Let's call today: 'Thursday, 19 April 2007'
wrote in the notebook:
Lately, whenever I've touched skin with another person, it's left a tingly spot and an unsettled feeling.
Just now I gave the phone to my Dad and our hands touched in the transfer. I had to shake myself. And yesterday I went out with Nathan and he put his hand on my knee while I was driving and I flinched a bit.
I feel like Amelie's mother in the start of the film, I draw my hand back fast sometimes.
Me. The tactile junkie. Flinching at contact.
I think it may be work. Having strict no contact rules with customers has left me not only paying for things by placing money on the counter instead of into the cashiers' hands, but also somewhat rather isolated.
I guess that's why hugs backstage are welcomed so readily; regardless of who from, and whether or not I probably really maybe shouldn't be hugging them.
Monday night I indulged in a small moment of breaking, putting away for a minute my 'you're not worth my tears' face that I'd donned, and opening the valve slightly to release the pressure of self-pity and disappointment. Hating myself at slipping, at taking a chance on someone again, thinking it may have worked.
Then, exhausted, I switched back into the here and now and shook my head at the confusion and turned my back to the damnable misery of it all.
If I hadn't just decided to give it shot, it probably wouldn't hurt so much.
And if I could actually sit down and have my questions answered maybe it'd give me closure.
And if there wasn't so much acting like nothing happened, and open arms alternating with pushing hands, I wouldn't be so lost.
As I said to David in pitstop lastweek 'I came here to work, not to be fucked around.'
And in another to-the-minute update:
my parents are fucktards who irritate me with simply each breath
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