I'm not obsessed

I want to say that the reason I haven't been posting lately is due to the fact that I live an extremely hectic life. But truth be known I haven't been posting because I drink.

At an rate, in my ongoing quest to lead the most superficial existence known to humankind, I've been running myself ragged juggling all sorts of insipid activities. These include, thinking about having sex with cute boys, trying to convince cute boys to have sex with me despite having zero game, partaking in high-brow academic discussions and then drifting off into fantasies about having sex with cute boys, and playing footie. Surely, I shall burn in hell.

I really don't know how I came to this. And frankly I'm not sure if my current existence is some sort of gift from the universe or some kind of reprimand for being so pathetically vain. But as things have been going, I wake up every morning incredibly anxious only to go to bed incredibly tired. A state, I've decided, that can only be rectified by having sex with cute boys. But that merely exacerbates the problem, since, as I've come to realize, I want all the things that I simply can't have. So you see, its a terribly vicious cycle, albeit full of interesting introspection, to which sex is clearly not the answer.

Which is why to my astonishment when we picked up Freud in class the other day, I was mortified to find that I have both oral and anal fixations, am a total neurotic (duh) and engage in cathexis, which broadly put is the act of investing libidinal energy into an object, person or idea, on an alarmingly consistent basis. Mom would be proud.

And yes, I know that I am not original. In fact, Freud would say that every human enters into these psychical processes precisely because they are intrinsic to the human psyche. However, I like to believe that in some way my psychical plight is much more complex and interesting then it really is. Surprise, surprise.

At any rate, I should preempt my rant by stating that I love psycho-analysis and therapy more generally. I love the idea that the mind might perform repeating patterns which serve to (in a very backass kind of way, might I add) subdue the effects emotional traumas developed along the road. And consequently, patterns of which we all have a plethora of, and, act out in our daily lives with or without cognizance.

I am well acquainted with my mental boo-boos. Which is why I am constantly needing to tell myself to "get it together". Mine typically revolve around my family, specifically my absentee father and years upon years of emotional blackmail. It enacts itself by serving me up a plate of disctractions, whilst simultaneously provoking me to loathe males in a way that goes beyond a simple eye-roll. And yet lately, I've all but had to invoke the power of jesus to disentangle a web boys that I may or may not have been terrorizing via text message. And one of which, god love him, is the object of my cathexis. Morbid fantasies included.

Again, I get it, this is normal. And thankfully so.