happy new year?
Didn't take this long to get my hearing back from the concert. Though, that would've been completely awesome if it had. I mean, I'm sure I'd need hearing aids and such, but damn...can you imagine that?
I watched Return of the King today, again, for like the 5th time. I also started lifting again this week, so we'll see how long that continues. Though, since I've gotta pay money to go there, I'll probably be there more than if it's free. Something about wasting money I don't have applies here, but oh well....
I'm scatterbrained; It's 4 AM and I have be at work at 9. So many thoughts, so many conflicting emotions. Who knew emotions could be so scary. All of this read, perhaps misinterpretted? Perhaps. Perhaps more clearly put than I could ever verbalize.
I've lost over 20 lbs since I graduated in May. A great deal of my muscle tone has come back. I also have not gotten a haircut since last March. And where so much of me has changed, I fear so much has not.
I fear I am, or have become, a boring person. A museum of knowledge that no one visits, a tomb of information only offered to those who have heard it countless times before. I stutter for new conversation; I lack for new subjects, because I am not sure of the audience's reception to them, and I don't want to sound foolish. After so much time in thought, so much time spent on contemplation, how can one fail so utterly at translating these things into verbal characteristics?
Yet, within my life, one thing remains constant. Love. A bit of the hippy-era slogan, if you will, but this love that exists within my life is astounding. My family's aliegance to me knows no bounds; I have to but merely call even a distant cousin and they will instantly be there to offer guidance and succor in my time of need. My friends, a mere car's drive, will instantly be there to comfort/console/criticize me, all in due course. Yet, how can the emotions that lead to this cause such hesitation, such anxiety?
Love must be fought for. If I have learned nothing else in this lifetime, it is that this emotion, so rare and preceeded by so little else even remotely comparable, deems itself necessary for any amount of self-sacrifice and uncertainty. Indeed, it almost requires a questioning look in its entirety for its own renewal, for that is what keeps love alive.
Romance, it's nearby cousin and sometimes seemingly bastard child, is oft met with my dismay. Though a romantic at heart, I am outdated. Opening doors, pulling out chairs, attempting to make things known without explicity stating them, all of these seem futile at best. For what girl, aside from a passing whimsy, could ever come to fancy these kinds of things in today's modern era, in a time of pro-feminism/ men-are-the-enemy?
And all the while, this melancholy. This unending numbness that only disappears when around certain people. This non-driving yet incredibly aggrivating force which nags for some kind of satiating impulse, and when seemingly satisfied, can only redouble its efforts to distract me and disarm my true course. How unendable, yet how familiar. How can I ever express to someone who makes me feel something, anything, again what that time means to me, and how they help me reconnect with myself, even if I don't remember who that is?
I've lost so much. So much of myself gone. Jaded. Broken. So much self-pity and self-loathing. So much pity and condesenscion from those who would offer counsel. All necessary. The shoulder to cry on while the heart is mending. Time to set these things in the past, and let them die.
I survived. For it's only death if you choose to accept it. A phoneix-fire, perhaps, and a rebirth from ashes. A new Paul for the new year? Mayhaps to think that it indeed could be true. But will the renewed crown bring happiness? Or only despair, sadness, and lonliness, much like the reign of those before? And from where, and if, a queen will appear, will she help to mend these questions and ponderings, only to further them herself at some point?
So much more thinking to be done. So much more that my soul is restless for. A menial job, while set against classes I enjoy, still makes me feel dead in the water. Perhaps that's why I'm never home, never online, never in touch - I yearn to be free and move in any direction. Perhaps you'll help me find something worth more fighting for in the near future.
For now, I stand ready again to face my demons. Perhaps aided by new alliances, perhaps not; only time will tell. But until then, I will continue to pull out chairs, open doors, and do whatever I can to keep myself just that - myself. If it works, then I am rewarded; If it fails, defeated. Regardless, myself I remain, and therein shall I maintain my sanity.
Much poetry will be written, and much has already flowed from my pen at this late hour. Perhaps too much, perhaps not. A later post may clarify and distill these shadows, dwelling now late in this hour. Or only to further mystify the audience.
