a short tangentrine.
I have just reminded myself to visit here and ramble again. Ho hum, what to say now that I'm on the spot. Well, people have been asking me how I've been and I've realized that I've had a pretty awesome year. No too horrible bouts of depression, just the usual PMDD related symptoms. Sometimes I fear I'm getting boring, but I know that what's in my imagination is brighter than ever. I'm not running as hot. I learned to temper the fire of obsession and channel it into something more functional. Sweet vagaries.
It feels strange to directly speak of certain internal processes. I used to sometimes hear the sentiment expressed that it cheapens it somehow, but that's not it for me. It is hard to expose those vulnerable spots to people who might find it stupid. But now that I've grown up some, I don't particularly worry about the opinions of people who would find my innermost sacred thoughts stupid. Sometimes it is difficult to share because of all the emotion it brings up. I find myself not wanting to break down in tears every time I talk about my deep connection to music or my appreciation for the human spirit.
As it is, I sometimes start crying at work because of those things and it usually ends up alienating customers somehow. People aren't used to tears and don't know how to deal with a person who is crying for seemingly no good reason. Sometimes when I'm recommending a book, I tell people that it made me cry and they act like that's a horrible thing and I have to say...no, in a good way, a catharsis. But still. A lot of people will not buy a book if I tell them it made me cry. I like books that make me cry because I identify with the humanity within, the unfolding, the illuminating, the struggling. I don't like books that project a grim reality with no hope of change. A lot of my coworkers seem to like books like that and I don't really understand why. I want things that will help me feel better about the world around me and the people I find myself amongst. Otherwise I will just feel terrible and paranoid all the time.
It feels strange to directly speak of certain internal processes. I used to sometimes hear the sentiment expressed that it cheapens it somehow, but that's not it for me. It is hard to expose those vulnerable spots to people who might find it stupid. But now that I've grown up some, I don't particularly worry about the opinions of people who would find my innermost sacred thoughts stupid. Sometimes it is difficult to share because of all the emotion it brings up. I find myself not wanting to break down in tears every time I talk about my deep connection to music or my appreciation for the human spirit.
As it is, I sometimes start crying at work because of those things and it usually ends up alienating customers somehow. People aren't used to tears and don't know how to deal with a person who is crying for seemingly no good reason. Sometimes when I'm recommending a book, I tell people that it made me cry and they act like that's a horrible thing and I have to say...no, in a good way, a catharsis. But still. A lot of people will not buy a book if I tell them it made me cry. I like books that make me cry because I identify with the humanity within, the unfolding, the illuminating, the struggling. I don't like books that project a grim reality with no hope of change. A lot of my coworkers seem to like books like that and I don't really understand why. I want things that will help me feel better about the world around me and the people I find myself amongst. Otherwise I will just feel terrible and paranoid all the time.