emotional vomit
((rant warning))
I'm a terminal extrovert. I love people. I like going to work on quiet mornings because I know, when I get there, people will be there. Usually I'm just happy to be around people. Like a puppy dog who's rescued from a day by herself. Lately I'm lonely. I'm hungry for something. I'm not sure if it's something I lost or something I haven't found yet.
I split the people I know into groups. The ones who take energy and the ones who recharge me. I wish I got more out of being alone. I wish I was inward minded. It would make life easier.
Trying to be proactive, I spent my post-work time in a bar in Superior. I smell like cigars, cigarrettes, incense and beer. I listened instead of talking. Two quiet men consumed a few pitchers of beer and told me what their stories. It's always funny to be the new one. All the old stories are new to you. I didn't have anything to say. I'm tired. The highlight of my day was chopping tomatoes and listening to Laura (the one who is not going to be my roommate) and Chrissie talk.
Laura (the one who is to be my roommate) was playing D&D tonight. I'm going out with her friends on Saturday. Tomorrow I'm trying to learn a new RPG. Thursday I have kayaking. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday I have work. I've started talking to the people in my classes. Brianne and I share a lunch break. Dawn and Chris walk with me in the mornings.
Maybe I'm starting to OD on being social. I think I'm looking for a connection. Someone who can look at me and say "I understand."
Dad's tired. Something's bothering him but he dislikes talking about it. Didn't see Martin, Mom or Kelly this weekend. Andrew had Charla so he was happy. Today he had work. I didn't see him at all.
I miss Karl. He's a good hugger and I could use one at the moment. I wish Brian was in the same hemisphere as me, though he's a good letter writer. The art of literary courtship is entirely new to me.
Were it not for the cats, no one would notice me getting home. It is funny how predictable I am. The more isolated I feel, the more crazy I get. Self-talk gets negative in the dark. It's all surface. Beneath it somewhere, I'm calm. I even function by myself. As well as I function is probably beside the point. i can't seem to avoid conversations where I'm talking to a wall. Worse yet, where I am the wall. The other party talks because they want me to listen. They want me to care. They ask perfunctory questions. I feel cold and alone and shut down.
The proper comeback to "I've rearranged my room" is not what comes to mind. I want to ask why we talk at all. Why I try when it's pointless. I'm hurt and selfish and withdrawn and childish. The more I try to logic it away, the more the demanding little child in my chest begs to be acknowledged. To be argued and debated with. But there is no debate. No discussion. It's miles of quiet.
I don't think I've felt that naked in a long time. Throwing my heart at those I take interest in is not the most useful of traits. Quiet rejection is the slower knife. I like fighting. It takes history to fight with each other. Emotion. Passion.
I'm an emotional junkie. Quiet contentment isn't good enough. The hormone storm's just like gasoline. It feels good to feel bad because it's been inside of me for so long. Love me! Says the dark self-centered place. Love me. Validate me.
and I am. I love. In spite of my faults, I can't help loving me. I'm what I have. Time to let the rest go. I have to remind myself again that it's a one-sided tug of war. the rope's only taunt on my side. I want what isn't.
Time to stop. Breathe sleep smile. Be.
I'm a terminal extrovert. I love people. I like going to work on quiet mornings because I know, when I get there, people will be there. Usually I'm just happy to be around people. Like a puppy dog who's rescued from a day by herself. Lately I'm lonely. I'm hungry for something. I'm not sure if it's something I lost or something I haven't found yet.
I split the people I know into groups. The ones who take energy and the ones who recharge me. I wish I got more out of being alone. I wish I was inward minded. It would make life easier.
Trying to be proactive, I spent my post-work time in a bar in Superior. I smell like cigars, cigarrettes, incense and beer. I listened instead of talking. Two quiet men consumed a few pitchers of beer and told me what their stories. It's always funny to be the new one. All the old stories are new to you. I didn't have anything to say. I'm tired. The highlight of my day was chopping tomatoes and listening to Laura (the one who is not going to be my roommate) and Chrissie talk.
Laura (the one who is to be my roommate) was playing D&D tonight. I'm going out with her friends on Saturday. Tomorrow I'm trying to learn a new RPG. Thursday I have kayaking. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday I have work. I've started talking to the people in my classes. Brianne and I share a lunch break. Dawn and Chris walk with me in the mornings.
Maybe I'm starting to OD on being social. I think I'm looking for a connection. Someone who can look at me and say "I understand."
Dad's tired. Something's bothering him but he dislikes talking about it. Didn't see Martin, Mom or Kelly this weekend. Andrew had Charla so he was happy. Today he had work. I didn't see him at all.
I miss Karl. He's a good hugger and I could use one at the moment. I wish Brian was in the same hemisphere as me, though he's a good letter writer. The art of literary courtship is entirely new to me.
Were it not for the cats, no one would notice me getting home. It is funny how predictable I am. The more isolated I feel, the more crazy I get. Self-talk gets negative in the dark. It's all surface. Beneath it somewhere, I'm calm. I even function by myself. As well as I function is probably beside the point. i can't seem to avoid conversations where I'm talking to a wall. Worse yet, where I am the wall. The other party talks because they want me to listen. They want me to care. They ask perfunctory questions. I feel cold and alone and shut down.
The proper comeback to "I've rearranged my room" is not what comes to mind. I want to ask why we talk at all. Why I try when it's pointless. I'm hurt and selfish and withdrawn and childish. The more I try to logic it away, the more the demanding little child in my chest begs to be acknowledged. To be argued and debated with. But there is no debate. No discussion. It's miles of quiet.
I don't think I've felt that naked in a long time. Throwing my heart at those I take interest in is not the most useful of traits. Quiet rejection is the slower knife. I like fighting. It takes history to fight with each other. Emotion. Passion.
I'm an emotional junkie. Quiet contentment isn't good enough. The hormone storm's just like gasoline. It feels good to feel bad because it's been inside of me for so long. Love me! Says the dark self-centered place. Love me. Validate me.
and I am. I love. In spite of my faults, I can't help loving me. I'm what I have. Time to let the rest go. I have to remind myself again that it's a one-sided tug of war. the rope's only taunt on my side. I want what isn't.
Time to stop. Breathe sleep smile. Be.