So, this weekend, I'm going on another Model UN trip - my last one, as it so happens.
And my mother presented me with a rather interesting ultimatum:
"I will not give you any money at all unless you cut your hair today."
She seemed rather serious, too, despite the fa-authority both she and my father (who is totally against the idea of me cutting my hair, by the way, but who really has no say over my mother in this parental decision) have over me.
Suffice it to say, it looks like I am going to starve this weekend.
I'm thinking of making it a spiritual experience. I'll have my own little weekend-long Ramadan, or I'll be like Ghandi, or something.
Or I'll scrap people for cash.
Either/or, still not sure.
I definately have an issue with opening up to people. I was like that throughout all of my childhood, it's one of the main reasons I broke up with my ex, and it is still a problem today. I want to build bridges, yes, and open up to people, and initiate new relationships, and find out how people are doing (truly doing, not that superficial-happy-face-crap that each and every single one of us is prone to putting on), and let them know how I am truly doing. Unfortunately, I seem to have a chronic problem with that last part, and everything else is interconnected with it.
Me wanting to reach out to people is still a relatively new development; a part of me still wants to crawl back inside my old little hermit shell and leave the world to its own problems and leave me to mine. There is a part of me that deeply wants to love again, and there is another part of me that wants all females to fuck themselves. There is a part of me that wants to call up my friend in PennState and let them know how I am and see how they are doing; there is a part of me that wants to respond to that e-mail from that girl who's guestbook I signed with sincerity; there's a part of me that wants to respond to that guy who's figured out that I am, in fact, home; etc. And then there's another part of me that wishes they would all just leave me to myself and to my own peace.
Of course, I blame all of this on other things as well: lack of money, lack of time, lack of things to say, lack of right-place-at-right-time, lack of whatever, which is all true, to a point. To a point. To a point, and only to a point, and I am beginning to fear the motivations and reasons which lie beyond that point, which I know are there, which I can't easily put into words.
Meh. Don't understand what I'm trying to say? Neither do I. But whatever I'm trying to say, I'm sure it'll pass, eventually.