I only disagree with myself at night
Welcome back of those of you who actually give a shit
Our move went well (not terribly well actually but thats a daytime story) and I am slowly putting things to rights in the new apartment. This is a brief update because like most nights when I feel the urge to livejournal I am conflicted about how to approach things. Lately I have felt the urge to vent my late night melancholy musings but I resist because - well, lets be frank - only a very very few would bother to read them. Generally when I write that sort of thing I do so because I feel it has some importance, that it creates a small window into myself that some of you could look into and see a glimpse of what goes on inside. And then I remember how this has worked against me in the past and left me open to manipulation by those we shall in the most affectionate terms possible call "false friends". Yet I seem to have some sort of primal urge to expose myself and to be vulnerable. For whatever reason it makes me feel alive. So for many nights in the past six months I have sat awake and written an entry, only to delete it just before posting because... I think better of it? But it's never as satisfying for me to write when I know no one will read it as it is to write for even a single individual audience.
I erase and go to bed (or lay awake in bed more frequently) and once morning comes I am infinitely happy that I did not push the post button. I start thinking about how entertaining it is to read some of my friends blogs (see http://mydebacles.blogspot.com/ or http://www.slackerfreedom.net/ for perfect examples) and how depressing it is to read mine. I get grand ideas to refurbish my blog and use it to tell funny if slightly disturbing stories about how crazy life has been. I mean I have 24 years of experience, plus all the bizarre crap my family has done even before I was born - Hell I could write a book, and it would probably sell too.
And then of course the idea takes off and I think - maybe I should write a book. And then I look at all the books I have half or quarter written and realize I just might have a problem with valuing what I write as anything better than garbage. Although - if anyone knows a Children's book editor or publisher I have a very well recieved little number about a bunny rabbit finished and just waiting around to be published. Yeah - That will happen. So again I am conflicted. Although I love the stories and I know they are good I have always doubted my ability to communicate to others and make a significant connection. And this is the phase of the program where all my psychology coursework kicks in and my brain rattles off information about how attachment styles and traumatic life events and getting picked last for the kickball game lead to low self esteem and self doubt (self-sabotage?) later in life.
And then I reach the same place I always do at the conclusion of a livejournal post - contempt.
See if this were any other night I would erase everything I have just written and scrap the whole thing. But what the hell - the polar ice caps are melting and yet somehow the worlds fresh water supply is rapidly depleting, and someday soon Mount Saint Helen is going to explode and cover me in a layer of ash. I guess tonight I'll live a little.
" And instead of wishing that it would get better
Man you're seeing that your just get angrier
And it's good that I'm not angry
I just need to get over
I'm not angry, anymore
Cry when you cry, run when you run
Love when you love
Represent the ashes
That you leave behind
And instead of wishing that the road had shoulder
Man you're seeing that you're sinking over time"
Our move went well (not terribly well actually but thats a daytime story) and I am slowly putting things to rights in the new apartment. This is a brief update because like most nights when I feel the urge to livejournal I am conflicted about how to approach things. Lately I have felt the urge to vent my late night melancholy musings but I resist because - well, lets be frank - only a very very few would bother to read them. Generally when I write that sort of thing I do so because I feel it has some importance, that it creates a small window into myself that some of you could look into and see a glimpse of what goes on inside. And then I remember how this has worked against me in the past and left me open to manipulation by those we shall in the most affectionate terms possible call "false friends". Yet I seem to have some sort of primal urge to expose myself and to be vulnerable. For whatever reason it makes me feel alive. So for many nights in the past six months I have sat awake and written an entry, only to delete it just before posting because... I think better of it? But it's never as satisfying for me to write when I know no one will read it as it is to write for even a single individual audience.
I erase and go to bed (or lay awake in bed more frequently) and once morning comes I am infinitely happy that I did not push the post button. I start thinking about how entertaining it is to read some of my friends blogs (see http://mydebacles.blogspot.com/ or http://www.slackerfreedom.net/ for perfect examples) and how depressing it is to read mine. I get grand ideas to refurbish my blog and use it to tell funny if slightly disturbing stories about how crazy life has been. I mean I have 24 years of experience, plus all the bizarre crap my family has done even before I was born - Hell I could write a book, and it would probably sell too.
And then of course the idea takes off and I think - maybe I should write a book. And then I look at all the books I have half or quarter written and realize I just might have a problem with valuing what I write as anything better than garbage. Although - if anyone knows a Children's book editor or publisher I have a very well recieved little number about a bunny rabbit finished and just waiting around to be published. Yeah - That will happen. So again I am conflicted. Although I love the stories and I know they are good I have always doubted my ability to communicate to others and make a significant connection. And this is the phase of the program where all my psychology coursework kicks in and my brain rattles off information about how attachment styles and traumatic life events and getting picked last for the kickball game lead to low self esteem and self doubt (self-sabotage?) later in life.
And then I reach the same place I always do at the conclusion of a livejournal post - contempt.
See if this were any other night I would erase everything I have just written and scrap the whole thing. But what the hell - the polar ice caps are melting and yet somehow the worlds fresh water supply is rapidly depleting, and someday soon Mount Saint Helen is going to explode and cover me in a layer of ash. I guess tonight I'll live a little.
" And instead of wishing that it would get better
Man you're seeing that your just get angrier
And it's good that I'm not angry
I just need to get over
I'm not angry, anymore
Cry when you cry, run when you run
Love when you love
Represent the ashes
That you leave behind
And instead of wishing that the road had shoulder
Man you're seeing that you're sinking over time"