Until next time, true believers.
I watched Return of the King today, again, for like the 5th time. I also started lifting again this week, so we'll see how long that continues. Though, since I've gotta pay money to go there, I'll probably be there more than if it's free. Something about wasting money I don't have applies here, but oh well....
I'm scatterbrained; It's 4 AM and I have be at work at 9. So many thoughts, so many conflicting emotions. Who knew emotions could be so scary. All of this read, perhaps misinterpretted? Perhaps. Perhaps more clearly put than I could ever verbalize.
I've lost over 20 lbs since I graduated in May. A great deal of my muscle tone has come back. I also have not gotten a haircut since last March. And where so much of me has changed, I fear so much has not.
I fear I am, or have become, a boring person. A museum of knowledge that no one visits, a tomb of information only offered to those who have heard it countless times before. I stutter for new conversation; I lack for new subjects, because I am not sure of the audience's reception to them, and I don't want to sound foolish. After so much time in thought, so much time spent on contemplation, how can one fail so utterly at translating these things into verbal characteristics?
Yet, within my life, one thing remains constant. Love. A bit of the hippy-era slogan, if you will, but this love that exists within my life is astounding. My family's aliegance to me knows no bounds; I have to but merely call even a distant cousin and they will instantly be there to offer guidance and succor in my time of need. My friends, a mere car's drive, will instantly be there to comfort/console/criticize me, all in due course. Yet, how can the emotions that lead to this cause such hesitation, such anxiety?
Love must be fought for. If I have learned nothing else in this lifetime, it is that this emotion, so rare and preceeded by so little else even remotely comparable, deems itself necessary for any amount of self-sacrifice and uncertainty. Indeed, it almost requires a questioning look in its entirety for its own renewal, for that is what keeps love alive.
Romance, it's nearby cousin and sometimes seemingly bastard child, is oft met with my dismay. Though a romantic at heart, I am outdated. Opening doors, pulling out chairs, attempting to make things known without explicity stating them, all of these seem futile at best. For what girl, aside from a passing whimsy, could ever come to fancy these kinds of things in today's modern era, in a time of pro-feminism/ men-are-the-enemy?
And all the while, this melancholy. This unending numbness that only disappears when around certain people. This non-driving yet incredibly aggrivating force which nags for some kind of satiating impulse, and when seemingly satisfied, can only redouble its efforts to distract me and disarm my true course. How unendable, yet how familiar. How can I ever express to someone who makes me feel something, anything, again what that time means to me, and how they help me reconnect with myself, even if I don't remember who that is?
I've lost so much. So much of myself gone. Jaded. Broken. So much self-pity and self-loathing. So much pity and condesenscion from those who would offer counsel. All necessary. The shoulder to cry on while the heart is mending. Time to set these things in the past, and let them die.
I survived. For it's only death if you choose to accept it. A phoneix-fire, perhaps, and a rebirth from ashes. A new Paul for the new year? Mayhaps to think that it indeed could be true. But will the renewed crown bring happiness? Or only despair, sadness, and lonliness, much like the reign of those before? And from where, and if, a queen will appear, will she help to mend these questions and ponderings, only to further them herself at some point?
So much more thinking to be done. So much more that my soul is restless for. A menial job, while set against classes I enjoy, still makes me feel dead in the water. Perhaps that's why I'm never home, never online, never in touch - I yearn to be free and move in any direction. Perhaps you'll help me find something worth more fighting for in the near future.
For now, I stand ready again to face my demons. Perhaps aided by new alliances, perhaps not; only time will tell. But until then, I will continue to pull out chairs, open doors, and do whatever I can to keep myself just that - myself. If it works, then I am rewarded; If it fails, defeated. Regardless, myself I remain, and therein shall I maintain my sanity.
Much poetry will be written, and much has already flowed from my pen at this late hour. Perhaps too much, perhaps not. A later post may clarify and distill these shadows, dwelling now late in this hour. Or only to further mystify the audience.
Until next time, true believers.