Maybe I'm Wrong
Pauly called today and in classic Pauly fashion told me that he wouldn't be making the dinner portion of my birthday celebration because "he has other stuff to take care of."
It didn't catch me by surprise at all, which is good in some ways and bad in others. It's good that I'm finally letting go of my expectations of people in general, because I find that lots of anxiety ensues as a direct result of having faith in people, but it's also bad because this means that Paul has re-affirmed this belief in me enough times that coming from him the cancellation was not surprising.
So initially I wasn't mad. But then, as the conversation progressed, I got to thinking about it a little and decided that he'd better have a damned good reason for why he can't make it to my birthday party. Because, I mean, this is once a freakin' year. The one day that people, especially my friends, are supposed to go out of their way to make sure I'm, if not happy, at least not disappointed, right? Maybe I'm wrong. Anyway, he didn't tell me the reason, so I can't judge whether it's a good one or not. And I didn't probe, because, well, probing never got anyone anywhere. The aliens certainly didn't find anything they liked through probing judging from their abstaining attitude towards paying our planet any further visits, no?
My midterm, worth 37.5%, is tomorrow. I still have a full chapter to read and five lectures worth of notes to go over. I doubt I'm going to be acing it. But it's too freaking hot to read about mood disorders. It just makes me want to kill myself, and there's this entire bit about suicide in there... I don't think that'd be very uplifting, so I'm ignoring it until I give in to my repressed anxiety, currently expressing itself in the incessent tapping of my foot and gritting of my teeth.
I went shopping this weekend, splurged buying all sorts of stuff and making appointments to spend money in the future - which means that I now owe myself something like $260. I think a big problem with my saving tactics is that I know, deep down, that I'm not actually going to go to Cuba with Nelly next year no matter how much money we save because something will inevitably come up. This 'knowledge' sets me up and gives me an excuse to touch money I know I shouldn't be touching. I suck. I have no self-control.
On this "Depression Assessment Checklist" thing we did in class, the prof made us pretend we're depressed and write a broad "I" statement about ourselves without using the word "am". It was supposed to be an exercise that made you pinpoint specific things you don't like about yourself instead of saying general things like "I am lazy" or "I am stupid" that just make you even more depressed and aren't constructive, ya dig? Its apparently used in treatment for depression, but I think depressed people could find a way to circumvent it if they really wanted, as I shall illustrate later. Anyway, my friend wrote "I don't like it when I overreact in certain situations involving my boyfriend." My neighbour wrote, "I don't use my time effectively on weekends."
I wrote "I suck."
I think I found a way to wreck her "I" without "am" exercise. And I'm not even clinically depressed. Stupid her.
God. Idiot. (ala Napoleon Dynamite)
I gained two pounds back. Go fatty go.
The end.
It didn't catch me by surprise at all, which is good in some ways and bad in others. It's good that I'm finally letting go of my expectations of people in general, because I find that lots of anxiety ensues as a direct result of having faith in people, but it's also bad because this means that Paul has re-affirmed this belief in me enough times that coming from him the cancellation was not surprising.
So initially I wasn't mad. But then, as the conversation progressed, I got to thinking about it a little and decided that he'd better have a damned good reason for why he can't make it to my birthday party. Because, I mean, this is once a freakin' year. The one day that people, especially my friends, are supposed to go out of their way to make sure I'm, if not happy, at least not disappointed, right? Maybe I'm wrong. Anyway, he didn't tell me the reason, so I can't judge whether it's a good one or not. And I didn't probe, because, well, probing never got anyone anywhere. The aliens certainly didn't find anything they liked through probing judging from their abstaining attitude towards paying our planet any further visits, no?
My midterm, worth 37.5%, is tomorrow. I still have a full chapter to read and five lectures worth of notes to go over. I doubt I'm going to be acing it. But it's too freaking hot to read about mood disorders. It just makes me want to kill myself, and there's this entire bit about suicide in there... I don't think that'd be very uplifting, so I'm ignoring it until I give in to my repressed anxiety, currently expressing itself in the incessent tapping of my foot and gritting of my teeth.
I went shopping this weekend, splurged buying all sorts of stuff and making appointments to spend money in the future - which means that I now owe myself something like $260. I think a big problem with my saving tactics is that I know, deep down, that I'm not actually going to go to Cuba with Nelly next year no matter how much money we save because something will inevitably come up. This 'knowledge' sets me up and gives me an excuse to touch money I know I shouldn't be touching. I suck. I have no self-control.
On this "Depression Assessment Checklist" thing we did in class, the prof made us pretend we're depressed and write a broad "I" statement about ourselves without using the word "am". It was supposed to be an exercise that made you pinpoint specific things you don't like about yourself instead of saying general things like "I am lazy" or "I am stupid" that just make you even more depressed and aren't constructive, ya dig? Its apparently used in treatment for depression, but I think depressed people could find a way to circumvent it if they really wanted, as I shall illustrate later. Anyway, my friend wrote "I don't like it when I overreact in certain situations involving my boyfriend." My neighbour wrote, "I don't use my time effectively on weekends."
I wrote "I suck."
I think I found a way to wreck her "I" without "am" exercise. And I'm not even clinically depressed. Stupid her.
God. Idiot. (ala Napoleon Dynamite)
I gained two pounds back. Go fatty go.
The end.
posted by captain obvious at 9:16 p.m.
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