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| Polka_Doll |
I'm never sure the point of this public outpouring doodleyflip. It feels too self conscious, self indulgent and just a little too noughties for my liking. Doesn't sit so well with a stiff upper lipped old fashioned kinda gal like me but there is something cathartic about the sound of the tip tapping of my fingers on the keyboard, it's like typing what is in my mind somehow siphons off some of the stressy schmaltz...maybe this is what Dumbledore feels like when using his pensieve (sorry Potter haters). As pointless as it may be, someone very dear to me told me I mustn't keep things in, and as he has trundled back to his house leaving me alone with my thoughts I guess the weary tip tapping will be my outlet. I'm not asking for advice, not asking for an audience, I just want to make space in my head for pretty things and sunbeams and the like.
I'm feeling a sadness lately. It's like a weight pressing down on my shoulders. Ever present, ever painful. I'm really not sure what is causing it. I've had a rough year or so since my marriage broke down but things are honestly on the up. Slowly but surely things do seem to be working out. So why so sad? I was talking to a friend last night, pouring out my woes at a sickening pace and it struck me that I might just be a little self indulgent. I ponder whether I have got so used to feeling stressed and low (with good reason fairly often) that now, as my stress is dissipating I have this hole, this gap. A chink of light that should be making me feel happy but just feels like a spotlight on the emptiness. Is this the ultimate in masochism? Do I like the indulgence of the pain I seem to carry with me? Or am I just being a hormonal woman? Angst is part of being modern woman isn't it? That's what Sex And The City tells us.
And talking of hormones I suspect mine are all off. I suspect I have the testosterone levels of a gaucho which is making my Id the driving force of my very existence. I have the libido of the entire playboy mansion. In the sixties. On amphetamine. It's not good. It's frustrating. It borders on the obscene. There are days when I feel so horny it actually feels uncomfortable. Moments when I feel like I have a raging hard on regardless of the fact that I am a girl and therefore penis-less. It mocks me. It drives me. It even infiltrates my dreams. Frustration doesn't even cover it.
Oh, and to make things worse than the ever present grumpiness, the inability to be optimistic and the fact that I'm horrifically, overwhelmingly horny. I lost at scrabble last night. Worse than that, I forfeited. Life really is at a whole new low...
Edited Sun 6 Jun 10, 11:32 PM by Polka_Doll
