There's a song on one of my Siouxsie and the Banshees album called 98 degrees. In the beginning of the song there is a sound clip from, the sound of it, is from a movie from the 40’s or 50’s. i’ve always wanted to know what that song was. There’s a man and he has an urgent tone in his voice and he says (i’m paraphrasing from memory right now): “I read in a newspaper once that most murders are committed at 98 degrees Fahrenheit. Lower than that, people are easygoing, hotter than that it’s too hot to move but right at 98 degrees people get IRRITABLE!� and then the music starts. I don’t know why that’s always intrigued me, and i don’t know for a fact if it’s true at all. something to think about.
I guess i thought about it today because for some reason when i argue or when i hear people argue that snippet just *poof* pops in my head. I’m thinking of it today because, well, i think my baby and i have been a bit irritable with each other. This is semi normal behavior for me being an over-emotional, overly sensitive stubborn person involved with an enormously patient wonderful person who lately has been under a lot of stress and my normal behavior isn’t helping much. Mind you, some of my other normal behaviors are to want to help, to want to fix things, to make things nice for people. I want to do these things for her because i do love her so much and she is so good to me. i want to make sure she’s eating right, i want to make sure she doesn’t leave her lunch on the tram, i want her to cuddle with me and i can rub her back while she’s resting her eyes after she’s been working 16 hours a day in front of a computer. I really want to do those things for her. And i can’t. at least right now. I’m not sure if we could be physically farther away from each other and sometimes the impossibility of it all kills me.
The fact that we even met, that we enjoy each other so much, that we love each other so much, the fact that we can’t go a day without talking seems so incredibly implausible to begin with. Sometimes i think about the situation and think, what the hell am i doing? And then i think about her, or i hear her voice, i notice how she treats me and it all becomes amazingly crystal clear. Clearer than anything i’ve ever experienced. I can’t NOT have this woman in my life.
So why am i such an ass to her you may ask…i don’t know. I honestly don’t. i freak out on her and she handles it. and i think, i shouldn’t do that. it’s good she handles it, it’s good she’s patient but NOONE is a saint, and i’m not sure that even saints could handle what i dish out. But i know she loves me. and i know i believe her when she says that. i believe her too when she says i’m good to her. Because i like to be. I can’t say i try, because that would imply that it’s a great amount of effort that goes into it, when it isn’t. when i’m not kooking out or being insecure or misunderstanding her i know i’m good to her. I know she turns to me for certain things she doesn’t turn to anyone else for and that fills me with so much joy. I’m unable to explain it to anyone. I can’t even find the words to explain it to myself. I just feel it, it is strong, it feeds my soul.
So i guess i could go on and on about my insecurities, my freakouts, sometimes especially when hormones take over my uncontrollable rages over the simplest things. Especially since they’ve been so close to the surface lately. They are right there, like exposed nerves in your teeth that cause so much pain at the slightest inhale of breath. Don’t even talk about ice cream or a cold drink. Excruciating. So whenever i fight with my grandma, or anyone, there they all are, those feelings i work so hard to hold down, to keep at bay, those monsters i lock in the closet. They come rushing at me when i’m least expecting it and i lash out, specifically at the wrong people, specifically at the people who love me the most and not the people who planted this rage in me, who nurtured it with poisonous words and deeds and made sure i watered it daily with my tears.
So now i jump at shadows, i don’t trust the ground beneath me and i do stupid things like over-react to a few typed words on my computer screen sent to me by my love halfway across the world.
I am a giant ass
I guess i thought about it today because for some reason when i argue or when i hear people argue that snippet just *poof* pops in my head. I’m thinking of it today because, well, i think my baby and i have been a bit irritable with each other. This is semi normal behavior for me being an over-emotional, overly sensitive stubborn person involved with an enormously patient wonderful person who lately has been under a lot of stress and my normal behavior isn’t helping much. Mind you, some of my other normal behaviors are to want to help, to want to fix things, to make things nice for people. I want to do these things for her because i do love her so much and she is so good to me. i want to make sure she’s eating right, i want to make sure she doesn’t leave her lunch on the tram, i want her to cuddle with me and i can rub her back while she’s resting her eyes after she’s been working 16 hours a day in front of a computer. I really want to do those things for her. And i can’t. at least right now. I’m not sure if we could be physically farther away from each other and sometimes the impossibility of it all kills me.
The fact that we even met, that we enjoy each other so much, that we love each other so much, the fact that we can’t go a day without talking seems so incredibly implausible to begin with. Sometimes i think about the situation and think, what the hell am i doing? And then i think about her, or i hear her voice, i notice how she treats me and it all becomes amazingly crystal clear. Clearer than anything i’ve ever experienced. I can’t NOT have this woman in my life.
So why am i such an ass to her you may ask…i don’t know. I honestly don’t. i freak out on her and she handles it. and i think, i shouldn’t do that. it’s good she handles it, it’s good she’s patient but NOONE is a saint, and i’m not sure that even saints could handle what i dish out. But i know she loves me. and i know i believe her when she says that. i believe her too when she says i’m good to her. Because i like to be. I can’t say i try, because that would imply that it’s a great amount of effort that goes into it, when it isn’t. when i’m not kooking out or being insecure or misunderstanding her i know i’m good to her. I know she turns to me for certain things she doesn’t turn to anyone else for and that fills me with so much joy. I’m unable to explain it to anyone. I can’t even find the words to explain it to myself. I just feel it, it is strong, it feeds my soul.
So i guess i could go on and on about my insecurities, my freakouts, sometimes especially when hormones take over my uncontrollable rages over the simplest things. Especially since they’ve been so close to the surface lately. They are right there, like exposed nerves in your teeth that cause so much pain at the slightest inhale of breath. Don’t even talk about ice cream or a cold drink. Excruciating. So whenever i fight with my grandma, or anyone, there they all are, those feelings i work so hard to hold down, to keep at bay, those monsters i lock in the closet. They come rushing at me when i’m least expecting it and i lash out, specifically at the wrong people, specifically at the people who love me the most and not the people who planted this rage in me, who nurtured it with poisonous words and deeds and made sure i watered it daily with my tears.
So now i jump at shadows, i don’t trust the ground beneath me and i do stupid things like over-react to a few typed words on my computer screen sent to me by my love halfway across the world.
I am a giant ass
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