and from the ashes shall arise a new order
I haven't had a good introspective analysis for a while.
Despite the good times and social/emotional recovery lately, sometimes I can't help but feel a little hollow. It's not the kind of thing I like dwelling on (anymore), but the loneliness still gets to me - usually late at night when I can't sleep. I get caught up in the woulda-coulda-shouldas and feel bad when there's not a door I can knock on for a hug and some comforting words (or at least a "nothing's wrong, you goof - go back to sleep"). Hell, it even gets into my dreams at times.
Yeah, yeah, I know I can't change it. Tricky things, emotions. But at least I've made the first steps towards a new life. A life that doesn't hinge on whether or not I have a girlfriend (because let's face it - at this point, who'd want me?), or whether I live alone or with my dad - or where. Or what I do for a living.
The last time I've been this angry at someone, it ended with a head pushed over a computer case and a string of nasty e-mails I didn't really mean (but sent anyway to act like I was being tough and strong and independent by taking a stand). But this anger isn't directed at the outside. Wintermute told Case that he's gotta hate someone before this is all over. Who do I hate? Well...who do I love? Everyone but me, it seems. Narrows down the list considerably.
This must change. The guilt, the shame, the brooding, the insomnia, the depression. It stops. Ever know someone who gets so angry he starts cleaning house after an argument? That's me, and with nothing left to clean in this house, I may as well go to work on cleaning up my act. May as well take all these bullshit negatives and redirect them towards something useful anyway. I may not be riding the Kuang on pure self-loathing, but anger at how much I've let things slip will do the trick just fine - at least until I've whipped myself into "lovable" shape.
To quote in true geek fashion: this is MY story. No matter how many characters and co-authors come and go throughout its pages, it will still be mine and no one else's. Call me Ishmael, call me crazy or call me collect; a new chapter's starting.
Turn the page.
Despite the good times and social/emotional recovery lately, sometimes I can't help but feel a little hollow. It's not the kind of thing I like dwelling on (anymore), but the loneliness still gets to me - usually late at night when I can't sleep. I get caught up in the woulda-coulda-shouldas and feel bad when there's not a door I can knock on for a hug and some comforting words (or at least a "nothing's wrong, you goof - go back to sleep"). Hell, it even gets into my dreams at times.
Yeah, yeah, I know I can't change it. Tricky things, emotions. But at least I've made the first steps towards a new life. A life that doesn't hinge on whether or not I have a girlfriend (because let's face it - at this point, who'd want me?), or whether I live alone or with my dad - or where. Or what I do for a living.
The last time I've been this angry at someone, it ended with a head pushed over a computer case and a string of nasty e-mails I didn't really mean (but sent anyway to act like I was being tough and strong and independent by taking a stand). But this anger isn't directed at the outside. Wintermute told Case that he's gotta hate someone before this is all over. Who do I hate? Well...who do I love? Everyone but me, it seems. Narrows down the list considerably.
This must change. The guilt, the shame, the brooding, the insomnia, the depression. It stops. Ever know someone who gets so angry he starts cleaning house after an argument? That's me, and with nothing left to clean in this house, I may as well go to work on cleaning up my act. May as well take all these bullshit negatives and redirect them towards something useful anyway. I may not be riding the Kuang on pure self-loathing, but anger at how much I've let things slip will do the trick just fine - at least until I've whipped myself into "lovable" shape.
To quote in true geek fashion: this is MY story. No matter how many characters and co-authors come and go throughout its pages, it will still be mine and no one else's. Call me Ishmael, call me crazy or call me collect; a new chapter's starting.
Turn the page.