Pathetic.
It's frustrating.
It must be a fault, a flaw, in this day and age.
But it bothers me that nearly no one talks about anything....to the point where I feel freakish for wanting to. Hihowareyouhow'sworkI'mfineblahblah....is that "normal" and how it's supposed to be? Behave. Don't open cans of worms, don't ask, don't tell. Nothing nothing. Perhaps my preferred methods are dysfunctional...the bloggery...which for a time to me, before myface and spacebook and whatever else, was sort of like the best form of non-physically-committal coffeeshoppery...a way to have those conversations, not about politics and electronics and bands and the media-wankfest-du-jour...I suppose those things have their place...but I still yearn to know what people think about and what it's like to go through things, to compare notes on this gauntlet-of-bullshit we all call "life." To maybe not feel like the only one with troubles and doubts about existence. Does anyone do that anymore? Or is everything now about just tossing Ego and Image around like so many boomerangs??
I censor...everything I go to write seems lame...too inane or too tedious...who wants to hear ridiculous generalizations about life, society, meaning, how things Are...secretly hoping for some engagement, debate, an alternate point of view. Who wants that? I search out blogs on the generals of life....I lust for clever diatribes about being a paramedic, getting old, feeling f'ed up, being young, beating a disease, existing, coming out, raising a 4 year old, losing a loved one, failure, success, breaking up, getting together, being blind, being happy, being unhappy, growing up in South Dakota, New York City, Sri Lanka...being a cop, a nobody, a somebody, a park ranger, a movie star...anything, everything genuine and open...a glimpse of that which I have spent my life fantasizing about- being other than, someone else besides whoever I am. I despise the inherent limitations of being excusively Here, Now, only Me. What is it like to be a human being? What do people think about souls and the nature of things and about fate and free will and love and hate and everything else? Seems there used to be ways to talk about it...at 3 a.m. in a coming-down haze at a Denny's after a club...at a particular point in my life through blogs and emails with friends or semi-strangers...lending the completely distant intimacy that I love. I wish there was a way to leap over the awkward outer peopleshells and get to the peanut center...to eat brains. And to serve a slice of your own to a receptive party....go round and round about things a while.
It just doesn't seem ok to talk about anything. It's all "Status" and "Comments" now, and to offer anything more is just awkward and weird. Not to me, but...
And it feels like Life, my own Life has become Status and Comments. So much more, but no outlet...not enough characters allowed. Boo friggin' hoo...(cliche alert)...but I feel like an island.
How I long for a good, oldskool cafe debate about human nature, death...the world according to someone else...one of those trancendent, coffee and cigarette fueled all nighters that you had when you were young and openhearted. It seems impossible now. Too many ramifications, too many obligations. It used to be ok, perhaps even charming, to be so naive...to ask big questions. Not so much now. Mind your business and don't be a bore. Even though it should be MORE interesting now, at this age, with so many more experiences to bounce off one another. But no.
It feels like bumper cars, this life. In so many ways. And that right there feels like yet another bullshit analogy to try to make sense of something that you are apparently not supposed to try to make sense of. How's work, fine, how are you, weather schmeather, take care, lookit what things I bought, what's for dinner, we should hang out sometime, doing great, thumbs up. Whatever.
How is it possible at the same time to long for connection, for meaningful exchange...yet absolutely crave solitude like a crackhead craves a new rock? I wish I could settle on one or the other. I waver about whether meds again would be a help or a hindrance...a wise choice or a re-capitulation. My circumstances are much better yet still remains the same tired common denominator...myself. And even thought things are generally good, I wait for the other shoe because I'm sure I am missing some detail that is waiting to sabotage.
Last night I dreamt I was at a high school reunion and I was with my best friend from then....I was the Less Attractive Friend, in real-life history. And in my dream, everyone fawned over her...and no one even knew who I was or that I'd even gone to school with them. Which on a conscious level is seriously fine by me....but somewhere deep down, it really hurt. And it felt all-encompassing and generally representative when I woke up.
Always the envy and self-doubt...and then comes an age...mid 30s now...when you look around and realize that this is How Your Life Is and you look how you look and your default demeanor is what it is and relationships eventually end up how they end up and patterns seem fixed and not really worth the energy, the excrutiating energy, to break them. And you know you will let yourself down...and you will never actually start a running program, or learn to sew well or even though you bought a house, you will never have the exclusive energy and drive to maintain it perfectly like you did magically in your mind all those daydreamy years. Jack of all trades, a million interests, master of none....the best intentions but too hungry for beauty and fulfillment to give up so many half-assed, start-and stop pursuits in order to master just one or two....and why bother, because some prettier, younger, more talented person will eclipse you at all times. It just all seems so, so hard...and so easy for others.
And knowing at the same time that you aren't giving yourself enough credit and you should bitchslap yourself for ingratitude and realize you are comparing all the negatives about yourself that only you know to all the positives about someone else, which is all you know of them, because that's all they display. How is that fair to anyone?!
And no one talks.
What is it all for?
And I'm a hypocrite...because when I think about it, I'm the most closed-off of all.
Longing for so much, but half-convinced that I'll end up like my Dad...dead at 65, alone and undiscovered on his bedroom floor for days.
Only quiet and the company of animals makes me feel completely comfortable. Do they even make a pill for that?
I'll be fine tomorrow.
It must be a fault, a flaw, in this day and age.
