other people's rudeness gets to me far more than i know it should. i'm too fucking susceptible to outside opinions. one nasty comment can negate all the tenuous psuedo-confidence i am attempting (with an embarrassing amount of effort) to hold onto.
laughing things off and letting things go have never been things i am good at. instead i turn inward, punish myself, feel stupid and unhinged and neurotic, the last person to understand the fucking joke, taking up space with my bullshit. sometimes i cannot help but think of my surroundings in terms of how one could be injured or killed by them. and then i get even more uneasy. i wonder why those are the sorts of thoughts i have.
when i was a kid, forty years old seemed ancient. i remember telling my parents that i was going to die on my 40th birthday. i would also have long straight blonde hair and a horse named silver, and drive a purple MG, and live in a house with six-paned windows on a beach with a guy named kevin.
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