I wish I could write a blog about the world in all it's glory and complete sanity. I'd love to write about the excess of money that all my friends and I have. How we're all doing fantastic and walking around in custom made shoes with an extra spring or two in our step. I want to write about the wonderful job market, and how we're all completely over-compensated and no inflation's in sight. Love is all we'll ever need, and more than enough for you and for me. There's fresh cut flowers every morning, and deliciously brewed tea flowing into porcelain cups. The air is crisp, cool, and refreshing, and is that lavender I smell?
I'd love to write all these things, but I cannot.
I'm drifting away from humanity. From myself. I wish all these things, but none will come to be. I spend too much time wishing, for there is nothing else I can do it seems. I can wish or I can worry. Perhaps I spend too much time doing both.
The daily monotony is a comfort. Rise, work, eat, sleep. The days blend together, cream blending into coffee. Slowly, silky tendrils work there way together.
I know that I am lame. I try so hard to be something that I am not I suppose. I try to be clever, to be tall, to stand straight and narrow against the world. Can you see through me? Is there anything to see? I realize now, that I have very few qualities I admire. I am hardly artistic anymore. I used to be able to create, to pull words out of the air and weave them into paper...or screen as the case may be. Now... ... now I just type idly, and hope that someone, somewhere, sometime will read and that they will understand. That they will say "Yes, there is someone who knows."
Knows what? Well... I surmise that whoever this person is, wherever and whenever they are...they'll have that answer for you. As for now... I feel I know very little.
The autumn air... the rain on the windshield... it all feels too familiar. Everywhere I go, everything I do, every drive I make...it all feels like deja vu. I fall into this old mode of thinking, like it's all the same. This is all there ever was. Except...it's not the same.
I think John and I were made for Summer. I'm not really sure why, exactly, I just think that's what we were made for. Spring too, I suppose. It feels like with the weakening sunlight that we have a battle up ahead. Something to overcome. Some huge obstacle that we break through, or lie broken in the wake of.
We're losing touch, connectivity with one another. Perhaps it's just that the "honeymoon phase" is over. I still feel for him as I did...but... I just don't know. There used to be so much passion, pleasure, fulfillment. Now there is this routine...this predictability. Nothing happens that I don't know is going to happen. No one shows me huge amounts of unexpected adoration or affection. I don't get surprise I love you headywhop, I get you spent 1,000 dollars on me in a week headywhop. I get the usual kisses and pets and signs of love, but I don't know. It might just be the fact that we used to not be able to keep our hands off of one another, once a day was the minimum. And now.... now I'm down to maybe 3 times a week at best. Where did the lovin' go?
I feel gross, overweight, ugly, moronic, idiotic, complacent, overlooked, useless, hopeless, stressed, and mildly deranged....