We tend to fall prey to self-sympathy. Over loathing mistakes that we have made and exaggerating the consequences it has brought upon us. I'm a regular prey. I have given up denying my superb ability to repeatedly commit the same errors over and over again. Whats worst is that every time i fall flat on my nose, i cry harder then the last time.
The simple rationalization behind this not so rational act of mine is that i simply refuse to grow up. Anyone who knows me well (very few people) would understand that i have a somewhat abnormal upbringing. I didn't have your socially defined "normal" family tree. My grandparents raised me in my parents' absence. My grandpa was my everything. I can live without my five senses but not without him (until he died and left me broken and empty).
So anyway, my point is that i was never taught to grow up. I didn't have "normal" parents telling me to stand up when i fall or clean up the mess when I'm done destroying the furniture. Do not get me wrong, my grandparents taught me alot of wonderful stuff, stuff that contribute to all the good things that i have done so far but along the way they missed out on chapter 3: Growing Up and Cleaning Your Own Shit. Mistakes i made in the past were fixed by my grandparents, all i had to do was cry. You can say i was spoilt rotten. I grew up thinking crying would freeze everyone in their socks and jump in a panic stricken frenzy and solve my problems for me asap. It didn't work for me at all. When my grandpa died, my grandma sort of released me from her "protection". I secretly suspect she didn't really like me all along. I don't blame her cause i was my grandpa's centre of attention and i didn't include her in our little world of fun.
Now that im 20 and he's gone and never coming back, I'm left with my own shit to fix. I honestly don't need help cleaning up my mess but sometimes it's nice to have someone to sing with while cleaning up. Someone to sit somewhere close enough for me to sing with like in Barney and Friends where they sing along together and clean up after messing up the tree house. That someone doesn't have to lift a finger, just sit there and sing with me. It would make my shit clear up faster and easier. I'm not a social butterfly and i cant help but prefer to sit at home with a good book. Sadly for me, books cant sing. My parents can never understand me cause we stopped talking the same language the day i was born. Kimmy is sweet but i doubt he likes singing with me and I'm not going to go bother him anymore.
So here i am, still trimming the rough edges of my problems. If I'm fortunate I'll eventually find someone to sing with. Someone who sincerely wants to sing with me and enjoys doing so. It's not a full-time permanent job, just freelance singing. Only passionate individuals needed.