But it bothers me that nearly no one talks about anything....to the point where I feel freakish for wanting to. Hihowareyouhow'sworkI'mfineblahblah....is that "normal" and how it's supposed to be? Behave. Don't open cans of worms, don't ask, don't tell. Nothing nothing. Perhaps my preferred methods are dysfunctional...the bloggery...which for a time to me, before myface and spacebook and whatever else, was sort of like the best form of non-physically-committal coffeeshoppery...a way to have those conversations, not about politics and electronics and bands and the media-wankfest-du-jour...I suppose those things have their place...but I still yearn to know what people think about and what it's like to go through things, to compare notes on this gauntlet-of-bullshit we all call "life." To maybe not feel like the only one with troubles and doubts about existence. Does anyone do that anymore? Or is everything now about just tossing Ego and Image around like so many boomerangs??
I censor...everything I go to write seems lame...too inane or too tedious...who wants to hear ridiculous generalizations about life, society, meaning, how things Are...secretly hoping for some engagement, debate, an alternate point of view. Who wants that? I search out blogs on the generals of life....I lust for clever diatribes about being a paramedic, getting old, feeling f'ed up, being young, beating a disease, existing, coming out, raising a 4 year old, losing a loved one, failure, success, breaking up, getting together, being blind, being happy, being unhappy, growing up in South Dakota, New York City, Sri Lanka...being a cop, a nobody, a somebody, a park ranger, a movie star...anything, everything genuine and open...a glimpse of that which I have spent my life fantasizing about- being other than, someone else besides whoever I am. I despise the inherent limitations of being excusively Here, Now, only Me. What is it like to be a human being? What do people think about souls and the nature of things and about fate and free will and love and hate and everything else? Seems there used to be ways to talk about it...at 3 a.m. in a coming-down haze at a Denny's after a club...at a particular point in my life through blogs and emails with friends or semi-strangers...lending the completely distant intimacy that I love. I wish there was a way to leap over the awkward outer peopleshells and get to the peanut center...to eat brains. And to serve a slice of your own to a receptive party....go round and round about things a while.
It just doesn't seem ok to talk about anything. It's all "Status" and "Comments" now, and to offer anything more is just awkward and weird. Not to me, but...
And it feels like Life, my own Life has become Status and Comments. So much more, but no outlet...not enough characters allowed. Boo friggin' hoo...(cliche alert)...but I feel like an island.
How I long for a good, oldskool cafe debate about human nature, death...the world according to someone else...one of those trancendent, coffee and cigarette fueled all nighters that you had when you were young and openhearted. It seems impossible now. Too many ramifications, too many obligations. It used to be ok, perhaps even charming, to be so naive...to ask big questions. Not so much now. Mind your business and don't be a bore. Even though it should be MORE interesting now, at this age, with so many more experiences to bounce off one another. But no.
It feels like bumper cars, this life. In so many ways. And that right there feels like yet another bullshit analogy to try to make sense of something that you are apparently not supposed to try to make sense of. How's work, fine, how are you, weather schmeather, take care, lookit what things I bought, what's for dinner, we should hang out sometime, doing great, thumbs up. Whatever.
How is it possible at the same time to long for connection, for meaningful exchange...yet absolutely crave solitude like a crackhead craves a new rock? I wish I could settle on one or the other. I waver about whether meds again would be a help or a hindrance...a wise choice or a re-capitulation. My circumstances are much better yet still remains the same tired common denominator...myself. And even thought things are generally good, I wait for the other shoe because I'm sure I am missing some detail that is waiting to sabotage.
Last night I dreamt I was at a high school reunion and I was with my best friend from then....I was the Less Attractive Friend, in real-life history. And in my dream, everyone fawned over her...and no one even knew who I was or that I'd even gone to school with them. Which on a conscious level is seriously fine by me....but somewhere deep down, it really hurt. And it felt all-encompassing and generally representative when I woke up.
Always the envy and self-doubt...and then comes an age...mid 30s now...when you look around and realize that this is How Your Life Is and you look how you look and your default demeanor is what it is and relationships eventually end up how they end up and patterns seem fixed and not really worth the energy, the excrutiating energy, to break them. And you know you will let yourself down...and you will never actually start a running program, or learn to sew well or even though you bought a house, you will never have the exclusive energy and drive to maintain it perfectly like you did magically in your mind all those daydreamy years. Jack of all trades, a million interests, master of none....the best intentions but too hungry for beauty and fulfillment to give up so many half-assed, start-and stop pursuits in order to master just one or two....and why bother, because some prettier, younger, more talented person will eclipse you at all times. It just all seems so, so hard...and so easy for others.
And knowing at the same time that you aren't giving yourself enough credit and you should bitchslap yourself for ingratitude and realize you are comparing all the negatives about yourself that only you know to all the positives about someone else, which is all you know of them, because that's all they display. How is that fair to anyone?!
And no one talks.
What is it all for?
And I'm a hypocrite...because when I think about it, I'm the most closed-off of all.
Longing for so much, but half-convinced that I'll end up like my Dad...dead at 65, alone and undiscovered on his bedroom floor for days.
Only quiet and the company of animals makes me feel completely comfortable. Do they even make a pill for that?
I'll be fine tomorrow.
You are not alone. I feel a lot like you.
ReplyDeleteLet me just say, first off, that you are an incredible writer. Secondly, sometimes I long for a dinner where we just discuss the niceties of the day instead of the raucous political, religious, philosophical conversations/debates that dominate our dinner table. My son is a very deep thinker, questions everything and is great debater.(I wouldn't want it any other way.) I gave up going to parties a long time ago because nobody talks about anything pertinent. No one wants to piss anyone else off. Small talk has never been my strong suit. I enjoyed reading your post. Now quit beating yourself up.
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