Why do I get obsessive? Why can't I just have one of those healthy admirations? Why do I have to listen to the songs over and over and over again, until I have every single lyric drummed into my head, until I have heard the song so many times that if I hear it again I will quite possibly heave my guts up all over the desk, ruining my monitor, my pencil-case, my books and my headless camel that sleeps on top of the monitor. Fuck me, that was a long sentence. And half of it will only make sense to me. And possibly the poor freaks who have had the (mis)fortune to have been into the depths of doom and despair, occasionally known as My Bedroom. But, I digress. I am talking about my excessive obsessiveness. Wow, those two words together are quite fit. I will give you another example of my obsessivity: I have ten separate packs of felt tips, seven or eight packs of coloured pencils, about ninety pens and pencils strewn across the room, and huge multitudes of glitter glue scattered on shelves, in drawers, under desks, and even one - really fit red - pen sticking out the hollow neck part of Humptwo, the oh-so-lovely beheaded camel. I don't know why I keep mentioning the camel - it's been headless for about two weeks. I am not sure how it happened, but it sure was shocking to find that the (headFUL) camel I have had on my desk for nearly two years was suddenly devoid of head. I don't think Emma (who I happened to be on the phone to at the time) ever expected me to shout, in the middle of a serious conversation, "OH MY GOD, MY CAMEL HAS NO HEAD". That was a difficult one to explain.
I would love someone who did not know me to see the wonderful items displayed on my desk. I have, lying next to each other, in a beautifully artist display (read: clumsily disgarded):
- An extremely sharp knife.
- A tissue engulfed in blood.
- A condom.
IN OTHER NEWS:
No, I am not depressed. No, there is nothing wrong with me. No, I am not upset. No, I do not need your endless questioning about my moods. I AM A TEENAGER, I RESERVE THE RIGHT TO ACT LIKE A MOODY BITCH WHEN I FEEL LIKE IT.
Wow, I sound ungrateful. I don't mean that I don't appreciate that you are just trying to be friendly, or help or whatever. But really, if I want to talk about something, if I have a problem that I need/want to share, I will divulge the "secret information" to someone. Otherwise, it's probably just a mood swing, and I wouldn't bother giving me the time of day. Unless I am about to slit my wrists, or neck a bottle full of paracetamol. You may want to ask me what's wrong then. Or not. The choice is yours...
2 comments:
I think the obsessions just come with the teenage girl territory.
Well, I really hope I grow out of it, because it is DAMN annoying. Like, more annoying than something extremely annoying. And that, my friend, is annoying. Sigh.
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