Thursday, May 31, 2012

This Post Has No Title (For No Good Reason)


It's been a rough week. Which is substantially impressive, as it's only Wednesday. And tomorrow's Thursday.

I never did get the hang of Thursdays.
I've had a strange sense of deja vu given some serious family health problems that have occurred; I spent Easter in a hospital - not in the hospital myself, but visiting - and I spent Memorial Day the same way. That's caused a tremendous amount of worry and stress and I'm rather pissed off at the human body at being so fragile.

Also, I've decided that I am a boss building manager, but if I have to deal with the tenant who refuses to respond to texts and emails and then looks all snotty when I go to her door demanding information because if I don't find out where her rent is I will lose my job, I might punch her.

And if my brain decides one more time that it should interpret friendly advice and concern as harsh, serious critique and try to make mountains out of molehills, continuing to try to play another round of "me against the world" I shall be very, very upset. Just because, brain, you are the most important organ in the body (according to yourself) does not mean you have any right to psyche me out about everything. Seriously, stop being such a twat.

Oh my God, I'm arguing with my own brain. This is terrible. And it has nothing to do with fangirls.

Well, it kind of vaguely does. I'm a persistent fangirl in absolute, utter denial who obsesses over the strangest things in the oddest of combinations all while hiding it behind this "I understand things because I'm a psych major and I study culture and I'm not cool, because not being cool is cool. Except that I was not cool before not cool was cool so... I'm totally not cool."
If you haven't noticed, my mind is a box of cats right now. Oh God- I've made a Loki reference. That's a bit not good.

I'm making so many random references per second in this post, it's like I've just given up.
Yep. Brain a box of cats. Feeling like Sherlock Holmes. Arguing with my brain and not able to handle Thursdays. Real quality post, guys. Real quality post. (But great gifs of brilliant actors, that makes up for it, right?)

What was I saying? Oh, right, boxes of cats - my brain has gone from its usual slightly chaotic blended state to full out puree in the matter of a few days. How I long for the ease of Sunday afternoon, watching the Indy 500 with my dad and dying of heat on the deck while scrolling through Tumblr posts about the BAFTAS (because, even though I was doing it for "research," we all know I am utterly obsessed with Sherlock and that the more up front I am about my (pretty certainly irrational) passion for that show and *cough* a certain actor who stars in it, the less I will sound like a hypocritical doofus). Sunday seems such a simpler time after the stress Monday brought and the doubt I've placed in my own mind over the course of the past few days. And because my brain may be able to handle psychological terms and cultural texts, it's still pretty black and white when it comes to friendships and relationships (not entirely a bad thing, but not necessarily very good either). So when I begin to recognize my flaws and I hear them confirmed by others, part of me is tempted to think that there's something utterly wrong with me as a person, because God forbid anyone have a flaw (those italics are sarcasm. Just so you know. Because people have flaws, dammit. Why is that so hard for everyone - TOTALLY including me - to accept?).
The good news is I feel about 2 billion percent better after talking things over some quality G&Ts with my best friend and writing some really shit poetry (not after the G&Ts; the poetry came a couple days came before) (I don't care how good of a writer I might become someday, I will always write shit poetry. It's like Baudelaire and Avril Lavigne's lyrics had a love child that was raised solely on angst and bitterness. I have been tempted to post poetry on my other blog, but it's too cringe-worthy for me to even consider for more than half a second). The nice thing about writing shit poetry - it gets some rough feelings off your chest, and then you can move on. And then you're left contemplating  things slightly differently. I was thinking about when I get upset with someone, I tend to let things simmer under the surface, but then I cling to it, as only a grudge-holding Scorpio can, rather than letting it go. Perhaps if I fully embraced the problem and let it blow itself out, I wouldn't have such a slow burn under the surface.

Part of me knows that my loves and obsessions work in much the same way; I don't embrace them on a wide, spectacular level. I only admit them after someone else discovers it, or if I'm so passionate about it I can't contain myself. I try to keep things hidden beneath the surface, to not show how obsessed I am because I think it's inappropriate. But then I become more obsessed by trying NOT to be so obsessed. It's a total backfire.

This is where fangirls come in. Perhaps those fans that are really out front and vocal about their interests have a better time with it than I do. Those who post about it and discuss it more openly seem to have an easier, more accepting time with fandom. They can more easily see the good in it while I get distracted by those who take it too far and bring out the bad. I look to see the good but can only find the downfalls, and not because I don't believe in the good but because I fear the bad within myself. And it blurs my vision and highlights what I am unknowingly looking for. While I can easily say most fangirls are not stalkers or obsessive, jealous, jaded fans, it is harder to for me to really believe this when I fear that these same traits are playing out in my mind. I feel like this goes back to the legions of posts I did on body image: I can see the beauty in everyone but myself. I can see the good, noble fan in everyone but me. I'm trying to make things black and white (good traits, bad traits) where there's really a lot of grey. Hell, it's not even grey. It's a multifaceted prism of colors I can't even begin to identify.

In short, it's complicated.
Thanks, Jim. Thanks for that.

So, if you're still reading this after the unleashing of the box of cats, congratulations. Normally I'd post this sort of nonsense on my personal blog, but it fit here. And I was feeling exceptionally "I must write about my feelings" tonight.

I am making this all kinds of awkward. Alright, alright, I can tell when I need to just shut up and let it end for the night. But for one more added dose of weirdness, I give you this:

I can only imagine what people think when randomly coming across my blog. Oh boy...

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