My voice sounds absurd when I’m yelling.
Today was the first time in a while that I had a screaming match with my mother. The good news: these days my temper is nearly nonexistent, so 90% of the time I keep my voice level. The bad news: the 10% of an argument that I just completely lose it, I am the least logical, least agreeable human being on the face of the planet. I just yell for yelling’s sake, because I’m tired of trying to talk someone else down.
I’m not proud of how stubborn I am. Once I have made a decision, heaven help anyone who tries to change my mind. This blog has done wonderful things for me, because many comments have thrown me curveballs and forced me to think about myself in new ways. The very blatant fellow from Kluck It, for example, has always been extremely honest with me on my blog, to the point of actually annoying me on several occasions. But comments such as his that first make me ball my fist, force me to ask myself “What if he’s entirely right?” and every single time I discover, other people see things that I entirely miss. Trouble is, when I’m in the middle of an actual argument, I don’t have several minutes to contemplate every response. I just have a little voice in the back of my mind constantly reminding me ‘Watch yourself, be careful.’
All of those books that I read that annoy my mother come quite in handy in the middle of our arguments. Lately I’ve been applying what I’ve learned from John Gottman, a relationship psychologist who formed the famous ‘Love Lab’ in the 1980’s to study what makes relationships work, and what makes them fail.
I discovered the works of John Gottman through my obsession with Paul Ekman’s books on emotions and micro-expressions.
As I just mentioned, my mother takes issue with the amount of time I spend reading. And when I’m not reading for enjoyment, I’m studying, writing on WordPress or searching for new library books on the library site. I have no desire to know my classmates or acquaintances at The Center beyond a social level. I can’t pinpoint why exactly. I just know that all of you know me better than anyone else, and Heather knows me better than I know myself, I don’t need anything more. Besides, the library just got in a new book on…get ready for this… the history of typewriters. The history of typewriters!!
I’ve been writing nonstop today. I stuffed my netbook into its case and tried to focus entirely on studying for an exam on Friday, but I kept grabbing pieces of paper and just writing anything and everything that came into my mind. I have no doubt that it’s because of how restless I’ve been as of late. Pacing for no reason, walking up and down the stairs at times to get out some of the energy. Just writing and pacing with a sort of anxious tension in the atmosphere. Like I’m waiting for something to happen at any moment.
I made the decision, if I get accepted into a university up north, I’m going to go.
I made it all day yesterday without thinking about Josh. I hope that I bump into him one day, look him in the eye, and feel nothing. The pain is nearing a dull ache at this point, and he doesn’t seem to be the bright and shining star in my eyes that he was a month ago. But a part of my mind will not stop nagging me, insisting that I let myself imagine what it could be like if I go back to work at Kohl’s and see him every other day or so. And then a more sensible voice will pipe up and keep me grounded, seeing him wouldn’t be healthy for me, and I need to remember that. I need to remember the pain, and how quickly he forgot about me.
Never again, folks.
Until I Write Again,
P.S. Energy redistribution is a body language term, referring to someone trying to contain a strong emotion by attempting to shut down body language signals to the outside world, so the energy instead finds itself in a form it wouldn’t normally be in, such as tapping toes, tapping fingers, bouncing knees, and pacing.