Sunday, July 17, 2005

I'm incredibly tired today. Many things are to blame for that. But I regret none of them. At least I don't think so.

I woke up early yesterday morning to go get myself spiritually healed with Yassie. I had a very good experience for a first timer I think. Like yummy Nadine said, I might not have been able to put my finger on why I felt better, but I did nonetheless. I felt tonnes better. As if my issues were not something that I imagined, that they were there and they were messing with my energies and my thoughts and leaving me confused, dazed, tired, achey (inside and out) and generally without the will or drive to do anything most of the time. But the fact that she too could sense that they were there, that made them real and that meant that I can and will get rid of them issues and have a clear and focused aura that is just me.

Me me me!

That leads me to the second part of the day. The part that transcended to today and caused me 90% of the tiredness I feel.

For some reason, despite the healing, and walking out of the place feeling very light and airy and fresh, a few simple and apparently harmless words from Mr Perfect and I was sent spiralling in self doubt and other genarally negative feelings. The thing about me is that even though I get angry or pissed about something small in the first place, in a while everything bugs me and I'm overall Miss Grumpypants. And yesterday the pants were tight, hot and stifling and I was snappy and bitchy to poor Mr Perfect.

I willingly accept a large part of the blame for the ultimate spoiling of both our days yesterday. I didn't have to be so snappish with him and I didn't have to be so rude and sarcastic and evil. He didn't deserve it and he was just being concerned and supportive. Sometimes my crabbiness and my need for drama in my life gets the better of me. If you're reading this, which I doubt you are, but nevermind that, I truly am sorry. For all my mean-ness and for all my Jasmine-ness.

I really don't know what got into me today. Maybe it was the people at dance. Either unfailingly chirpy or incredibly bastard-like. Sometimes I just don't enjoy myself there because I feel so out of it. Like I can't connect with anything. Like I don't understand a thing they are saying. It always ends up making me feel superior (seldom) or incredibly inferior (very very VERY often). It's very disconcerting. And confusing. And sometimes I can't understand some people there. They tell you one thing and act another way. And you sit and watch from a corner and realise that everything they do is everything they said they wouldn't. And you start to wonder if anything they told you was true. Everything that they told you in the utmost confidence and trust. You wonder whether it was just a front. Something to convince others, and even themselves, that they are a certain way. Matured, moving on and over it. So you start to see them for what they really are. Just as confused as you are. And their imperfection bothers you.

It bothers me.

You know what else I don't get? Some of the blatant hypocrisy that I've been seeing recently. It's terrible. So terrible that sometimes I wish I could just be leaving the country and all of you people behind (take me with you Yassie... PLEASE!!). It's disgusting. But what's more disgusting is the fact that you don't even know you are doing it.

Ok, I guess that doesn't explain my tiredness much. Because you're probably thinking that after all that drama with Mr Perfect at the dance place would still leave me with time to have a good night's rest.

Well, I guess this time my mood swing pendulum went a little too far. I lashed out a little too much on Mr Perfect and he had had enough. He fought back this time. While I was stunned into silence by his very justified accusatory words, I was, at the same time, relieved. Relieved that my behaviour actually meant something to him. Relieved to finally know that he is capable of getting angry at me and and getting hurt by the things I say. But I still was appalled at myself and the way I behaved and the fact that I was capable of hurting someone so much.

He hung up angry, hurt, crushed and disappointed at the person he loved. So much so, that for the very first time in six months, he couldn't bring himself to say that he loved me. Because at that moment, he couldn't.

And for two hours afer that, I lay in bed, worried. That I had said too much, that I had gone too far, that I had finally been too much too handle.

But he's not Mr Perfect for no reason. He called back. Gave me another chance. Told me he loved me and that he too was sorry for letting me down. He didn't have to apologise, but he did, because as angry as he was at me, he couldn't bring himself to allow me to shoulder all the blame that was rightfully mine. If we were in this together, then he would accept my weak arguments as well.

For that, I love you.

Thank you for talking to me, for yelling at me, and for giving me a chance to make it up to you today.


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