Sunday, Bloody Sunday

So I've had a pretty frustrating weekend/week/month. I'm not feeling so perky. In the interests of wanting to know if it works - is anyone else on the pill Yaz? I'm switching to it next week, because I told my doctor that I pretty much can't stop crying, so she wrote me up a prescription. I had a big read about Yaz when I got home and found out that there's such a thing as Premenstrual dysphoric disorder which - to be fair my doctor didn't seem too interested in going into my mood swings so much, so no I'm not formally diagnosed or anything - but it seems that the symptoms are me everyday. So is anyone else on Yaz, what's your experience, does anyone else have killer crying jags, or is it just me?

My weekend: For Valentines Day, we woke up and it was raining, so we stayed in bed watching Boston Legal for a few hours, which was nice. Then we went up to go on a trek to get some Italian. It turns out that all nice restaurants in the radius of our house do not open until 5pm. So we ate some cheap Indian which just made me long for my new favourite Indian place just up the road. Which was shut. I hate life.
So there was that. Today, once again I lay in bed all day, this time reading. I finished off A Child Called It by David Pelzer, which made me sick and reinforced my idea of becoming a foster parent someday. I get so upset to know that child, spouse, any abuse happens so often, it's happening right now, probably to someone you know. Once again...what the fuck is wrong with the world? And where is Dustin Hoffman with a bouquet of flowers to make me feel better? I'm glad I made that picture my desktop background.

Right now I've just finished reading a short story called The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. I've been wanting to read it for ages and swiped it up on ebay. It was brilliant, creepy and really disturbed me. It's a short tale based on Gilman's own experiences with mental illness in the 1800s - a woman who is stricken with some type of "female hysteria" is taken by her physician husband to a house in the country to let her "absorb some air". She's confined to a room on the top floor with hideous yellow wallpaper. She is told to rest, and unable to indulge in any of her hobbies - writing - and as the days pass she begins to hallucinate watching the wallpaper.
I also watched a great movie along the same lines last night called Bug. A woman and a retired veteran are together in a motel room and they begin to see bugs. The first hour was slow and I wasn't sure where it was going or if the story really mattered but then things started to go awry. It was one of those movies that I haven't been able to stop thinking about since watching.
Another one that I recommend is a film called Funny Games. The original is German or Austrian, but the director remade it himself shot-for-shot in English to get a wider audience. It was powerful and intense and disturbing and all those other words you can think of, and just watch it, okay?

Anyway, here's something I wrote the other day while kind of pissed off. Directed at anonymous.

You're one of those people whose best years were in high school. Consequently you never left in your head.
You still have the same friends and refuse to entertain the possibility of making new ones. You listen to the same music and refuse to listen to anything else, old or new.
Every day is the perfect time to reminisce.
You continue to live exactly the way you did the first time you moved out of home. I know, I did it too. Eating nothing but noodles, ice cream for breakfast and cereal for dinner. Let the bowls pile up cause someone else is bound to clean them. You stay up really late like you're badass for doing it. Watching Rage till the sun comes up and drinking coffee cause there's no one to come and tell you to turn it off. Then you were old enough to drink, so lying on the kitchen floor with a bag of goon became familiar. You still live like your parents are gone for the weekend.
It's always bothered me to see old schoolfriends on facebook who live in the same place and see the same people. You're just like them.
You think you're independent because you've lasted this long. But you've gone nowhere, you've learned nothing and you're the same person you were at 17.