Operational Assistance

I think my anger is starting to subside. Or at least I hope it is. I'm not driving like a maniac anymore, so I guess that's a good sign. Maybe the rain is helping to calm me a little, even though the wind is starting to pick up and berate the house with stinging specks of water. Not that I'm calm, just not so inexplicably angry.

So maybe I'm just distracted. Because tomorrow I'm hoping that this new quack doctor will have all the answers to my problems with my feet and everything will be just super from now on. And then I'll see the movie he refused to see with me. And I'll sit in the theater by myself and try to laugh at least a little. And then I'll hear some jazz and have some drinks and that will be all. So it'll be my big attempt at doing things alone again. Like a trial run. See if I can manage it. But then I'll have to get my shit back together because class starts up again on Monday and I can't have any more crappy classes like last week and I have to figure out what I can show them that won't suck that they'll be willing to watch. Because I refuse to pander to their special effects/no story Matrix crapola movies. Plus I won't subject myself to the torture of watching said crapola.

But I'm not really sure if any of this actually matters. Because before you know it, I'll be back in school myself, trying not to be the ugly duckling that I'm so accustomed to being. Trying to put the square peg in the round hole by acting professional when that's about the last thing I really want to do. Trying to earn respect, but not having the artful chops to cut it. Trying to stop competing for attention and just forget the whole thing for real this time.

And there's the angry part again. Because I really didn't want to believe that the physical was purely that, but I have been informed otherwise. That first time I let it happen, I should have listened to myself when I thought; well, I could have been anybody that time. There wasn't even eye contact.

So yes, I'm angry. At everything. At him, myself, the situation. Because for once in my life I was able to merge the physical and emotional into one, and what a mistake that was. Therapy got them together; now maybe I need therapy to take them apart again. Shit. Now I'm angry again. And I'm probably hurting people too, which isn't really what I want. I just want to be able to figure all this out and be a normal person again instead of a whiny crybaby people are afraid to talk to and especially see because I might just lose it and that gets so tiresome, as we all know. I want to be normal enough that people stop treating me like I'm sick or diseased or eight and saying things like 'do you really think that's a good idea?'. It makes me feel like my own opinions, needs, wants or decisions don't even matter anymore. Because someone else will inevitably veto them. Because I'm apparently not able to operate without assistance.