There's Nothing "Wrong" With Me...

I've woken up in the morning for the past three days now to be greeted in the mirror by my own startling disfiguration. The area around my eyes has become very red and blotchy. My eyes themselves have swelled up so much that it's actually an effort for me just to keep them open. It looks like I'm wearing a sort of red, deformed masque about three weeks too late. There has not yet been a person I have met outside of my own house who has not asked me what is "wrong" with my face. I initially thought it was a mild allergic reaction of some sort, but the fact that it's persisted this long has me wondering otherwise.

Needless to say, I've been feeling a little self-conscious.

It didn't help when the guy at work literally couldn't stop staring directly at it, nor did it help when the girl at volleyball did the Batman dance in reference to my own nearly hidden eyes--I suppose it could have been funny, but it wasn't when I was trying not to draw attention to myself--and it definitely doesn't help when my mother scrutinizes me every time I run into her at home. I know no harm is intended, but I just doesn't help to make me feel better about myself.

Usually things like this don't bother me. With eczema, I've had to deal with red and blotchy skin my whole life--why let a little thing like this get to me? Probably because I have no idea what's going on and I can't control it. So far nothing I've done has had the slightest effect in reducing the redness or the puffiness.

Because of this, I've been a little introverted for the past few days. I'm the last one into class and the first one out and I don't participate if I don't have to in order to draw the least attention to myself. I've scrapped my usual study sessions at Tim Horton's so I won't worry about other people looking at me. I wear a hat and I pull it down low. I try not to make direct eye contact with anyone, even if I'm speaking to them. I've even avoided talking to anyone I don't absolutely have to in order to keep from having to explain my disfiguration again and again.

However, despite my hermitical behaviour, I agreed to be taken to see a movie tonight by Shmelly. Our arrival at the theatre was timed just right so that we were able to slide into our seats as the lights went down and I could take my hat off in the dark in order to watch the movie. But even as the opening credits began, I couldn't help but think about how horrid I might have looked to anyone who might have caught a peek at my red face and eyes.

But then, at a random moment of the film, my date took my hand into his and gave it a warm squeeze as he leaned over and kissed me softly on my head, whispering reassuring words into my hair.
For that moment and a while to follow, I forgot to be worried about how I looked.
For that moment and a while to follow, I felt back to normal.
For that moment and a while to follow, I felt warm and fuzzy.
For that moment and a while to follow, I remembered I was loved and that nothing else really mattered.

I'm human; I can't help but feel self-conscious about my own misshapeness. But it's nice to know that there are times I don't have to feel self-conscious about anything at all.

What A Rush

Tonight's Brodder's commencement. The graduatation procession starts at 7pm. Being the graduate SAC President, he had to be there for 6:15pm. He got home from the Loo at 6:35pm. Rushing around like a headless chicken, Brodder managed to get ready in record time and was bouncing by the door ready to leave by 6:45pm. Unfortunately, my mother was not as fast as him in her preparations for the evening...

Mom - "I have to get my pants."
Bro - "You don't need pants!" *bounces by the door*

Mom - "Which shoes should I wear?"
Bro - "You don't need shoes!" *stuffs pockets with packs of gum and random other articles*

Mom - "Don't you need a jacket?"
Bro - "No time for jacket." *opens the door to leave*

Mom - "Do we have a camera?"
Bro - "Dad already took it."
Mom - "We should take another one."
Bro - "No we shouldn't!" *runs out the door and down the stairs to the car*

Mom - "Where are my keys?"
Bro - "I have them!"
Mom - "What's in my purse?"
Bro - "Find out in the car!!!"
Mom - "Okay, I guess we're ready to go."
Bro - *already in the car with the engine running*

*sigh* It's good to have the household back to normal again...

What You Didn't Need To Know

Found in the depths of my diary:

He farts in his sleep. He sleeps a lot. Ergo: he farts a lot. I love him. This is romance, right?

There. It's been said. Bet's on, Stupid. ;)

Why Would You Go There?

I decided to waste some time today by seeing if there were any new search terms people used to get to my blog page...maybe I shouldn't have...

WebSearch.com
    "matrix melody"

Yahoo.com
    "melody porn"

...ugh. Now Boo doesn't have to feel so bad...It's me too...

I Miss Him

On MSN last night with Brodder:

Me - how do you successfully ignore the persistant ones that won't stop calling?
Bro - call display
Me - I use that, but they just KEEP calling. Or else they'll call the house and leave me messages to call them back...which I don't, but still...why won't they just GIVE UP?
Bro - i have some letter bombs in my room
Me - should I wonder why you have letter bombs?
Bro - everyone's doing it
Bro - no big deal, really
Me - you're right, when it's you, it's no big surprise.
Me - where do you learn to do these things? I suppose from everyone else?
Bro - indeed
Me - of course
Me - mom's trying to read our conversation.
Bro - and this is something new?
Me - it never is. i just thought you should know
Bro - well, i found out that i'm also failing calculus, so i got really drunk last night and had to get my stomach pumped
Me - that's nice. I hear you were caught and arrested for possession of heroine too.
Me - you're supposed to hide that stuff up your ass.
Bro - yeah, but the weed makes you do dumb things sometimes
Me - mom's going to call you now. she's dialing the phone--beware
Bro - can i ignore it?
Me - you CAN...but SHOULD you?

Needless to say, he had to go talk to mom which brought our delightfully nostalgic conversation to a close...

