I become alarmingly emotionally attached to stuff, and honestly begin to feel like we have an interactive, two-sided, mutually-beneficial relationship.
It generally starts with them somehow doing something for me: the item improves my life in some way, and I feel that this was a personal gesture of goodwill on the part of said item.
Example: Peanut butter tastes delicious. Peanut butter is filling and satisfying. On toast, it is my pre-and-post-workout fuel of choice. It is a nutritional BOMB (in a good way. Some would beg to differ, I'm sure). Peanut butter makes me really happy.
In my head: Peanut butter is delicious, filling, satisfying and nutritious for my benefit and mine alone. It has committed itself to making me happy. To repay it for this kindness, I must always treat it with respect (bordering on reverence). This will allow our harmonious relationship to continue into the future.
Problem arises: Something negative PB-related happens (I stain my new shirt with a baby-shit-looking smear of peanut butter; I scoff my toast too fast and end up with a piece of peanut lodged in my sinus/nasal cavity all day; I get indigestion from consuming too many spoonfuls of PB straight up at 2am...). Due to my 'special relationship' with the peanut butter, I find it hard to believe that this stuff 'just happens'. I take it personally. I feel vulnerable and betrayed. I don't know how to deal with it at all.
I understand that this is illogical and stupid. But it bothers me. It's as though the few things I can absolutely, 100%, ALWAYS depend on have let me down. I'm sure there is great potential for some kind of psychoanalysis here... probably about a deep-seated fear that my mother will abandon me or that my father will reject my sexual advances or something.
So, this leads me to the latest BETRAYAL BY AN INANIMATE OBJECT...
We are so happyyyyyyy togetherrrrrrr (I apologise for the fact that this photo is bordering on inappropriate. I never wear more than the absolute minimum of pants when I am home)
One of my other favourite things is the foam roller Boyus Angfriend gave me after my marathon last year. It is a CHAMP. It massages my tight, aching muscles deeper and more effectively than I can by hand. It also allows me endless opportunities to roll around on the floor like a fool.
This is my 'hurts so gooooood' face. For the record, contrary to popular belief, it is NOT the same as my sex face. Thank you.
So, last night, I was destroying some nasty little niggly crackles in my neck when I got a chunk of my hair (at that painful, sensitive point, right at the nape of your neck) wedged under the roller. The more I tried to roll off it, the tighter it got wound underneath. Until RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP. Large hunk o hair, complete with roots and some nice little specks of blood, came tearing out of my scalp. No pictures of this, sorry.
I sat on the floor and cried. Not so much out of pain, but out of hurt feelings.
As I sat there blubbering, my head was reeling with the following thoughts: I love my foam roller! Why would it do this to me!? I was using it for its intended purpose. I was giving it a reason for being! I was doing something good for my body! I was being productive! It has never let me down before! It has always been so NICE to me! Why would this happen?! What did I do?! Do I have a right to be angry? Is this my fault?!??!
I felt bitter and sad. I put the roller in the corner of my living room and refused to acknowledge it. I didn't finish my stretching/rolling session. I was too angry and hurt. I went to bed in a horrible mood and couldn't sleep properly because my pillow rubbed the raw, naked bit of my bloody scalp.
I got up this morning and saw it sitting there. I think I sense remorse, but it's too early to completely forgive and forget.
I am not without hope. I know myself well enough to know that I am a big mushy softie. I will eventually give in, and our friendship will be restored. Trust will be rebuilt. New, better memories will be made.
The reason I have such faith in this? Because lordy, lordy me, it is 1:27pm the day after the peanut-in-the-sinus incident, and I am about to make a ginormous batch of peanut butter French toast. The dream lives!
Happy Saturday!
I sat on the floor and cried. Not so much out of pain, but out of hurt feelings.
As I sat there blubbering, my head was reeling with the following thoughts: I love my foam roller! Why would it do this to me!? I was using it for its intended purpose. I was giving it a reason for being! I was doing something good for my body! I was being productive! It has never let me down before! It has always been so NICE to me! Why would this happen?! What did I do?! Do I have a right to be angry? Is this my fault?!??!
I felt bitter and sad. I put the roller in the corner of my living room and refused to acknowledge it. I didn't finish my stretching/rolling session. I was too angry and hurt. I went to bed in a horrible mood and couldn't sleep properly because my pillow rubbed the raw, naked bit of my bloody scalp.
I got up this morning and saw it sitting there. I think I sense remorse, but it's too early to completely forgive and forget.
I am not without hope. I know myself well enough to know that I am a big mushy softie. I will eventually give in, and our friendship will be restored. Trust will be rebuilt. New, better memories will be made.
The reason I have such faith in this? Because lordy, lordy me, it is 1:27pm the day after the peanut-in-the-sinus incident, and I am about to make a ginormous batch of peanut butter French toast. The dream lives!
Happy Saturday!
