Surprisingly enough, I meant to disable the comments on my last post of yesterday. Because I don't necessarily mind being emotionally vulnerable to people, but I don't want to talk about it. I don't want it acknowledged. And also, I just didn't want to be a big drama queen. But anyway, I didn't check the disable comments box and people said some nice things, so, uh...thanks. At this point, I will look down at my feet with my hands in my pocket, looking sheepish.
Remarkably enough, I am very grateful of the life I have and the people in it, and don't often give much thought to my missing parents. But that's part of the problem -- I just sort of denied that it bothered me for so long, years even, and now it's sort of creeping on the come-up. Which probably means doomsday is approaching, i.e. the time when it finally comes to a hilt and change effective happens in one form or another.
It amuses me that some people offered to lecture my parents, because I've sometimes had this fantasy of applying for a job with my parents to be their child, and I would not only include a "resume" and essay, but also letters of recommendations from other people. Sort of explicit imagery of how I'm constantly putting myself in these evaluation or litigation scenarios. I have this mental compulsion to prove I'm right, or at least more right than them. I don't want to win the trial based on a preponderance of the evidence -- I want the criminal trial. I wany beyond a reasonable doubt. Hell, I want beyond unreasonable doubt as well.
Last night I watched too much Real World and not enough The Osbournes (my new favorite show). I also ate WAY too much, in part because of Riley's generous gift of Garrett's popcorn on top of my milkshake. And I went to bed and had a dream that me and these 2 other trans guys I know in Chicago (but not on LJ) were hanging out with this big, bearish married bio guy, and we sort of joked about all of us seducing him, then Borders Boy #2 went ahead and did it, ditching us to hangout in the living room watching American Beauty on the big screen TV while they had sex in one of the bedrooms. Borders Boy #1 then whipped out his drug paraphenalia box and I thought he was going to roll a joint, but then I thought he might be preparing to shoot up. I wasn't sure how I felt about participating, but then the wife came home and we started talking about the movie and how I hated it and how she hated it for different reasons I had never thought of. Sometimes, I fcking love my brain and the isht it produces. I mean, my dream wasn't particularly happy or fun, but it was interesting and entertaining.
Remarkably enough, I am very grateful of the life I have and the people in it, and don't often give much thought to my missing parents. But that's part of the problem -- I just sort of denied that it bothered me for so long, years even, and now it's sort of creeping on the come-up. Which probably means doomsday is approaching, i.e. the time when it finally comes to a hilt and change effective happens in one form or another.
It amuses me that some people offered to lecture my parents, because I've sometimes had this fantasy of applying for a job with my parents to be their child, and I would not only include a "resume" and essay, but also letters of recommendations from other people. Sort of explicit imagery of how I'm constantly putting myself in these evaluation or litigation scenarios. I have this mental compulsion to prove I'm right, or at least more right than them. I don't want to win the trial based on a preponderance of the evidence -- I want the criminal trial. I wany beyond a reasonable doubt. Hell, I want beyond unreasonable doubt as well.
Last night I watched too much Real World and not enough The Osbournes (my new favorite show). I also ate WAY too much, in part because of Riley's generous gift of Garrett's popcorn on top of my milkshake. And I went to bed and had a dream that me and these 2 other trans guys I know in Chicago (but not on LJ) were hanging out with this big, bearish married bio guy, and we sort of joked about all of us seducing him, then Borders Boy #2 went ahead and did it, ditching us to hangout in the living room watching American Beauty on the big screen TV while they had sex in one of the bedrooms. Borders Boy #1 then whipped out his drug paraphenalia box and I thought he was going to roll a joint, but then I thought he might be preparing to shoot up. I wasn't sure how I felt about participating, but then the wife came home and we started talking about the movie and how I hated it and how she hated it for different reasons I had never thought of. Sometimes, I fcking love my brain and the isht it produces. I mean, my dream wasn't particularly happy or fun, but it was interesting and entertaining.