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 |  My first ever Writing.com journal. |
| "he's at his most normal in appearance when underneath, his psychosis is raging more furiously than ever." i really like that quote, that idea, especially as it is accompanied by the image of a pot full of ears of corn steaming over the stove. i didn't go crazy this weekend, but i kind of wish i had. it would have given me a good excuse not to show up to work this morning, to instead spend the day doing what i did all weekend. but, blerh, i'm here, counting the minutes. this week i had my more or less annual allergic reaction to octinoxate, timely as usual, six days before marcus comes. it's pretty much cleared up now, but i'm still panicking about what will happen if he tries to kiss me and notices. i don't want anyone else ever looking as disgusted as my little brother did when he noticed it on saturday. or my mom, whose charming comment went something like "oh, how's the rest of the watussi clan?" very tasteful. anyway, it shouldn't be a problem, but it's a good excuse to panic anyway. something to hinge my mounting anxiety on. everything this weekend was about excuses, strange considering i've only exchanged words with...four people since friday? excluding jim, who i snapped at for a little while this morning when i got back from the water fountain and found him pawing through one of my writing tablets. excuses, excuses...the allergy thing was a great excuse to spend three days coked up on benadryl, which, yes, did help me sleep better than i have in a long time. i don't think i could ever be a drug addict, though, because somehow i just don't have the physical sensibility to recognize want. my mom gets crabby every morning at nine unless she's had her two cups of coffee, half-decaf (which really works out to one full cup of caffeinated, so i can't figure out why she doesn't just save her money. a pride thing, i guess), but i don't think i'd ever be in the presence of mind to figure out exactly what it was my body wanted. the best part of this weekend was not seeing emile again. |
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