S33: S32 Continued

I gave myself a black eye last week.

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The top acting performance I missed in 2017:

1. Kesha in A Ghost Story, which I saw but completely missed her cameo, and only heard about it when Megan saw it too.

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Just fucking wailed on myself. Not the first time, probably not the last time. But the first time it left a mark. I felt it immediately. A big bump. I thought I would get a concussion or that I displaced something. I was glad, I was fucking psyched, hell yeah it’s about time it looks outside like it feels inside nice nice nice yes yes yes.

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I had an extensive interview at a local hospital on Wednesday. It was for a research coordinator position. I’m bad at interviewing because I’m bad at talking but I felt like this went well. One of the tasks described to me was interacting with doctors and other researchers at the hospital, otherwise known (apparently) as “interfacing.” The first time my interviewer said this I didn’t think anything of it, the second time it was a bit weird. Then in the second half of my interview I spoke with another doctor, and she also used the word as a replacement for “talking.” So I guess from now on I am referring to my stutter as an interface malfunction.

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It quickly turned to regret and dread. Especially when I remembered I was seeing my parents two days later. See them I did, and they asked about it. My grandmother made a joke about domestic abuse, and my parents worried, silently and vocally. It’s fair to be worried. I’m worried. Fuck fuck fuck no no no.

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A few months ago Megan and I signed up for an event that gave us coupons for a bunch of free coffee across the state for the entire month of August. August has come and because I have a solid grasp on neither money nor time, it’s basically like we got these coupons for free. We have made a concerted effort to get at least one iced coffee a day. It’s a great way to explore other towns and neighborhoods (apparently a lot of Providence and Cranston are extremely Italian!). It’s also a good way to, uh, support local business by buying six dollars worth of pastries every day along with the coffees.

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I have had to wear makeup most days since hurting myself. A job interview, a weekend with my parents, meeting a friend — all in makeup with a bit of a discoloration under my eye. Maybe it’s a weird bag under one of his eyes; maybe it’s store brand color correction. Not exactly the way I wanted to break into the makeup game, but I guess that’s what I get for having no FUCKING emotional competency.

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We dog-sat this weekend for a pitbull named Ruby. It instantly gave Rozwell more street cred. A lot of times he is made fun of during walks (“hey, watch out, here comes trouble”), but with a guard by his side he strode right through trouble.

Rozwell has always had an extraordinary amount of character, but with Ruby by his side he was hilarious. After maybe an hour of contentious growling and a territorial pee, they got along famously.

I am using that word ironically, because “famously” is a horrible way to describe the way two people get along. “Getting along famously” should mean two celebrities hanging out. Does a tabloid have a series called “Getting Along Famously” that’s just pictures of two celebs you wouldn’t expect to be hanging out? If not, I call dibs on that column.

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I learned that turning a B into an A is the most important thing. I never learned how to deal with my emotions.

I learned that if Dad wants to talk, I’m in trouble. I never learned how to talk to people about my feelings.

I learned to be honest to my parents about mistakes I made. I never learned to be honest with myself.

I never learned to love myself.

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Last week I talked about how orchestral concerts aren’t for me. I went to one this past weekend and I stand by it, because a Dr. Pepper at Tanglewood costs $4.50. On the bright side I did manage to read my book and do some homework, because an afternoon lawn concert is a great way to be productive.

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I made a therapy appointment the morning after I gave myself the black eye, and had the appointment a week later. For the first time in my life I did not lie during therapy. I answered every question honestly even when I hated the answer or was afraid of what the answer would mean for me. That feels like progress. There is progress. I am progressing.

I still have a black eye.

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