She's not breathing back

I didn't get a chance to write about it on Wednesday, but Thomas and I celebrated our one year anniversary on the 11th. We went out to dinner then went back home. It was pleasant. I had fun.

But throughout the entire day I had this uncomfortable, restless feeling. I couldn't (and still struggle to) articulate it properly, and I absolutely didn't mention it to Tom. Thinking more about it, I suppose I just didn't really know what I was supposed to feel. My last boyfriend didn't particularly give a shit about ours (though you could argue that there wasn't much he did) and the relationship before that didn't last six months. It's not that I'm being bitter or cynical -- I just don't really know how I should be feeling. Do I mimic other young couples, reveling in conceit over monthly landmarks? Do I downplay the event, pointing out its insignificance in the long run? Why celebrate a year when you intend to spend the rest of your life with someone?
Does that then mean that you should never celebrate any landmarks? Is it possible to celebrate every day and not risk overly cheesy sentimentality?

I guess I forgot how to be a girlfriend.

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Dry fingertips

New keyboard. Wireless—I like it. I suppose I could get around to some web design now, but I don't feel like sitting for very long. The apartment could definitely use a good cleaning, I guess. I could do that? Just a little restless today. Or maybe a lot of restless. I don't know.

Started doing morning pages again. It's nice. I missed it.

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Smooth

So apparently keyboards aren't fond of being spilled on. Huh.

this sweetness will not be concerned with me

So after the untimely death of my previous website, chel.lunatic.nu, I decided the years of telling myself I'd get my own domain and host were finally worth something. In the interest of sustainability, I opted for an eco-friendly provider (Captain Planet would be proud) -- GreenGeeks. I didn't get a chance to backup the most recent files off lunatic, but I had most of them saved on my laptop, so after a little CPR my personal website is back up. I'm still in the process of updating stuff and way behind on designing the layout, but it's functional! Hooray!

It took me a while to come up with a domain name, since it's just a personal website and my options are theoretically limitless, but I settled on thissweetness.net. We'll see if I get tired of it in three years. If my adoration of the Jimmy Eat World song is any indication, I should be in love with it for at least a decade.

Deterioration

Broke down to tears again last night. Rather than be comforted I had a shoulder to cry on, all I felt was shame -- I don't want anyone to see me like this. It's not that I am ungrateful, of course. I've just been raised by people who value other people's opinions to the point where they compromise those of their family. And yet I can't place the blame fully on them -- much of this is directly from me.

The History Channel has this special series that covers the historical origins of the 7 Deadly Sins. I started watching them on OnDemand, and they're pretty interesting. The one on Sloth, however, hit a little too close to home. People always seem to think Sloth is a more minor sin in comparison to the other six. And it makes sense, right? Not like you're hurting people. But apparently it's the one of the worst. I know Dante put the slothful in the same river as the wrathful:

"...That others lie plunged deep in this vile broth,
Whose sighs–see there, wherever one may look-
Come bubbling up to the top and make it froth.

Bogged there they say: ‘Sullen were we–we took
No joy of the pleasant air, no joy of the good
Sun; our hearts smoldered with a sulky smoke;

Sullen we lie here now in the black mud.’"


That is to say that sloth, sullenness, depression are just another form of wrath -- only directed inward. Yeah, that sounds about right.

They go on to define sloth further... initially it was two different sins: acedia and tristitia. Essentially apathy, listlessness, melancholy, hopelessness, etc. It was a pretty long list and description, and each increased the amount of saliva I swallowed as I stared at the floor.

These "sinners" were cast out, punished, shamed. Countless attempts to "cure" the sorrowful were an expensive waste at best, and a painful end at worst. Now we know better, but the stigma is still there. I can still remember my family's faces when I was at my lowest point. I see them sometimes when everything is fine and good. It's like those expressions of disgust contorted their faces in a way that I can never see what used to be.

But I'm just rambling at this point, pitying myself for no real reason.

Get yourself together, damn it.