It's Nice To Know Someone Does

"Hello?"
"Hey, where are you?"
"I'm almost home, about five minutes away."
"Oh, I just saw a big accident on the news."
"Oh, well, it's not me."
"Okay, then I'll see you at home."
"Yup, bye."
"Bye."

Shuck, Fit, And Other Profanities

I just spent an hour or so leisurely blogging on Blogger. When I went to post...it crashed. My entire hour of "rather-than-essaying" blogging was lost. Now I'm not in the mood to post, but what I wanted to say still lingers. Here it is in a nutshell:

Pablo said not to hate on others, so I hated on others. Those I spent an hour hating on and providing explanations why I felt so:

1. Girl on Xanga who's a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend posted a picture of herself that makes her look like she has a moustache. Spent sometime bashing the picture.
   
   
2. Pseudo-cousin that Squiggly mentioned earlier tonight. Years ago this pseudo-cousin (very distantly related, but to whom I would otherwise deny any relation to) tried to: be my best-friend, take my friends for his own, convince me he had other and many friends of his own (when he had none), tell me that he'd bought his mother a Volvo for Christmas, and tell me that he'd bought each of my friends personally engraved Swiss Army knives. He is just NOT allowed.
   
   
3. Markham region parking enforcement officer who gave me a ticket at 5:05am. As I later found out, it's illegal to park from 2:30am - 6:00am; he let my car sit there for 2 and 1/2 hours before writing me a ticket, but he couldn't wait 55 more minutes and let me sit there for the rest of the morning?! Asshole. PK the PK officer for being a PK.
   
   
4. People who spend more time converting their 3 page journal entries in chat-jargon rather than just using plain English. Why bother thinking about using abbreviations like "u know wat it wuz" instead of just "you know what it was"? You spent time and money in school learning to do it right, why waste all your effort? Not allowed.
   
   
5. Due dates and the essays that go with them. Why can't I just do it when I want to, even if it means never? Hating essays that are due.
   
   
6. This is an new entry contrary to what I had previously attempted to post before my blog crashed: I hate blogs that crash. Simple as that.

Yeah, so Pablo had some wise words to say about how we shouldn't complain about what we don't have...but here, I don't want these things that I don't have, and therefore I can complain about them. I mean, who wants a pseudo-cousin with a moustache who uses chat-jargon to essay parking-tickets that are due?

You're Afraid of What?

It's called genuphobia and it's a fear of knees. Yes, I am afraid of knees. I cannot touch my knees or your knees, nor can I let you do any of that either. I cannot watch knees be touched nor can I hear about things--anythings--being done to knees. *shudder* My immediate reaction is to jerk away and then I begin to cry. Yes, knees can make me cry.

So I played volleyball this weekend.

Guess what I injured?

My KNEE.

In the past 24 hours I have been poked and prodded at in the knee more than I ever have in my entire life. In the same 24 hours, I have shed more tears than I can remember having shed in a very long time. I have had my knee stretched, bent, straighted, twisted, shifted, massaged, acupunctured, electrocuted, iced, and heated--and I bawled through it all. They were silent tears, but there were indeed tears. I actually well up a little if I think too much about it.

You'd figure that after all that I'd be a little less sensitive about it all. Nope. Not one bit more brave in the least. I suppose that's why it's called a phobia. However, I owe much thanks to one nurse, 2 acupuncturists, 2 chiropractors, a caring mother, and a concerned yet loving boyfriend for getting me through it all.

I'm sore, but I'm still standing. I can now get up and down the stairs, and even going to the bathroom is less of an ordeal now. Shmelly says I should give up volleyball. I say he can kiss my swollen knee...though I hope he doesn't--it'll freak me out too much. First game of the season is on Thursday night, next tournament's on Saturday; knee or no knee (who needs 'em anyway?) you can bet your bum I'll be there!

How Do You Spell That?

Just before heading to bed tonight (which I will absolutely be doing after posting) I decided to make my blog rounds. In doing so, I linked to a stranger's page from a friend's comment out of curiousity of seeing a larger profile picture of the commenter (the picture was of a girl taking a picture of a cloud that looked like a bunny...I digress). Anyway, the current post on her page was titled "CUP LUV" and the entry that followed was all about these cute little drinking glasses that had cute little farm animals printed on them. However, as endearing as the post was, I couldn't help but giggle to myself over her title. C'mon, who else can see what's funny with it? You can't tell me you weren't once an immature little five-year old that thought things like that were funny. Alright, allow me to enlighten you...

"Say 'I love to' and then spell 'cup' out loud."

Hehehe. This author has CUP LUV. Hahaha. On that note, I'm going to bed.

p.s. As for the person I linked from...I'm sorry for poking fun at your friend's post-title. I have no idea who she is, but I'm sure she's a nice girl...she just had a funny way of spelling out her affection...hehehe.

Yay Cold Weather

"Whoa, what happened to your forehead?"

Wouldn't it just make your day to have someone say something like this to you upon your first meeting of the day? Flattering, isn't it?

I can't help my eczema, people! And to think that I thought today was a pretty good face-day.
...

Tick...Tick...Tick...

I am completing my fourth year of university. I work at a crappy, part-time job with no benefits. I live at home. I drive my parents' car. I stay out late and worry mostly about such pettiness as when the next time I'll play volleyball is. I am 22-years old.

At the same age, my mother had finished school and attained her hairdressing license. She held a full-time job with benefits. She lived on her own. She drove her own car. She stayed up late, probably worrying about not-so-petty-things such as her up coming wedding.

She was married at age 23. She had her first child (me) and had moved at least twice by 24.

Ever compare your biological clock with those of your parents'?

Tick...tick...tick...