These are my demands:
- I want to be encouraged, not tolerated.
- I want mutual excitement, not feigned interest and bemused indulgence.
- I want to see the future as full of possibilities; a blank canvas waiting for life and love – not something to be merely endured until the end.
- I want partners in crime, not whispered reassurances that I probably won’t embarrass you in front of others.
- I want my feelings to be acknowledged, not scoffed at.
- I want to be comforted, not told I’m overreacting.
- I want to use my talents freely, not be given busy work because you’re afraid I’ll blindly offend for the fun of it.
- I want to be surrounded by people who love me as I am, not people who make excuses for my presence.
- I don’t EVER want to feel like trash again.
- An omelette might be nice; I’m hungry.
It was one of those weekends that had *everything* – new experiences, good times, a party, mosquito bites, serious sausage, too much hot sauce, too many tacos to count, BBQ’d meats, pigeon poop .. and a bunch of other stuff that was significantly less awesome. A flash migraine hit me on Saturday around noon as I was legoing up some John Hughes; it incapacitated me for most of the afternoon and I rather thought I was going to die. I recovered enough to go to a birthday/engagement party BBQ in Kits, which was lovely and featured two pounds of mousse in a cake. I ran errands all day Sunday in between fits of teary outrage, got pooped on by a pigeon on Granville Island, and had a delightful dinner of samosas and salad. A regular summer weekend in Vancouver; one that was long overdue and much needed (except for the bad parts).
I am in for a fairly crazy week with a long weekend to look forward to. I also just realized that I am officially booked for every weekend between now and mid-September, but I’m okay with this. Being busy keeps me out of trouble, or something.
But still angry. So very, very hurt and angry.