Dear Diary,
At work I got to see a sorta famous sorta-band. That's not really specific I know, but the nature of the job involves discretion. I should be a sex worker with the amount of secrets I have to keep, sorry I'm thinking aloud which interrupts the flow of what I'm trying to say. Anyway, I was working and I noticed this group, and they have performed a few corporate gigs with us so I started to look them up on wikipedia and youtube, invariably I was then led to this song. That song reminds me of a time in late 2007, when I was purging a great deal and when I thought everything was about to begin. I suppose it did begin but not in the way I wanted.
Through an almost unrelated thought, probably just the association with Celli (that's plural of Cello, you know, which in turn is a shortened word: violoncello) gave me an unwelcome memory. If I live with the assumption that everything is in lieu of a single failure, then I give that event more power. Marie was a short, insignificant part of my life, and her influence has ended. I find it hard to express emotional honesty, perhaps because I have no oppurtunity to express such a disposition. Today I have finished all of my schedule tasks. I need to dig out for some more. This is a good position to be in, now I just need to apply to more jobs and finish more of the tasks from future days. I am working twice this week so I probably should catch up on those future days. A day ahead is nice, it accounts for when I'm working, and then they are equalised. But if I do a monumental amount more on a day ahead, I can be two or three days ahead.
For some reason I am looking at twitter a lot more, I usually go on just to follow comedians, musicians, celebrities or friends that I like, but I've developed an unhealthy crush on one. I hope there's a market for guys who are damaged goods, emotionally fragile/hurt but have redeemable qualities. I hate that cliche of the manic pixie girl who fixes everything, but a girl who seems interested in my wellbeing and takes the same perspective that I need to improve myself speaks to something deep in me. Does that make me a bad person for desiring the caregiver role which is feminised to its very core? Maybe, or I could just be an egotist who wants to do better. Maybe I'm both, or maybe I'm just not sure how to realise myself.
I spent my time on this blog writing whole paragraphs in trying to organise my thoughts, trying to work out how I feel. Often I don't edit many of these thoughts for the intent that it is beneficial to just get them all out. To some extent it helps. I am also trying another attempt at writing, an attempt that is more structured, edited and refined. I'm going to run with both of course. Writing in this therapeutic way helps me. I know that almost nobody is going to read this, I don't really care. It's better to pretend or imagine that there is a reader of these thoughts than running them inside my head. Words inside my head can be warped, words and thoughts outside of my head, even if they are inconsistent or difficult to understand, even by myself; are not subject to 'warping', although interpreting them is another issue. Hermeneutics aside, I think my anxiety trigger has lessened after watching that music video.
This post was a therapeutic attempt to deal with difficult feelings. Thank you I'll be here all week
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