Being on the outside looking in is where I've always been.
Last night when I took the dog for a walk, there was this sense of melancholy. It's with me not just because there's less sunlight these days. There's the confirmation of how....outside, just off the edge or the radar, I am to most people. I say it without malice. I understand why it's that way, and I know I don't do much to help make things different. I try, the best I can. That's not been good enough for a long time, honestly.
Being emo is....somewhat interesting....when you're a teenager, I suppose. It gets less endearing when you can't shake it off, grow out of it, when you're still feeling overwhelmed and confused as everyone else has "figured it out", somehow.
So last night I stood there next to the green field (intimidating in the darkness, more than usual) and looked at the plain concrete rectangles looming over, with fifty warm yellow squares, windows into apartments where flickers meant someone was in the living room, the kitchen, moving around.
It looked so....I don't know. I just stood there in awe, while people moved around each other, on top of each other (floor above floor), living their lives. I am sure there are some people in that building who were unhappy and lonely, just like me. But from where I stood, they all were at home. They looked like they had people to be home with. It looked like everything I might have had once, but can't remember what it's like; I am not sure if I really had it, or if it's part of this messed up fantasy, an unreality, I paint in my head. Did I have it? Was I so unhappy in it? This apartment used to be a home. I used to be in love. Did he love me too? Or was it quiet and suffocating too? Have I ever had a home?
If I haven't, why do I want one so much? Surely shelter and employment is enough.
That little vision of the future, the one I feel like I've always had, gets closer and closer. I finish the degree, but I'm alone; Pyrrhic victory of career without personal development. I am pleasant enough. I am productive enough. My last wobbling identity (identifier?) is employee.
It is the most successful, lasting, relationship I have ever had in my life. I have never made anyone so upset they thought about firing me. I have never made someone so upset they have refused to work with me. I have been frustrated and probably caused frustration, but in the end of the day, the work gets done, more or less. I make jokes and remember birthdays. I am here.
In the end, it's all I have. Existing.
And I think I would still give it away if I could.
I will start asking, just as a precaution, who would take the dog if anything happened.