oh, eljay.
Procrastination-fueled ramblings.
I've never been so confused by myself as I am right now. Mostly, by the sensation of being pulled in so many directions other than those immediately in front of me. Maybe its wanderlust, but I find myself growing increasingly bored with the things I found entertaining in the past and more inclined towards attitudes that I espoused in high school. I want to make things, and I want to talk. I want to read and be read to and fill pages of notebooks with ideas before they're overtaken by other directionless thoughts. I want corners and polaroids of the mind and scraps that accumulate, only to be found, unfolded and appraised later as being of immeasurable value. I want to carry everything around with me in miniature, so that no matter where I am, I can anchor myself.
I've found that I enjoy being able to accommodate others, and that very little is more gratifying than knowing that I'm helpful in a legitimate way, or that I'm able to provide anyone with a sense of peace of mind, if only for a second. Sometimes, it feels like a sick pleasure to derive, but it's satisfying to know that at this point, there is enough of me and my energy to expend on others in a significant capacity. This is a pendulum swing in the opposite direction from how I felt throughout last year. I'm still a questionable character in a lot of respects, but I've reformed myself somewhat, and have been substantially more available to both friends and acquaintances than I have in the past.
But other times, I throw my phone to the ground and yell to be left the fuck alone. I find myself moving simultaneously both to the center and the margins of my relationships. I spent a lot of time observing, when I was younger, and cultivated an ongoing dialogue in my head. I dropped those habits when I found that people would pay attention to me when I had clever things to say, and most of the time when I didn't. I've felt antsy and unsettled in the recent past, when I find myself disengaged in any capacity, and will frequently leave or adopt a passive state. Until now, I had forgotten about the desirability of the position of the observer and the redeeming qualities of watching, listening and absolving oneself of the necessity to say anything at all.
And in the midst of all this, I find myself wanting to walk until I see something that strikes me, or to play with my pastels until I've blended an entirely new color, to write until I've put words to the nameless way my heart feels like it's about to push through my chest, or to stretch and rise and sigh until my limbs no longer feel like they belong to my body.
I've never been so confused by myself as I am right now. Mostly, by the sensation of being pulled in so many directions other than those immediately in front of me. Maybe its wanderlust, but I find myself growing increasingly bored with the things I found entertaining in the past and more inclined towards attitudes that I espoused in high school. I want to make things, and I want to talk. I want to read and be read to and fill pages of notebooks with ideas before they're overtaken by other directionless thoughts. I want corners and polaroids of the mind and scraps that accumulate, only to be found, unfolded and appraised later as being of immeasurable value. I want to carry everything around with me in miniature, so that no matter where I am, I can anchor myself.
I've found that I enjoy being able to accommodate others, and that very little is more gratifying than knowing that I'm helpful in a legitimate way, or that I'm able to provide anyone with a sense of peace of mind, if only for a second. Sometimes, it feels like a sick pleasure to derive, but it's satisfying to know that at this point, there is enough of me and my energy to expend on others in a significant capacity. This is a pendulum swing in the opposite direction from how I felt throughout last year. I'm still a questionable character in a lot of respects, but I've reformed myself somewhat, and have been substantially more available to both friends and acquaintances than I have in the past.
But other times, I throw my phone to the ground and yell to be left the fuck alone. I find myself moving simultaneously both to the center and the margins of my relationships. I spent a lot of time observing, when I was younger, and cultivated an ongoing dialogue in my head. I dropped those habits when I found that people would pay attention to me when I had clever things to say, and most of the time when I didn't. I've felt antsy and unsettled in the recent past, when I find myself disengaged in any capacity, and will frequently leave or adopt a passive state. Until now, I had forgotten about the desirability of the position of the observer and the redeeming qualities of watching, listening and absolving oneself of the necessity to say anything at all.
And in the midst of all this, I find myself wanting to walk until I see something that strikes me, or to play with my pastels until I've blended an entirely new color, to write until I've put words to the nameless way my heart feels like it's about to push through my chest, or to stretch and rise and sigh until my limbs no longer feel like they belong to my body.