Never Enough

I miss my best friend like hell. I miss being able to tell her stuff and to live vicariously through her (my best friend is a model, but she's the sweetest, smartest girl you'll ever meet and consequently, she is always surrounded by gentleman admirers). She's in China, and she's gonna be there for like six hundred more months and emailing her is just not the same as telling her about stuff that happened to me. It's what we learned today in my seminar - the differences between the modes of language, written versus spoken. With spoken, you get all the little extralinguistic bits, the bits that convey the importance - intonation, stress, rhythm. I mean, it's not very funny for me to write about how I yelled at some guy on the bus in an email - when you read it, it seems kinda mean. But if you hear me tell the story (not that particular one, coz I didn't do that, but you get the idea), it's funny. I love my family, but there are certain things you want to only tell a best friend - especially if you're dealing with my family, who have a tendency to laugh and make fun of me. At this point in my life, I keep telling myself to not care what others think about or feel towards me, and I succeed - sometimes. Yet, I still can't help myself from worrying that I'm ticking people off, that behind their smiles, people are actually thinking I'm a lunatic and God, how can they escape me and never have to see me again. Paranoid much? I can't shake the feeling that no matter what I do, it'll never be enough, it'll never be enough for anyone to think, "Hey, okay, she's a nut, but she's so-and-so and it balances out." I think it's a complex I developed when I was a kid and boy, that is a can of worms I am not ready to open.

Final thought: Just because you're paranoid, it doesn't mean they're not after you. Mulder, The X-Files