where's north from here?
I'm at the end of my rope. I'm argumentative, pissy, frustrated, frustrating, moody. Is this what it's like to quit smoking, or is this what it's like to have so many sundry friends who don't really mesh?
I haven't been picking fights... I'm not that kind of person. I have never been. But I've been getting into little tiffs multiple times a day. With everyone. So, I guess it's me? And, I hope I can write it off as nicotine withdrawal. Actually, I don't even care if I can.
I don't want to feel so solitary. I don't want to vent my frustrations and then have the recipient nod and change the subject, either due to their own narcissism, or the fact that they're just not comfortable giving comfort or advice.
Lately I've felt so gigantically alone amongst my friends. If you'll (who is "you," anyway?) allow me to lapse into literary reference: For the last few weeks I've felt like a combination of Jay Gatsby and Nick Carraway. I'm the far-removed host, aloof with my eyes on the green light across the bay, but also the confidant, the absorber, the recorder. But both of these roles are passive. I've become a prisoner to my own social life.
So I guess what I'm saying is, help me make my escape. Get me away from the bickering and the glaring and the drinks. So many drinks. I need some new spheres... Awkward ones, even, if only to make me appreciate how good I/Jay/Nick may actually have it. Lemur's a start.
I'm not happy with anything I just typed.
I haven't been picking fights... I'm not that kind of person. I have never been. But I've been getting into little tiffs multiple times a day. With everyone. So, I guess it's me? And, I hope I can write it off as nicotine withdrawal. Actually, I don't even care if I can.
I don't want to feel so solitary. I don't want to vent my frustrations and then have the recipient nod and change the subject, either due to their own narcissism, or the fact that they're just not comfortable giving comfort or advice.
Lately I've felt so gigantically alone amongst my friends. If you'll (who is "you," anyway?) allow me to lapse into literary reference: For the last few weeks I've felt like a combination of Jay Gatsby and Nick Carraway. I'm the far-removed host, aloof with my eyes on the green light across the bay, but also the confidant, the absorber, the recorder. But both of these roles are passive. I've become a prisoner to my own social life.
So I guess what I'm saying is, help me make my escape. Get me away from the bickering and the glaring and the drinks. So many drinks. I need some new spheres... Awkward ones, even, if only to make me appreciate how good I/Jay/Nick may actually have it. Lemur's a start.
I'm not happy with anything I just typed.