rachelleneveu | Bah, feelings. Who needs 'em? ;)

Day 1: Introduce yourself.
Day 2: Your parents.
Day 3: What you ate today.
Day 4: Your definition of love.
Day 5: Your day.
Day 6: A moment
Day 7: Your beliefs.
Day 8: What you wore today.
Day 9: Your siblings.
Day 10: What’s in your bag.
Day 11: Your favorite foods/drinks.
Day 12: This week.
Day 13: Your dreams.
Day 14: Your regrets.
Day 15: This month.
Day 16: Your sleeping habits.
Day 17: Something that upsets you.
Day 18: Something that makes you feel better.
Day 19: Something that makes you cry.
Day 20: A first.
Day 21: Your fears.
Day 22: Your favorite place.
Day 23: Something that you miss.
Day 24: Your aspirations.
Day 25: Your music.
Day 26: Your hobbies.
Day 27: Your mode of transportation.
Day 28: Where you live.
Day 29: Your morning routine.
Day 30: Your job and/or schooling.

Day 16: Your sleeping habits.

I don’t.

Thaaaaaat’s not true. But it feels like it, sometimes. I like to consider myself “functionally nocturnal,” because half the time, I’m up until all hours of the night writing and working on homework, and then I have to drag my tired ass out of bed at about 6 AM so I can get to school on time. One of the things I hate about having worked at my pathetic cashiering job for so long is how fucked up it left me, internal clock-wise: I’d be stuck working a 6 to 12 shift, or worse, if I was in Lockport or Niagara Falls I’d get the 6 to 1, and by the time I’d get home, it’s close to one or two in the morning and I’d still have work to do for a class the next day, so I’d wind up staying up to do that instead of doing something healthy, like sleeping. It’s been almost a year since I quit, but I’m still stuck in that mindset; this is one of the few things I’ve taken away from that job, aside from the ability to use a cash register, an addiction to hand sanitizer, and a cute hat a customer bought for me.

Day 17: Something that upsets you.

…My family. I love them, don’t get me wrong, but the majority of them are really just terrible, terrible people. It’s like we’re a bunch of particularly malicious strangers who happen to share a similar genetic coding.

For example: the last time I saw my Uncle S (i.e. a horrendous dinner in July), he cornered me while we were leaving and told me, “You know, Rach, most women grow up to be either pretty or smart. It’s a shame you turned out to be neither,” and then went on his merry way.

*facepalm*

The sad part is that this isn’t the first time he’s said something like this to me, and he’s not the first person in my mother’s side of the family who inferred that I am somehow “less” than they or their children are. When I was eleven, my mother’s brother asked me if I was a lesbian because I didn’t have a boyfriend yet and has continued the joke well into my adulthood. Her sister enjoys keeping up a running commentary on my weight and continual lack of a significant other, as compared to her daughters. My sister is also fond of this game, and so is my grandmother – not too long ago, she told me that my lipstick made me “look like a clown…or a hooker,” to which I am still not sure if she means I look like a “Clown Who Moonlights As A Hooker” or like a “Hooker Who Caters Exclusively To Clowns.” (Please, Grandmama, make a decision between which of the two versions of “clown hooker” you think I am. There is a big difference, and I am confused.)

People can say what they will about my dad’s side – they’re crazy, they’re loud, they’re a bunch of obnoxious circus freaks with a messed-up family tree and a predilection towards heavy drinking – but they have never, never made me feel like I should be ashamed of myself, just because I am not exactly like them.

Day 18: Something that makes you feel better.

Long drives. When I’m frustrated or can’t seem to get my thoughts in order, I go in big circles around the city – from my house to the Airport to Walden, to the city to the boulevard and all the way out to Sanborn and Wilson. I don’t know why doing this always seems to clear my head, but it does.

Day 19: Something that makes you cry.

A lot of things make me cry, but laughing too hard is probably the worst offender on the list. It’s all Harper’s fault, too: she knows all my weak spots! Like how hilarious I find the weird voices she puts on sometimes and the fact that I am ticklish absolutely everywhere. No, really – everywhere.

Also, on a slightly more serious note, that stupid paranoid/worthless feeling that creeps up whenever I least expect it/don’t need it, and pretty much the entire second half of Last Night are more reasonable things that will get tears out of me. And don’t let that incredibly misleading trailer fool you – it is a funny, fantastic movie, but it is sad.