Sunday, July 24, 2005
Sometimes I wish I wasn't quite so destructive, or more precisely, I wish I knew the reasons for my over zealous critical nature. Things that should fly by upset me more than they should, and I find myself terribly irritable and increasingly unable to talk to the ones that I used to hold close. I come up with justifiable reasons for unjustifiable feelings, rational thoughts for irrational misgivings, some would call this my gift. It's a strange act of self-preservation really, in times when people are so easily replaceable and interchangeable, investing yourself is a luxury reserved for the rich. I keep you away because I have learnt to be selfish. Or as Hugh Grant more aptly puts it, "I am an island! I'm bloody Ibiza!". Ironically, it seems that I just might be slowly turning into my mother, and though her strength and resilience is admirable, her stubbornnesss and judgement makes close proximity such a rarity. How fitting this would be if solitude were hereditary.
sherry @ 9:55:00 pm
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