Saying Nice Things

See, the previous post brought this to me as a highlight: I’m not good at saying nice things in general. Not sure why, maybe because I’m not impressed with myself, with other things, few ideas really woo me but I remember a lot of them because I should, because I’m supposed to.

I’ve spent a whole weekend disconnected from the internet and my inbox, sadly I’m not going to London on the 21st of June because of that but heck, when I think of how old I am I could just forget about it all – it wouldn’t be the first time I do it but this last weekend was rather special.

Not exactly sure if it’s because of the pills I’m on (no, not the happy pills) but most of my days are spent gazing out the window thinking about who I actually am, if you want to put it in a post-modern way, it’s called the ‘Cosmo Confused Woman‘ syndrome maybe. Or just anarchist syndrome – don’t know what I want but I know how to get it. Subject to a lot of debate (at least in my head), I still need to learn to stop apologising for who I am, what I think and to remember that most people are too selfish to care or remember things that don’t move them. Isn’t that what I do all day in the end? Why can’t I just apply it to myself?

So anyway, this weekend was spent wishing I had a bike, going to the Memorial Park, rolling around in the grass and generally getting my jeans dirty like a real lady, going to an Oceansize gig, going out with friends and having interesting beers in just as interesting pubs.

I also got this really nice bottle of home-brewed wine which I will keep for all those times I need a Fukitol pill or just want to get drunk enough not to care about things:

I saw my whole childhood flash before my eyes in about one hour which was strange in a good way but creepy at the same time. As Dan Gilbert put it in his ‘Stumbling on Happiness‘ book, three months is usually the right time to start forgetting about depressing things and moving on – slowly but surely getting there! I remembered the first time I ever learnt how to ride a bike, piano lessons, French lessons, going swimming, my first time ever swimming when I was around three or four and thought I was going to sink, not swim, my dad taking me out to the park, my grandfather telling me about flying and so much more. School trips, old class mates, stupid jokes, pondered wearing short skirts and heels or dressing up as a cop, nurse or whatever to live up to my ’student’ social stigma and such.

I dreamt of old school teachers, lan parties and strange things. People I never really talked to a lot.

After all that, I felt like I could say nice things about anything, even the people I currently hate. But then I remembered I’m me and that’s not going to happen when I wake up the next day. Oh well.