I think I took bad advice.
It's stormy outside. Not especially so, just a little thunder, lightning flashes. So I turned off all the lights. And I'm sitting in the silence, soaking it in. I went outside for about maybe 2 or 3 hours? Just sat there and experienced it. It wasn't drizzling at all, and there was lightning with no thunder, in the distance. The clouds overhead were sparse, in many places. You could see the stars. The sprinklers started running, and if i faced them, I could feel the mist on my shoulders, on my face, droplets carried by the wind.
I remembered the time I sat alone with Savanna, in the back yard of a man who I met on the internet, and we looked out past the desert, to distant city lights. The sun was rising, eventually. I spent a lot of nights on that trip, awake and talking until the sun rose. I've spent a lot of nights in my life, until the sun rises. She was talking about how we'd always remember that moment, that it was something special. It's the kind of thing that could be called fake deep, but to class things like that
(OH! The lightning was so loud just now! The storm picked up. It's probably raining ouside... I want to go into it but I don't want to wear clothes. What an obnoxious conundrum.)
as either fake or real deep, I don't think it really matters. I was 18 and she was 17. We drank liquors we'd never had before to figure out what they would feel like.
And I was telling someone last night, about how I went to a party where I drank half a bottle of $500 scotch in a pool with mostly strangers, friendly generous, safe strangers.
And how deep down, I just really want someone to share these with. I don't want someone to just tell stories to. I want someone to make stories with. No one's ever been able to do that with me, or has only ventured knee-deep and decided to go back to more familiar things.
I'm in nobody else's story right now. And that hurts, and it's lonely. I'm tired of it though, of taking parts that aren't fulfilling for me for the sake of other people. I need someone who wants the things I want, who is interested in the things I like, instead of waiting for them to catch up to me. I'm very alone.
...
She said to not contact my recruiters more, about the communications position, because I'd seem "like a nag." I listened to her, even though I got better advice from someone else, more meaningful advice. I probably should have sent that email when I had planned to.
It says more about her than it does about me. "Nag" feels negatively gendered. I think it means that she didn't want to engage with me and that hurts a bit, getting her to engage is like pulling teeth -- she doesn't bother processing with other people, and if she ever does it's about herself, her own emotional incompetence. Exhausting.
...
I'm bored of resenting people, though, for their short-comings. How do I purge myself of those feelings, though? If I could just shut off having reactions to things altogether... If I could, if I, would I. We do things because we feel strongly, though.
I wanna be sleeping somewhere else, in a different bed. Really badly.
I remembered the time I sat alone with Savanna, in the back yard of a man who I met on the internet, and we looked out past the desert, to distant city lights. The sun was rising, eventually. I spent a lot of nights on that trip, awake and talking until the sun rose. I've spent a lot of nights in my life, until the sun rises. She was talking about how we'd always remember that moment, that it was something special. It's the kind of thing that could be called fake deep, but to class things like that
(OH! The lightning was so loud just now! The storm picked up. It's probably raining ouside... I want to go into it but I don't want to wear clothes. What an obnoxious conundrum.)
as either fake or real deep, I don't think it really matters. I was 18 and she was 17. We drank liquors we'd never had before to figure out what they would feel like.
And I was telling someone last night, about how I went to a party where I drank half a bottle of $500 scotch in a pool with mostly strangers, friendly generous, safe strangers.
And how deep down, I just really want someone to share these with. I don't want someone to just tell stories to. I want someone to make stories with. No one's ever been able to do that with me, or has only ventured knee-deep and decided to go back to more familiar things.
I'm in nobody else's story right now. And that hurts, and it's lonely. I'm tired of it though, of taking parts that aren't fulfilling for me for the sake of other people. I need someone who wants the things I want, who is interested in the things I like, instead of waiting for them to catch up to me. I'm very alone.
...
She said to not contact my recruiters more, about the communications position, because I'd seem "like a nag." I listened to her, even though I got better advice from someone else, more meaningful advice. I probably should have sent that email when I had planned to.
It says more about her than it does about me. "Nag" feels negatively gendered. I think it means that she didn't want to engage with me and that hurts a bit, getting her to engage is like pulling teeth -- she doesn't bother processing with other people, and if she ever does it's about herself, her own emotional incompetence. Exhausting.
...
I'm bored of resenting people, though, for their short-comings. How do I purge myself of those feelings, though? If I could just shut off having reactions to things altogether... If I could, if I, would I. We do things because we feel strongly, though.
I wanna be sleeping somewhere else, in a different bed. Really badly.