Let me begin this by saying that further reading of this blog will only incur subjects to mindless mindfulness of an observant young female who is struggling to find her place in this mixed up world. From here on out, the dated posts will have no substance worth the lint in a child’s jean pocket, but instead the interpretations of life as they pass by before me. If you are uninterested, I caution thee to turn back, delete your subscription, and call when/if you ever feel it necessary. That said, it is not my fault if you read something below or in the future that tarnishes your opinion of me. I can no longer be bothered to censor my writing behind the ghost name of a Russian girl on the brink of humanity, and will thus not take that path. Instead, I am making the more vulnerable move, not seeking feedback or consultation, but merely to put words - the life and breath of my existence - out in the ether. Do with them what you will or won’t, it makes no difference to me, but know you have been warned. I also apologize in advance for my Virginia Woolfe sentence structure. It’s long, wordy, and by the time you reach the ending punctuation, you’ve forgotten where the whole endeavor was going initially. Perhaps I’m Victorian and mildly insane at heart. You can be the judge, I can’t hold that privilege from your grasp.
It occurred to me this evening that not very many people know me, who I truly am - myself included - and that I am sick of hiding behind a hazy screen of falsification and acts. If more people were simply straight-forward with their intentions and desires, we would all be able to move on with our lives in more positive or negative directions more quickly. If I were more vocal about many things, perhaps many things would be different in my life and I would be a bit happier, and if not happier, at least I would know that the potential for happiness did not exist in a particular area and could take action accordingly. For instance, I could possibly date the guy who is in my eyes and on this side of paradise considerably perfect instead of waiting for a miracle for us to run into each other. I would know if he’s even available instead of allowing ridiculously absurd dreams to fill my sleeping eyes at night, when I should at least have the sense to tell myself to get a life, even if it’s an increasingly realistic imaginary one. I could also be spending less time doing the tawdry things that get me through each day and pursue the things for which I hold true passion. Alternatively, I allow my cowardice to speak louder than my personality, a trait that has developed over the past few years and will be the death of my social and romantic life unless I have a say in it.
I went to a fourth of July get together that brought many people from my past readily into my present. Many of them I could have gone without seeing for the next 30 years. They made my life a living hell in high school and can offer far less to me now. I have done a pristine job of avoiding them, and all of that work has paid off in the way that I feel about myself. I no longer am surrounded my people who pose as friendly faces but ignore my every word but for some reason, I hung around for those faces to find their way back into my view tonight, leaving me staring into a fire that was DOA and getting worse. It was a harsh reminder of the shoes which I still don’t feel are mine and of the years of outward silence from which I have attempted to grow up. Eerily, I have made little progress in their eyes and much in my own, I suppose some people never change, I only hope that I am not one of them.
While I sat and watched the flames crawl unhurriedly up the drying logs, I realized that I have miles to go in my self discovery. I wish I could be one of those people who knows where they stand with others or simply doesn’t care, but it’s not who I am. I am aware of myself and the people around me. I don’t like discomfort and don’t think that others should have to put up with it, so I attempt to lessen the potential burden of my presence on those around me. Call it blending into the furniture, call it being occasionally invisible, call it what you will, it has become my nature. I’ve moved around my whole life and can call no place my home, thus I can’t say frankly that I belong anywhere. I can fit in almost any place, but I have a difficult time seeing myself being so sure of myself there that I let down my defenses which I have mentally (perhaps not rationally, but that’s another tale) built up to be so necessary over the years.
This afternoon, I ran into a... skeleton in my closet... if you will. We used to be friends but then he simply cut off contact with me without a hint or explanation. Saying that it was awkward is to say that the Pacific is damp, but I don’t know why I felt like the awkward one. He was the one to dismiss me, I should have been a skeleton in his closet, not the other way around, yet I couldn’t help wishing that I had chosen another bookstore to chase my longing for the prose of Vonnegut and Dostoevsky. I was so flustered my the situation that I was almost tempted to return each of the books to its original resting place, which, if you know me, putting a new book that I spy down is likened to telling Indiana Jones to consider a sound stock market investment a new adventure, not in the cards, mate. I ended up lugging my eight book purchase up to the register and blushing for no foreseeable reason until I exited Barnes and Nobel, ever so happy to finally leave the room which had been so oxygen deprived. Don’t worry, I at least know that I’m pathetic and avidly use the excuse that I’m human. In psychology, they call it a defense mechanism. Here in the real world, we call it being an idiot. The glamour is attractive, but the reality shines through.
One of the main reasons I came back to this God forsaken city was to find a little more piece of mind. The kind that can only come from dismissing that with which you are finished and acquiring that which you need for tomorrow. I doubt that my search for this missing piece of me will end with a pot of gold, but at least I am mature and aware enough to know that I need to seek what I hope to soon find. The dizziness has been so real, but the colors look familiar, as though I have the words to describe them but not a name to attribute. Names will come. After all, as they say, a rose even by any other name would still smell as sweet.
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