I am ridiculously empathetic in the most wholly ridiculous manner.
When I was a young girl, growing up on a bitter Lancastrian cobbled street with a defaced "No Ball Games Allowed" sign (unnecessary scene setting not pertaining to the actual story), I used to select a teddy to take to bed each night. I obviously had my favourites (fluffy bulldog, baby giraffe, funny strange turtle that I would stuff my nightie into..), yet I was so paranoid of the others feeling jealous and upset that I would steal blankets from my mum's ottoman and wrap them all up nice and cosy. Every. Single. Night. When I open tinned food, I take the lid off completely and push it right down to the bottom of said empty tin - because I have visions of little creatures getting inside the tin, scrounging for scraps, and cutting themselves on a semi-attached sharp lid. I can very naturally make somebody REALLY feel like a SOMEBODY which has led to the strangest dilemma of being the person that people tell their secrets to which is nice yet scary and often causes my medial temporal lobe to throb. In contrast, I am exceptionally emotionally unintelligent, with a tungsten strength heart (strongest metal on earth which once upon a time assisted my win in a family Trivial Pursuit championship). I won't hold a grudge because I truly don't care enough. The rare occasion that I show my feelings is overshadowed by the overwhelming distance that I can put between us by simply deciding not to let you in. And whilst my apparent disinterest is sometimes the exact opposite, you'd never know because I'm a fucking expert in the art of being a cold hearted bitch. Oh, but did I tell you that around a third of my grocery bill is spent on food for other people's children because some parents are arseholes? Discombobulation reigns.
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AuthorThe tornado of roses, with all the chaos and less of the beauty.. Archives
December 2017
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