Obsession

Shopping. I swear it's a problem with me. When I'm not working that many hours at the restaurant I tend to shop more. I mean I spent almost $200 the other weekend. Granted it was for stuff I had needed for months. I still felt bad. I don't normally get to shop. I needed a new shirt for work. I needed a new totebag for school. I needed new underwear. I did [not] need 2 pairs of capris/shorts. I did [not] need a new CD. I did [not] need to go to dollarama at all. [I don't need a lot of things.] And then the other day I went down Osborne. That place is my weakness. I got a pair of second hand jean capris. Dude are they comfy. They're stretchy & the right length and they actually make me look tall. Which is a feat no other pant has ever accomplished in my lifetime. I had given up hope that it was possible. They were a little tight at the waist but I cut little slits so it's all good.

But then I read Apoorva's blog. I met her through EWB [Engineers Without Borders] and she's in Ghana this summer doing work. Man I wish I could be like people like her. But I can't. Not that I'm completely shallow or selfish or self-centred. I may seem like that on the surface but I know there are people suffering. I would do anything possible if I thought it would help. But I don't, usually. I'll talk to people about issues. I support charities and I go to the odd meeting/fundraiser. And you'd think, me being all for organizing events and such, would jump right into things like EWB & the UN & whatever. It's mostly because I don't believe it'll make much of a difference. I mean I can see it makes a difference but I've always held the belief that I won't make a difference. And if you don't believe in yourself how can you hope to help others? That's what I've always wanted to do. Help others I mean. But sometimes I doubt myself. So I hide behind a shell that says I don't really care. But I do. I care a lot.

And that brings me to my next "point." I care too much. I take almost everything anyone says to me in mean spirit to heart. I don't take negative comments about myself very well. In fact I can't take it at all. I dwell on it for days and months and years. I can actually remember a comment my grade 6 science teacher made to a group of my friends about me [who immediately told me because as you'll see, it was a vile thing she said. At least to a bunch of 11 year olds it was.] You see I did not make honour roll my first term of grade 7 year. On a quick visit to our elementary school my friends mentioned it to our teacher, who asked about me [I wasn't there]. Her comment?

"I'm not really surprised, seeing as english wasn't her first language."

Not exactly racist but not exactly nice either. Considering I had a 90% in english that year and the classes I messed up on were science & gym. She could not have known the details and yet she taught me for a number of my elementary years. English had long become my most comfortable language. My junior high teachers eventually realized I had only missed honours by 1% & upped my marks so it didn't "ruin" the rest of my terms. And I went on to be on the honour roll every term for the rest of middle & high school. I knew that. My friends knew that. And what does it matter that some bitter old witch didn't know that? Nothing. It doesn't matter at all. And yet it still bothers me that I was never able to tell her these things. Ten years later it still bothers me. What kind of a loser am I?

I cling to the past. Whether or not it's good for me doesn't really matter. Especially after I transferred to MMC. That place saved me. I know it sounds cheesy and I know most people hated high school. I'm one of them. Before I transferred I was... lost. I don't know a better word for it. I was a mean, spiteful person. I'm not exactly sure why I had any friends at all. I didn't really fit in with anyone. I can honestly say I don't think I'd be here if I was forced to stay behind. I was so far gone by that point that I'm surprised that by simply going to a different school I was able to pull myself away from the cliff. I read my diary enteries from grade 7 - 9 and they progressively get worse and worse, darker and darker. I was plagued by rumours and threats and glares by girls that didn't even know me. I was harassed by guys that thought I was so smittened by their "boy next door" charms that I would help them with whatever math problem they brought to me. By that point I was known as the weird, brainy girl that read big thick books while eating her lunch.

But at MMC? I became a new person. I think the only people who can vouch for me would be Lisa & Becky. They transferred with me. Actually I followed them to MMC. I owe that experience to them, who convinced me to apply. Maybe that's why I cling to high school so much. It was a time where I was able to be as weird and loud and obsessive and bookish and geeky as I wanted and I still was happy with my friends. I devoted myself to clubs and charities and school drama productions and school and friends. Things had already begun to unravel near graduation but I refused to see it. I lost a friend I considered one of my best and never got the chance to tell her I was sorry. I still have a book I borrowed from her and never returned.

Most of my high school experience was happy and the parts that weren't? I still relive them over and over until I want to cry. But then I remember the part where I'm still here typing away my angsty teenage feelings and I smile. The smile goes away, however, when I realize I still don't know who I am and where I'm going and why I'm going anywhere to begin with and how it really doesn't matter to anyone but my self-centred self. All I want to do is stay home and watch Friends reruns over and over.

This was a lot longer than I expected [2 hours longer]. But every once in a while it's good to let everything out right? Sorry the thoughts were neither fully formed nor were they in any comprehensible order. You never want to take a trip in my head 'cause it's scary-messy.