything sort itself all out in the end? No, I don't believe that shit, the squeaky wheel gets the grease. The squeaky wheel gets the bad reputation, then everyone sits around ignoring it. So there. What do you think of that?
I had to go to a training seminar where they talked about communication effectiveness. I've been working on communicating better at work because I'm not always very happy here, so I thought this would be a good place to start. Especially since I'm not the best at communicating my wants and needs even on a good day. For some reason I always piss the shit out of people and have a rep for being way too blunt. God. I wish people would stop being such pansies. Anyway, so I try to keep my mouth shut for the most part. And in the middle of this seminar guess what hits me? A fucking epiphany that's what. Not a field of dreams moment exactly, but a holy shit moment none the less.
I'm angry.
Really fucking angry.
And somewhere in the last three years I became highly passive aggressive, and even that has made me angry. It's why I'm always late, it's why I'm such a flake. And sure, some might think, oh that's just Terra. But it's not. I was never late like this, and part of all of that anger is me being angry at me. Make sense?
It's a vicious circle, and it involves work so I'm not really going to get into it, but suffice it to say, that I am my own worst fucking enemy. I'm mad, so I'm late, I'm mad that I'm late and that makes me late again. Anyway, I haven't been late since this seminar. Here's hoping it sticks.
**************************
I told my mom (who's on a cleaning binge) that she could finally get rid of my dollhouse. It's huge, but I've always thrown a fit whenever she mentioned giving it away or letting my little sister play with it. Which really doesn't make sense, unless you're me.
We didn't have much growing up. I always had about a fifth of the toys my friends had, which kind of made me sad, but not in the way you might think. I never asked for new clothes, mentioned when my shoes were too tight, or asked for many toys because I figured it might make my mom feel bad. And when I did ask for something big it always took me around two years to get it. Do you remember Teddy Ruxpin?? And his friend Groggle or something like that? Anyway, cute ass cartoon when I was little, and they came out with these interactive toys. I wanted one so desperately, but they were like a hundred bucks or so. So I figured I wasn't going to get one, but I kept asking anyway, figuring, maybe. Just maybe. I got him the year I was in third grade, just so you know, a little too old for him. But my mom was so DAMN excited!!
I know she had to wait 'til the price went down, but I can still feel my dissapointment when I opened that big box, and there she was with her eyes so big and excited.
So when she screamed, I screamed. And I played with that damn thing anyway. For two whole years.
Then there was the barbie mansion. Oh my! It was so big, so beautiful! Four hundred bucks I think... and I had never wanted anything that bad. I actually had a poster of it up on my wall. Why in the fuck I thought that I could get that when I didn't even have a barbie car is beyond me, but, eh. I was in the fourth grade, I'm thinking I didn't have very good reasoning skills. Anyway, end story is that my mom bought it for me for Christmas, the year I was in the sixth grade. Yeah. I had already stopped playing with my barbies and now I had this big HUGE FUCKING BARBIE MANSION.
Again, I didn't know what to do. And again I decided to just play with the damn thing. For two whole fucking years. Look, don't let into me about how lame it is for a kid in the eigth grade to be playing with Barbies. I KNOW.
So even knowing that now, at 27, I'm finally giving the dollhouse away I feel a little twinge. It's that twinge of wanting something so bad for so long, and then getting it when it no longer holds the exact same allure. It's something slightly bitter. I still have Teddy Ruxpin though. And he still works. I was the kind of kid that never broke their toys and even all of my barbie mansions features still work.
Sometimes I wonder if this is why I don't have patience with other people. Like maybe I used up all my niceness and understanding when I was a kid. Then I remember that I'm just a bitch.
************************************
"Why do you care so much about what other people think? Fuck them. You should be strong enough to understand that!"
Except I do care. And who doesn't? If you say you don't care what other people think about you than you're a god damn liar. You care. If you say you don't it's to cover up some hurt inside. Don't tear me down in the name of maturity when we both know the shit spewing out of your mouth is an ideal that no one ever quite lives up to.
You're not trying to make me better, you're trying to point out my inadequacies, tear me down, you want to watch me crumble.
And how fair is that? How fair is that to tear me down when I'm at my weakest, when I'm tired from all the trying, just when I feel as if I'll never quite succeed. My mother always told me, let them say what they want, but don't ever insult them back.
And that made me so mad that I wanted to hurt someone. So I asked, "Why? What's the good in that? They're just all happy from being mean, and everyone believes them because you didn't say anything back!"
My mother, apparently big on the 'turn the other cheek' philosophy replied, "Because someday they'll be sorry. They'll miss your friendship, and even if they never say it, inside they'll know they're wrong. But if you say something then you become the bad person. And they will never be sorry, they will never come back. In their head, they'll be justified."
So that's great. No apologies, no nothing, you get treated like shit but in the end you can sleep soundly knowing that you're the better person. What a crock of shit.
This might be where my passive aggressive tendencies pop up. This might be where I write this:
I wish I could peel back your skin, like layers on an onion. Then you would cry, I would cry, and we would look at your heart, laid bare in my hands, and speak the thoughts people only dream. Tell me who you are when I'm not here.
