Well, that should make for a suitably provocative title.
Hurting refers to my throat. I think it's sinus drainage or something similarly prosaic, and it's not particularly debilitating, besides the coughing, the cough-induced headache, and sounding like the Southern female equivalent of Ben Stein on a cigarettes-and-bourbon bender. (Normally I just sound like the Southern female equivalent of Ben Stein.) Mostly I'm downing Luden's Wild Cherry Throat Drops like there's no tomorrow and getting on with things as usual.
Anyway, on to things as usual.
Hans is apparently "in love" with an Italian redhead in his film class who is even shorter than me and likes God of War and other similarly bloody video games. What's really funny about this is how much he protested that he wasn't going for another relationship, he just wanted to play the field and not get tied down... Right, well, that resolve lasted about two weeks. He's such a sap. I was almost surprised at my own reaction to it, but quite honestly I was happy for him. I expected to feel a little jealous or something, but... nope. Nothing. I just feel glad that he's found another "prospect," and genuinely happy at my friend's good luck. It was... odd. (I'm a little peeved that he got a redhead before I did, though.)
As long as he continues to let me play Burnout: Revenge, all will be well between us.
I sort of hope that he doesn't go into Couple Mode too soon, given that just about all of my friends are paired off. Maureen has Mercer, Hans' roommate Paul has his girlfriend Paige, my friend Tom has Teresa... I can really only think of maybe two people I'm friendly with here that aren't currently attached. (For that matter I can only think of two friends I have that aren't heterosexual, and they're both bi males.) It gets sort of depressing seeing yet another Happy Couple™ every time I turn around and everywhere I go.
Mostly it reminds me that I am not part of a Happy Couple™ and not likely to be anytime soon, and if I chance to find anyone amenable to relieving said condition, it would have to be a guilty underground relationship because of my parents' ultimatum about not "financially supporting" a "lifestyle" they "disagree with," which translates to "dare to date anyone but fully be-penised manly men, and you can forget about having a family, much less the rest of your college funding."
It's something my mom brought up on the drive back to Terabil: "Maybe... maybe you're not meant to be married. God makes some people to be single. Maybe you're meant to be single."
I think it was a stretch for her because it meant she would even give up all her hopes and preconceptions about my getting heterosexually married and wife-and-mothering my own perfect suburban nuclear family (white picket fence not included) if I would just not end up with another woman. That, at least, was sort of impressive. At least she wouldn't be pissy that I'm not spawning.
I don't think she was best pleased when I told her that I'd thought about that scenario, and I honestly didn't think I was cut out for the celibacy business, and I definitely didn't want to marry a man. (Then she brought up Adam and Steve and I think I quit listening.)
Thing is, people with "the gift of celibacy," as it's called, actually have the capacity to deal with life without a partner. Some people really are set up that way and it would be as ill-advised to make them marry as it would to make someone not set up that way try to hack it alone. Me, I can only deal with singleness with the consoling mindset that it's not a forever thing. When I consider that I might have to be alone and unpartnered for the whole of my life, it's... well, depressing, to say the least. Hell, it's depressing to think that barring a miraculous change of heart on my parents' part I'm going to have to spend at least the next two years as a prospectless singleton.
Things are made for people to do in pairs. Free vacations come with tickets for two. Restaurant booths default to tables for two. Ever noticed how hard it is to walk in groups of three? Someone always ends up weaving around the lampposts and falling behind the other two because the sidewalk isn't wide enough. There's a reason that they're called "smug marrieds," and it's because the world is arranged to suit them.
I feel a little left out sometimes. A little envious. Lonely, mostly.
Obviously, I'm starting this journal with All New and Improved Names. (All my siblings are named after medieval saints, f'rinstance.) If you have a preference as to your particular pseudonym, feel free to email me and let me know. Otherwise I'm just going to pick one. Also, try to keep the farce going in the comments as well.
Also, if you know me in RL, please don't link here. Feel free to link to the LJ, which I will continue to update with the minutiae of daily existence.
From the Blogger TOS (yes, I actually did read it before agreeing to it):
(e) IF YOU HAVE READ THIS FAR THEN YOUR EYES PROBABLY HURT. ALL CAPS, WHAT WERE WE THINKING? HOWEVER, WE ARE NOT LIABLE FOR THIS OR ANY OTHER OCULAR MALADY.
I suppose that's one way to make writing the TOS interesting.
A while back I went through Facebook, changed my privacy settings so my profile is only viewable to my friends, blocked my sister completely (for obvious reasons), and removed just about everyone from Eastchester except for people I actually *did* like. (This dropped me from about 15 "friends" at a particular college to 2.) One of them just tried to re-friend me. I rejected him. edit: I've since rejected
three ten more attempted re-friendings and friendings from other people.
Honestly, I don't really see why you would expect to be considered my "friend" if throughout high school you probably only acknowledged my existence when forced to. Just because I graduated with you doesn't mean I have to like you.
This goes double for people I went to elementary school with. I removed one of those too. I haven't seen hide nor hair of you for a decade or so, nor did I particularly get along with you while we were in school, so why do I need to be your "friend" other than to pad your Facebook stats?
Mom still hates Teh Gay and wants me to "reconsider" and "not pigeonhole [my]self." (Only she is allowed to do that, apparently.)
She now blames and hates my college and doesn't really like Maureen much either. I have come to the conclusion that my love for something is inversely proportional for her love for it.
She pulled out the "maybe [I] just haven't met the right man yet" line. I have to wonder how many men I would have to meet before she would concede that there isn't a right one. She also did the whole "you'll trust those... women on the Internet over your own parents?" routine. I thought about asking her why she trusts what James Dobson or some other straight man says about my sexual orientation over what I say about it.
At that point, though, I'd sort of stopped responding. She doesn't want answers; to her, they're rhetorical questions. I'm not supposed to actually disagree with the implicit sentiments.
The whole conversation started when she asked how I was doing on the meds and asked me if I thought I was happier, and I tried to explain that it was really being in the closet that does me in mentally. Mom didn't like my characterization of it that way, preferring the idea that Teh Gay was responsible for my depression instead of her reaction to it, and it kind of went downhill from there.
Also, she asked me to get rid of the LEZ shirt. I didn't respond, and currently, I have not thrown it out. Frankly, it's a freaking t-shirt, and I've worn in public maybe three times; mostly I sleep in it because it's a comfortable shirt. She's taken it to symbolize my entire "rebellion," and tossing it would be implicitly conceding that there is something shameful about what it represents.
Mom wishes I could go to the ex-gay-proponent dude I talked to on the phone. I can only thank God he lives in a different state, and that she doesn't find one of those Exodus boot camps, one of which is located in our state.
I still hate taking medication. Lexapro is having just about the same effect Zoloft did, minus the weird heart palpitations. In particular, it makes me nauseous while I'm driving, which is bad. If I have to try one more SSRI I'm going to actually go nuts.
I miss having a real journal and website. One of these days I may set up a (better-protected, with better pseudonyms, unlinked to my site) journal somewhere.