(no subject)
Hello.
Right into the mess, just the way I like it.
In November I took a small, part time job. I know, unbelievable, especially after 7 years. I work with few people, spend my day doing simple tasks and am left amazed by it still. It is overwhelming to devote yourself to other people and have before yourself a seemingly endless number of things to accomplish daily, and by nightfall find you barely scratched the surface of what you needed to do. It leaves a terrible feeling, not to mention the exhaustion from all the seemingly insignificant work that was done, and to add to it, it goes on unappreciated. That is being a domestic slave, that is what I became. Being independent and a creative creature of course it was suffocating. Such ways are death or madness, and not even the good kind.
Work, on the other hand, is filled with simple tasks, made to be accomplished in a set time period, possible things, which are not only praised but also have the reward of payment to do them. I shall miss it, since it is only for a short time longer that I have the opportunity to work at this place. It has left me proud of myself, granted it is extremely simple, and gives no intellectual stimulation, nor creative satisfaction, but I did it. I left the damn house, even if for a short while. I even speak to people.
But that brings me to another, new founded barrier. I have become worse, talking with others. I have constant small panic attacks when confronted with another face, eyes on me. Even people I know. Strangers are practically unbearable. What have I become?
What have I become? I bumped into myself a few days ago. At the request of a dear friend I was making pathetic attempts to take a photograph of a windows view, after a few failed attempts to capture anything even distinguishable I opted for staring out the window. This window had an ugly obstacle of the roof next door, a precious bit of sky, and not so distant tree tops, completely bare of leaves, like dying outstretched fingers. This is where I escaped the domestic, and even my renewed joy of being employed, even if not by any glorious means, and discovered a lost part of myself and the sad creature I am.
After the usual struggles, the disappointments of the world and man, talking to the heavens, and all that hoopla, there I was, unhappy and ashamed of it. What am I doing? Wasting time. Not doing what I could, what I should and blah, blah, blah, hurting like hell for other things I am not even about to divulge.
I know I want happiness. I know I am capable of it. I don't need a pill to achieve it, but what I do need, what I do need might as well be a million miles away. How selfish of me, but I am grateful, I truly am completely grateful. Just not happy. And all our lives go on.
Keep going.
October was my 31 birthday, I thought surely this would be a moment of pleasure, far from the year before, where practically every soul had forgotten me. Of course, I was so wrong, because I was mostly forgotten again. Which is fine, because I decided due to it, that was my last birthday, and I shall be permanantly 31 years of age. I refuse to have another birthday.
I am too needy. Isn't it divine, all the ugly I share? You know me, I save this dirtiness just for you, even still. I am still alone. I need a friend here, more than any friend, someone really close, someone I don't have to explain things to. Who's untouchable now?
So, here I am, my two precious angels amazing me, and exhausting me, cleaning house and such, with my little job, and sculpting dolls, painting, and still moving the furniture about. You know, those things I do. Busy, on the outside, sometimes enough to turn my attention away. Oh, and still, I want a big dog. Have I jumped around enough? It's hard to explain all the little somethings that have gone and went in my life these past months, yet as things are, so much remains the same.
It has been raining a great deal. I cannot remember ever seeing so much rain in Winter. It is absolutely lovely, or so I think. And need I say it? But yes, I am glad that year is over.
I have missed you terribly.
Until another year, or something like that.
Love and Light,
Andosia
Right into the mess, just the way I like it.
In November I took a small, part time job. I know, unbelievable, especially after 7 years. I work with few people, spend my day doing simple tasks and am left amazed by it still. It is overwhelming to devote yourself to other people and have before yourself a seemingly endless number of things to accomplish daily, and by nightfall find you barely scratched the surface of what you needed to do. It leaves a terrible feeling, not to mention the exhaustion from all the seemingly insignificant work that was done, and to add to it, it goes on unappreciated. That is being a domestic slave, that is what I became. Being independent and a creative creature of course it was suffocating. Such ways are death or madness, and not even the good kind.
Work, on the other hand, is filled with simple tasks, made to be accomplished in a set time period, possible things, which are not only praised but also have the reward of payment to do them. I shall miss it, since it is only for a short time longer that I have the opportunity to work at this place. It has left me proud of myself, granted it is extremely simple, and gives no intellectual stimulation, nor creative satisfaction, but I did it. I left the damn house, even if for a short while. I even speak to people.
But that brings me to another, new founded barrier. I have become worse, talking with others. I have constant small panic attacks when confronted with another face, eyes on me. Even people I know. Strangers are practically unbearable. What have I become?
What have I become? I bumped into myself a few days ago. At the request of a dear friend I was making pathetic attempts to take a photograph of a windows view, after a few failed attempts to capture anything even distinguishable I opted for staring out the window. This window had an ugly obstacle of the roof next door, a precious bit of sky, and not so distant tree tops, completely bare of leaves, like dying outstretched fingers. This is where I escaped the domestic, and even my renewed joy of being employed, even if not by any glorious means, and discovered a lost part of myself and the sad creature I am.
After the usual struggles, the disappointments of the world and man, talking to the heavens, and all that hoopla, there I was, unhappy and ashamed of it. What am I doing? Wasting time. Not doing what I could, what I should and blah, blah, blah, hurting like hell for other things I am not even about to divulge.
I know I want happiness. I know I am capable of it. I don't need a pill to achieve it, but what I do need, what I do need might as well be a million miles away. How selfish of me, but I am grateful, I truly am completely grateful. Just not happy. And all our lives go on.
Keep going.
October was my 31 birthday, I thought surely this would be a moment of pleasure, far from the year before, where practically every soul had forgotten me. Of course, I was so wrong, because I was mostly forgotten again. Which is fine, because I decided due to it, that was my last birthday, and I shall be permanantly 31 years of age. I refuse to have another birthday.
I am too needy. Isn't it divine, all the ugly I share? You know me, I save this dirtiness just for you, even still. I am still alone. I need a friend here, more than any friend, someone really close, someone I don't have to explain things to. Who's untouchable now?
So, here I am, my two precious angels amazing me, and exhausting me, cleaning house and such, with my little job, and sculpting dolls, painting, and still moving the furniture about. You know, those things I do. Busy, on the outside, sometimes enough to turn my attention away. Oh, and still, I want a big dog. Have I jumped around enough? It's hard to explain all the little somethings that have gone and went in my life these past months, yet as things are, so much remains the same.
It has been raining a great deal. I cannot remember ever seeing so much rain in Winter. It is absolutely lovely, or so I think. And need I say it? But yes, I am glad that year is over.
I have missed you terribly.
Until another year, or something like that.
Love and Light,
Andosia