I recently got sent to the psychiatrist after having something of a meltdown re: wanting plastic surgery (precipitated by the fact that I accidentally had the forms sent home where my mother opened them. OOPS. I need to remember to check the mail before she does.) It really didn’t seem to be as much of an issue as those yelling people around me made it out to be, but evidently it was alarming enough to warrant some sort of Saturday-morning-ruining intervention. Anywho, I got to be witty to some stranger for about 250$/1 hour session and that was approximately a self-esteem boost, though I still hate my mother horribly for not telling me about it until an hour before I was scheduled to go in (and then telling me, “We have family problems that need to be addressed. This is for all of us.” What the hell, woman.) I was very bitter and decided to turn the session into me ragging about my mother’s problems, and it worked out fairly well.
About 8 hours later I get into this giant bitchfest with my sister over AIM about why all my goals are wrong and bad and how I think I deserve cupcakes because everyone else has them, which results in me having horrible and unrealistic expectations for everyone and everything. I then told her “duh,” and wasn’t convinced that I was doing anything wrong, since I knew what I wanted (perfect-simultaneous-orgasm-requited-love, or, failing that, someone to dump all my affections on) and was being proactive about getting it (because, at the time, I equated being pretty to a greater sense of charm, which is partially true). She then asked if I’d ever tried internet dating, to which I replied, “No, because the internet is full of creepy Asian fetishists and/or gross cumbuckets.” And then she agreed and continued to try and convince me that I was being vain, thinking that I wasn’t listening. But, in fact, without knowing it, she made everything about her argument fall into place perfectly and it was all very alarming and annoying. Sure, the internet can be gross. But, if all I really wanted was to have the opportunity to blow something (like cursory interest) out of proportion into a deluded sense of smashing-euphoric-oops-I-need-a-tissue, then the internet was the perfect place to do it and I should totally be all over that.
It was a very deflating thought, and I realized that, while I wasn’t being a total whiner, I was probably letting my hormones and my biological curiosity get the better of me (Dear Self, STOP IT. Love, Self).
Um. So. Yeah.
I think the moral of the story is that, now, I’m totally over everything and everyone, and I’m back to my other weird and deluded state of non-porn-star moviestar crushes (he never wrote me back), and that’s AOK! because it’s kind of endearing and it’s probably a lot more fun than cosmetic surgery. I’m back to my forum-trolly (yield: David Boreanaz in a bathtub) slash-loving (yield: Angel/anything, Tidus/Auron [WARNING: dirtydirtydirty, but hot]) Youtubing self (yield: that new Dido song I like)