In a previous post I informed the reading public that, for me, this blog was a form of therapy. A place where I can safely profess all my worries and traumas in hope that they will flitter away into the realms of self deprecating humour and ridiculousness.
The other day, out of part morbid curiosity, part nostalgia, I decided to Facebook investigate (*cough* stalk), the person who will be forever immortalized as my brother’s former friend who scratched the shit out of my Tekken 3 disk. Low and behold I found that he was now a cashed up bogan, with a collar bone tattoo, a souped up car and the possessor of a very disturbing meme of a man with excrement all over his face, next to a rather sizable bottom, also covered in excrement.
Forever … Traumatised … and the grown up image of what had always been a rather good-looking boy, now forever shattered. So I shall deny having any sort of girl hood crush on said disk ruiner.
I guess that sometimes it’s better not to go nosing around in your past on the whim of childhood nostalgia.
And it may be healthy to forgive and forget the complete destruction of your favourite video game, even if it may have deprived you of Hwoarang and his perfect hair and chiselled features … sigh.
I’m sure sharing that with you all has helped me start on the road to recovery.
I’ve also fallen back into obsessive patterns of behaviour. Nothing too serious. For some reason when I feel the need to impart on the world my own brand of insulting humour, I then, afterwards, with great annoyance, continously wonder whether I’ve offended anyone.
Obviously I think I’m funny, otherwise I wouldn’t share.
I remember light heartedly insulting a new acquaintance, in an off hand kind of fashion, no harm intended, and her first impression of me resulting in ‘utter bitch-face’. I think it may have also had something to do with her foreignness and the language barrier…
But, luckily we ended up being the best of friends.
I would never take me too seriously. There isn’t a spiteful bone in my body. Not that I’ve individually test each bone for spitefulness. Because, I don’t know, the way my hips bones keep fucking me over and getting out of alignment, they must be pretty damn spiteful.
But never spiteful to anyone else … which was what I was getting at, before I, in true Blogmonster fashion, went off on a random tangent.
No grab for sympathy, or anything.
… Now I’m paranoid that I’m annoying you all.
What kind of therapists are you anyways? Stop looking at your watches, I still have five minutes left!
I’m also worried I’m turning into one of those people who always talk about their cat …
And refer to themselves in third person using their blog moniker.
But I guess, we’ll just have to leave that for another time.