So. I slept 'til 8.30 today, got ready quickly, grabbed my lunch and made it to Genes on time. Melon wasn't surprised to see me in. Sarah apparently was, given she went to sit with someone she doesn't seem to like very much, and I didn't hear a knock on my door this morning.
I paid perfect attention, somehow. I don't know. It was epic.
Waited for practical. Made it into the second part of the "C" practical. Dealt with plant crossing, looking at a heterozygote and homozygote for three traits cross. At first it was all Greek to me and then I got down through the "complimentary pairs" question. Double-crossing I could only 'WTF?' at. As did everyone. Joked with the people across from us.
The man is so condescending. He finally explained the answers and still no one understood the last two. It was useless. Everyone left grumbling about feeling stupid.
((Alright, snugged in bed with Rowebear behind my head and Snoopy's Stuffie snuggled in with me.))
M and I went to the library. I emailed my poster after we gave up on finding computers next to each other. She went off towards chem, I snagged a computer. (Ironically the one next to it cleared a number of moments after.) Watched The L Word and did a lot of cringing.
Off to chem. Pip actually was in and had apparently been freaking out about the poster and hadn't got much sleep and had tried to reach me and Emma but we fail with phones. I was cramping like frak and took a lie down. Off to lecture, where I drew myself as a margay for the first time in a year, and it's good. Need to practice margay markings and where they go. Then practice human with animal characteristic, rather than the opposite.
He gave us our assessment. It's shite and annoying. No shocker there.
Came back. Avoided. Read up on the roof room for a while. Tried to eat dinner by myself but Becky showed up halfway through. Alishia asked why I was eating alone and I said, "Oh, I was just trying to, hum, eat with myself..." and she laughed before saying, "And now you have three myselfs," to acknowledge the other two people who had joined the table. I winced. Soon was done and upstairs.
Room, urged to watch Never Been Kissed. Spilled lemonade in Juliette's room. Had bad cramps through a terrible film.
It's pretty obvious I'm in pain / not doing so well. I get that. I don't mind it being brought up. But I get really fed up with this, "Kiwi, you look like you're in pain." "I am." "Are you OK?" I don't know what to answer any more. If I say yes, they think I'm lying and keep asking until I get peeved and say no and then I get more questions. If I say no off the bat they try to come give me a talk or try to help or whatever, try to comfort me with life experiences and the like. Thank you kindly, you all are lovely, but I'd prefer not, please!
Essentially I don't understand the "Are you OK?" question. I'm always OK. I'm always fine. Even if things are shite and everything is terrible and my life sucks, I'm always OK. I don't know how to explain it beyond that. So getting the question from everyone all the time just IRKS me.
It seems that when Matt and Harry do it it peeves me the most. Matt is always caring enough with it, really, but he doesn't know me enough to know when I'm able to put up with it. And he doesn't seem to have the sense to take my word for it. If he asks, "Are you OK?" and I say, "No, but I'm fine, and I'm just going to go into my room" and he asks again and then comes up the corridor to ask me questions, I end up vexed. And then suddenly I feel angry, and I get angrier at the fact that anger seems to be my initial fact, and then I'm laughing humorlessly at myself for my idiocy while trying to express to him I'm OK and need my space and he's catching some of the anger I'm trying to laugh away, and then saying, "You need to calm down, you need to chill out" it does NOT MAKE ME WANT TO DO ANY OF THEM. IT MAKES ME WANT TO STAMP ON YOUR FOOT. So I keep laughing, and try to keep it light, and point down the corridor, "You need to go that way. I'm sorry. Just please do."
So I escaped into my room and started screaming at myself because I'm sick of how quickly the anger bubbles up with all these ARE YOU OK?!?! WUT CN I DUU?!? questions, and how they're just trying to CARE and HELP ME, but I don't WANT IT! My friends back home learned when to step back; they learned it quickly. It seems here we've all bonded too hard too fast, and they just don't get it. So I was screaming at myself and I threw my wallet. I realised how good that felt. I kept throwing my wallet at the wall, like a baseball pitcher and then a softball pitcher.
Someone knocked on my door. It was locked. I called from the other side, "Hello, who is it?" "Harry." I rolled my eyes. Of all the people to send, Harry? "Hello, Harry," I greeted. He said, and I was so shocked to hear it, "Are you OK, Kiwi?" in his lovely-dubbly-wonderful-I-care-a-lot-Christian-voice and I bit my tongue. His little innocent voice. "I'm OK, Harry," I responded. "Alright. See you later, Kiwi!" "See you later, Harry." I heard him start walking down the corridor to tell the friends, "No, Kiwi's OK" in his innocent I-trust-everything-she-says-like-I-do-with-everyone voice. I rolled my eyes. I wondered at what this elusive 'OK' theory is and then I growled out the anger I had felt through Harry's conversation. It just seemed too annoyingly ironic that I had faced Matt's questions and then Harry's, the two I could least tolerate. I threw my wallet some more and put on dark music. I did push-ups. Crunches. Jumping jacks.
I felt good with my breath coming hard. My body was asking me why I didn't do it more, and I could only growl. Because it's hard to placate a body that was once, and naturally wants to be, a jock's body. Lots of activity and cardio crap is what it wants and I can't do that anymore, because even if I try something not connected with my hips, soon enough I feel a limitation and it just wrecks me. Or I end up so screwed pain-wise the next day that it isn't worth it any more.
But now I'm good. Cramps are bad if I'm sitting, but if I'm resting I should be OK (there it is again, I'm an idiot!). I found that out when I was writing around on the floor (I don't know how I got there) and saw that when I'm not scrunched up I hurt less. Seems sensible.
The anger is gone for now. I can't help a bit of a bitter laugh about a conversation that will have to come soon. I need to somehow express that a) all of these "are you OK?" questions drive me crazy and make me less OK; b) we need to have some sort of scripted answer for me of either "no, but I'm fine" and be able to leave at that without further interrogation or "yes, I'm OK" and not question me for lies; c) being patronizing when my temper flares does not make it go down, gasp of all gasps! So while I'm trying, in a moment of childishness already, to act less by a child by making it blaringly obvious I need to get some alone time or not be questioned, we need to respect this; d) I don't WANT to be an angry person--it's not something I enjoy, it makes my gut curl with bad feelings about myself, and it makes me feel like a nasty person. It turns into a vicious cycle: anger flares up, I notice the anger and then get angry that that's the first emotion to come up. Matt's right in that at that point I do need to calm down...but I need to get myself to do it with a deep breath. So few people can pull of not being in the ego when reminding someone to breathe. I don't think he could pull it off and it shouldn't be that I end up having to expect that of him because it isn't fair.
I am not a little woman to pat on the head. I will bite the hand. I am not a little woman to be tucked into a room so as not to disturb anyone's delicate sense of security with an outburst of some pent-up rage. I am perfectly capable of announcing that I need my space, walking into the room myself and getting myself under control. I don't seem to do that very often, do I? I'm not pleased with myself.
I hate having a temper. I really, really do.
But I love my space, and when I'm not able to get in the Now, it's what I need to get closer. Apparently I will fight tooth and claw to get to that space...which ends up being just contradictory. But that seems to be what my anger is anyway.
There we go. A rant on anger. Bitter laughter. Deep breathe again now, though, and I'm OK, I'm fine, I'm good.