I had to share these adorable little magnetic bookmarks I received through the post the other day, made by CraftedVan.
They are joyous & sweet. Though I do always have to ensure that Carl & Ellie are together, the idea of them being placed in separate stories actually breaks my heart. Damn you, DisneyPixar!
Yesterday, I made a mistake. Well, correction – one of my non-singular mistakes of the day had an impact on me, more than the usual self-loathing “why can I never do anything right” whine. So my mistake, the particular mistake in question, caused a mild inconvenience for someone I had never met until that moment. When this was explained to them, they proceeded to make continuous judgements of my personality, based on that one mistake. Pretty insulting comments, one after the other, one of them being that I “seem the type who never stands up for themself”. Cue my role in this scenario, to take everything they were saying and not stand up for myself. To most recipients of such judgements I imagine it would feel like a base annoyance, something to brush off easily with a simple thought: “Well, you’re wrong.” But I couldn’t defend myself, as I felt that everything they were saying felt exactly right. Not ‘right’, in the sense that, everything was as it should be, but right in that, I agreed with what they were saying, and couldn’t help but think of the consequences. I don’t know if I can ever change. I stopped speaking after a while and found myself just nodding. They looked at me and didn’t take my quietness as a sign to back off, but to continue. What I wanted to say, not that it would have had any effect, was this – I don’t need anyone else telling me that I am worthless. I tell myself this, every single day. How about we dismiss it with – ‘Bad day’, Rosie? Time of the month? Having a childish fit? I may be everything you have listed off, but at the very least, I do not verbally attack people within 30 seconds of meeting them, when they have not intentionally caused hurt. It was tactless, and I felt like the smallest being in the world. When I got home I cried and scratched the living hell out of my legs, because that is the childish way I deal with such (insignificant, but not to me) moments. I don’t know what they hoped to achieve in saying these things to me, but they hurt. For a quivering, monumentally stupid wreck of anxiety like myself, it was not what I needed to hear, at all. So the way I am dealing with it, the passive-aggressive, weak, QUIET, worthless way I am dealing with it, is to write this in my blog. Wonderfully productive. So if you ever immediately spot weaknesses in someone you have just met, even those that will have no effect on you whatsoever, please consider the consequences of reciting their problems to them. Most likely, they will have already realised these issues, and may just be battling them every single day.
I’ve been feeling pretty out of sorts the past few days and had to cancel most of my plans, so now I feel very lonely and in pathetic need of a hug.
So to substitute human companionship, I am currently reading the Maze Runner series (Death Cure at present) and about to start Parrot & Olivier in America. Reviews coming soon-ish. How specific.
This is my little space that I would like to share. I’ve set myself some challenges for this year and hope Flagons of Ink will be the “You Snap the Whip” form of discipline that will keep me motivated to reach completion. Anticipate mainly: Chaotic spillages of the nonsense that circulates in my head, prolific fangirling over films/books I consume over the year, the odd photograph & lustful plans for slow cooker feasts. It has been several years since I left university, and here I have re-assumed The Writing Position. Cross-legged on my bedroom floor, sitting atop my most large and most purple Ravens hoody, mug of tea precariously set near my laptop, guarded by a fortress of books, as I slowly curve my spine into oblivion.