Hey everyone.

My grandparents came over for dinner tonight. They gave my sister and me each a card (they love things like that). Mine congratulated me on my acedemic achievements. My sister’s was about three pages. In it…
my gran wanted to donate her kidney to my mom at one stage. My mom said no. That when she died, she needed my gran to stay behind and look after us. But that now, my gran barely sees us and she doesn’t even know what is going on in our lives anymore. Apparently, she feels like she almost knows more about my cousing in New Zealand than us. And that did hurt somewhat. I will now make a conscious effort to go visit them more.

You know. The weird thing is that, a couple of years ago, I would’ve freaked out completely at the thought of anything happening to my gran. But, right now, it’s like I can’t even be sure I would. I probably would. Very probably. But the thought doesnt kill me completely like it used to. And I’d know.
I used to do this really weird thing in which I imagined a whole load of random, painful things that could happen to me. This included everything from something happening to my grandparents, to something happening to my dad, to a fire burning the house down, etc. And I used to spend my nights crying at all my thoughts. The imagination is the most effective torture device known to man, because only you know what kills you. And only your imagination can convince you of it happening (without it really happening and without anyone else knowing what it is).
Why on earth did I torture myself like that?  Thinking thoughts like that? Why? Was I somehow (subconsciously) trying to protect myself by being prepared for most situations? Was I trying to escape real pain by creating pain (displacement of pain and all that)? Did I maybe enjoy seeing myself as a tragic victim (which doesn’t even make sense seeing as I hate sounding like the victim. I rarely tell my story to make me sound like the victim except maybe when I blog here or when I talk to Woy and I tell him what’s wrong. Then I probably sound like the victim. But I hate sounding even remotely like a poor girl who suffers from depression, had a troubled childhood, wants to hurt herself (not so much anymore, thankfully), etc. I hate sounding like that, because that is not who I am. Those are lies that I sometimes believe, but that is not the complete version of me. Because, although those things might be (at least partly) true, there are also positive things in my life. And I am not about to just sit and watch all this happen. I also have a free will. And I am not a victim. So I hate sounding like one)? Oh well.
But that was pretty stupid. Maybe that hurt me somewhat more than everything else. Fear that something would happen to the people I had left. I always made sure to say goodbye properly every time I went out of their sight… you know… the day I last saw my mom I didn’t say goodbye to her properly. I was at a volleyball tournament and all my friends were around when she left. So I’m not even sure whether I gave her a kiss.
Now I always say goodbye. Always. Regardless of who is around. I learnt it the hard way.
We were supposed to go visit her that night before she went into theatre. But we never went.

/me shrugs and promptly changes topic

Argh. I’m not feeling very well. Might be PMS related. Or related to my whole not-eating-decently-for-a-while thing. Or maybe riding those lifts at the hospital today (I was there to go look at my hacker uncle’s wife’s baby. She’s really sweet (the baby). She’s got long dark hair and quite light skin. And she makes the cutest squeak noises). I don’t know. After I ride a lift, it’s like I’m walking on air for a good few meters. Really cool, but not when you start walking into stuff. That probably has to do with my blood pressure.
lol. I sound really sickly, don’t I? Don’t worry. I’m not really. I’m fine.

lol Natalie and Caro crack me up. Especially Natalie today. She is completely head over heels with this one guy, Kyle. She’ll jump up and down, blush, spin around, giggle, talk, jump some more, laugh, etc. In under a minute. And all the time she talks about how he makes her feel, I am mentally saying “Yup, yup, yup, yup….”

I was day dreaming about him all the way there (the hospital) and all the way back. And all the time in-between. Just thinking about him gives me these little flutters in my stomach. And, of course, I smile like an idiot. I beam a blinding smile at anyone and everyone in the vicinity and I don’t even mind the fact that I look like a complete idiot, standing there, smiling at nothing. No way I am telling anyone this though. No freaking way. I shouldn’t even write this here in case someone in front of who I want to maintain dignity finds this somehow.
I just love him so much. So much. So much my heart gets all fluttery every time I think of him. This is terribly cliched, I know. But have you ever considered the fact that cliches are used so much because they are true?
I wrote this poem. I’m not sure whether or not to give it to him though. He’ll find it eventually. But I don’t want him to get it from my blog. But I do not have the courage to email it. I’m just way too nervous/embarassed/scared.
You know that feeling of absolute contentment. When you’re still in bed and it’s all warm and you’re only semi-awake and your vision is all hazy. The best is when you’re in someone’s arms (well, I’m pretty sure it is. When there’s warmth from another body next to you. Just the other warm body and the covers). Absolute bliss. And it’s cold and drizzling outside, the garden outside is crisp with cold, but you don’t worry because you’re all warm and toasty and sleepy where you are. Absolute bliss. Well, I tried to capture that. I’m just not sure… not sure at all…

Your Cliched (oh this is terrible. A cliched poet) Sarcastic Poet

~ by cravingoxygen on October 25, 2008.