Dr. Hapgood, your cruise director (hapgood) wrote,
Dr. Hapgood, your cruise director
hapgood

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omt: magically delicious

I love reading Augusten Burroughs; by sharing in some of the bad traits of a best selling novelist, I feel like less of a monster. Of course, he has the whole "I was sent to live with my mother's psychiatrist in a cult-like environment and then became a raging alcoholic" excuse to explain his TV worship, viciousness, lack of domestic prowess, and level of self interest. My upbringing wasn't as interesting by a third, so I don't know how I ended up this way.

I just finished Magical Thinking, and part of me is pissed. He's fallen in love, and is in a healthy relationship. In fact, he was in this relationship while writing Running With Scissors. He's abandoned me on the island of the (barely) functional mentally ill, and has made a new home in Domestic Bliss, population lots. I could accept this, if it didn't involve finding the perfect man.

I know that I'm not the relationship type. I've known this since my Sophomore year of high school, when Nanje Osbourne described how her bed had a perfect indentation of her body in it. Nanje Osbourne- the perfect half of a perfect relationship, already making room in her bed for the perfect partner. I, who require several pillows, toss and turn like I'm sleeping in the dice dome of the Trouble game being played by a group of kids with ADHD, am not relationship material. It would be nice to have someone to send to the grocery store, but they would probably want to watch reality tv or NBC soaps on my television, and I just can't have that in my life.

No offense to people like my father who have to be in a relationship to feel validated, but it is my greatest fear that I'll end up like you. I'd like to imagine that prince charming is coming, a man who would interest me, help me become a deeper person, put up with my occasional habit of bullying those around me, and let me have some breathing room, but I just don't have that much faith in humanity, or in men at least.

Until then, I'll muddle through, and try not to hate Mr. Burroughs for finally getting his life together.
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