There's no enjoying the New Year when your mouth decides to conjure a
cankerous sore in the middle of the festivities out of nowhere. Add to
that the bloodworks, and the general dampened feeling of
egg-not-reaching-fruition. So this was what the past few days had been
about and that's depressing, and nice, actually. We live for
realizations and how much these things tell us about our "real" selves.
So me I'm irrational, moody, needy, selfish, all the bad, ugly stuff we
hate about ourselves when we're in the deep end, but this only happens
once a month, but every month, and that is the sad truth about that.
One
day I'll be able to control the swings much better. Maybe. We're a
secretly superstitious lot and I wonder sometimes what this means for me
for the rest of this year. If this were a fucking metaphor I hope I get
a regular mouth sore from too much kissing.
(Note on August 12, 2012: This was originally posted on
my Tumblr. I'm doing some online
housekeeping and I figured I'd leave my Tumblr out of the drama and
corral introspective shit here. I left my blog last August of
2009 but I've reemerged somewhere between that and this.)
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