That's a phrase one of my favorite teachers brought up. It has to do with Jane Eyre. Jane has a lot of passion, and she likes to let it show. So do I. So that last post may have been a bit too much. I don't want others to think my father is a horrible person. He is not. He's my hero in a lot of ways. He is a product of his environment, like everyone else. So I'll explain all of that later, but I just wanted people to understand that one thing. My father is not a mean person. Now I'm the ungrateful daughter. Damn it.
For now, I will breakdown my...emotional breakdown. That tends to happen a lot, whether I welcome it or not. When I wrote that last thing, I was just...angry. I was mad. I was hurt, above all. The people who are supposed to love you hurt you the most.
Can I just be frank here and say that I despise being a girl at times? We're moody. We are very very moody. Something in that second X chromosome gives us the ability to lash out at anything that does not biologically possess female genitalia. Men can do that too, but that's rather douche-like.
So I'm a moody little bitch. My day was a quadruple-humped camel back of emotions. It started off lazily, I went on Reddit and laughed at some stuff, then I saw Tangled and cried for a while. Then I went on Facebook and felt like a shitty friend. I went back on Reddit to laugh. And then I cried some more. Next I winced at Bear Grylls. Cried again at my failure as a child and here I am.
I don't "feel" much. I feel calm. I wouldn't trade this feeling for anything else. Not even happiness. That's just unrealistic.
I can, however, obtain milk from my fridge. Yes, I drink my problems away. Not excessively. Milk is just calming. (Go figure.) I'm proud because it will probably lower the risk of osteoporosis. I hear that's common for some reason in "women of African-American or Asian ancestry over the age of 40-or something" according to some commercial. I fit two of those requirements, so I'm not taking any chances.
I know that some girls out there count calories in every single thing they eat. I'm not going to oppose them, because I did it, too. I'm just saying that every girl has a breaking point. I would not count calories while crying.
Damn, son, you better believe I will sit on my bed with a half-gallon of Bluebell ice cream and not have any regrets. I'll take care of the chocolate-marshmallow mess after I clean up my soul. I would like to shut off all contact from people at this point, because although I am filling my face with foodstuff, I will not miss a chance to attack you verbally.
Look for the tell-tale signs. I will put my hands on my head a lot. Sigh annoyingly. Roll my eyes. Make a rude passing remark. Not make any attempts at humor.
These are indicative of the storm that may or may not come.
My arm is itching and I probably have an allergic reaction to one of the bracelets. Hm. Also, does anyone else sneeze a few times when they wake up? I'm sure someone out there does. I know it. I Googled around and I guess it's because our horizontal position lets the mucus pile up, and in the morning, the sneezes try to get it out. 10 times every morning. Tonight I might sleep upright, propped up with a pillow with milk by my side.
I really like milk.