Do you want to know a secret? Do you promise not to tell? Can I say all the things that I want to?
First: I am not the person I so desperately wish I was. I cannot be the confidante, the secret keeper, the person who always says the right thing at the right time to the right person. That person who makes it all seem better. I realize this listening to my sisters laughing and joking in the next room. About fifteen minutes ago, trying to make one feel better about something, I said what, while to me seemed like the right thing to say, obviously to her was not the right thing to say, and she started bawling after shouting at me to get out of her room. Apparently my other sister did know the right thing to say. I hate that I don't. I hate that I can't help.
Second: Here I am admitting, to anyone who will listen or cares to notice, that I am probably screwing up. In a wide variety of ways, but the most poignant to me at the moment is that for all my assertions that I don't need anyone, I do. And somehow my chase of adventure and excitement have taken me far enough away from the people who would have been here for me. So here I am, standing alone like the proverbial cheese. Even my sister, who may or may not be able to tell her own ass from a hole in the ground, can put it simply. "You went away and now none of your friends want to see you anymore."
Given this, I wonder, would it be better to give up on the adventures and go after the people, or keep up the adventures and lose track of the people? I'm beginning to seriously think I can't have both, and I may have already made my choice.
Third: I was looking forward to the dental surgery I had to undergo this morning so that I would have a reasonable excuse to take it easy for awhile. Some might argue that working as little as I am at the moment, I am already taking it easy. Externally, sure, but it's the internal stuff I needed to take a break from. For the next five days, I can't get into screaming matches, carry furniture up or down stairs, go to the gym, or panic about my future, past, or present. And I get to take narcotic painkillers which prevent me from driving, or even thinking with too much clarity, everything floats past in a gentle, warm, fuzzy fog, and rather than struggling to get to sleep, I sink quietly into a peaceful state of oblivion. I think I can see why people get addicted to this shit. It's not the drug, it's the holiday.
Consider me on vacation.
Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer
