So I don't know about you, but...

In my apartment, it was the 18th century today. Apparently.



Woke up about an hour ago after tossing sleeplessly for a few hours more. Not much to do this late except watch movies or draw (too jumpy right now for books). Gone are the days when I had people for whom I was persuaded to stay up until 5 and 6 in the morning. I'm barely a memory to them now.

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Miles to go

In the past couple of days, I've slowly come to realize that to detach and uproot in order to begin the next phase of life elsewhere, while possible to do logically and productively, is not something I can yet do responsibly- I would not be able to afford it in all the ways that are important to me. Another year seems like a significant amount of time only because of the increase in my age, nothing more, and it actually seems as though the last twelve months have rushed by without making any real mark on me at all. Somewhat more diminished by disappointment, slightly more bitter, and rather more detached after a number of rejections. These aren't the sorts of things that permanently warp the spirit, provided, of course, that at some point, the slow tide flows the other way. I have no logical reason to keep hoping, given that the majority of happiness in my life has been due to luck, and not the results of my focus and effort. Things that would happen, I'm sure, whether I hoped they would or not. I have not in any way deserved them, and it is possible that I will never be in such a situation as to be considered to deserve anything better than what falls to me by chance. I understand that even if this is the case, I'll be better off than most people in general, and that it's only in comparison to those I know and those of whom I am typically aware that my life seems lacking. But comparisons of that kind are seldom logical, and so they can only hurt, never help.

The likelihood that I won't deserve whatever good might someday be in store for me does not excuse me from trying. Nor does it give me the right to escape. Now there are nights when I feel so desperate that I am essentially paralyzed by sensations of worthlessness and futility, and helpless to do anything more than cry until the sky lightens and takes away the choice of being or not as the imminent necessity of pulling together and continuing on overpowers through guilt and shame the question of "what for". If I left now, it would only be a more acceptable form of suicide in that nothing would be decisively accomplished except a change of scene. I have things that are best fixed here first, because I don't want to be burdened with them, wherever I do go.

So, this is another disappointment, in a way, but at least it's the result of a decision I made. I will be compensating myself for the delay in other ways. Letting myself have time to volunteer is one, perhaps the biggest... I'm not sure of the others yet, but nothing that depends upon the approval of others. I can't win that, so I have no reason not to do as I like within the bounds of my conscience.

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And once again, I fuck things up just by existing. I don't know if I have any other purpose for existing when I have no meaningful positive impact on anything. I think if I ever got to a point where I wasn't essentially a burden and an annoyance, with all of my entanglements straightened out and all of my messes cleaned up, I'd have no convincing reason not to disappear. Guilt keeps me where I am.

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Why thanks

Every compliment received requires a quick assessment of the giver's personality (in situations where you can't just kiss them). Reciprocating in kind can backfire badly unless you practically have one stored up and waiting, ready to release. Humble denial of the virtue being complimented can seem coy or insincere, even if the denial is true. But denial is such an automatic reaction for some of us, and so widely misused by others, that simple acceptance can sometimes be tinged with a smugness it does not always deserve when the expected denial isn't heard.

And of course if you are a bit perverse, you keep all of this in mind, tailoring your compliments to throw your hapless target off-balance as much as you possibly can. And even so, you will find yourself occasionally disarmed, and wonder if the giver is simply better at the game than you, or perhaps a better sort of person altogether.

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working out some recent thoughts

The sameness of most days makes it difficult to separate them except by remembering the means (recently, almost always a novel or movie) by which I've temporarily escaped from the tedium. I find my concentration reliably unreliable, so that all attempts to read books that are better for me, such as the several on philosophy I've collected recently, have failed pretty badly. I manage about twenty pages with constant interruptions as my mind wanders, and then retain almost nothing of it. This has always been a bad sign for me, as it indicates a sort of soul-deep boredom that does not respond well to ordinary entertainment. The best cure is one I have been without for so long that I don't even remember how to earn it anymore. Or so it seems- I'm certain if I wanted it less... like most things... Being needed by someone in a particular sense that few other people would be able or willing to embody is the most fulfilling state I've ever experienced. But most people past and perhaps before a certain age understandably prefer to reserve that sort of intimacy for people in whom they're interested romantically. At least, I've always found that to be so, and I can't exactly fault it, disappointing as it's been to be set aside. Even as I express happiness for a friend who has found someone, I always dread the moment where I step back in order to give their new relationship room to develop. That's the only thing about which I ever find myself feeling real jealousy- when the right to be a confidante and friend is cast at the feet of a stranger simply because they happen to be attractive and on their very best behavior during the heady days of infatuation. It's a completely different matter when they earn it. And I suppose, if I were to pursue a romantic relationship with someone, I might find myself allowed into that position again, but that isn't the order in which it feels natural for me to take things even if it's the way most people do it. I mistrust certain types of hormones far too much, I guess, to want to be their undeserving beneficiary.

Even at a couple of dollars a bag, as I was able to get at the Squirrel Hill library sale a few weeks back, I'm burning through novels at a completely stupid rate. I'm not sure I don't have what could be considered a weak addiction to them. At this rate, my mind will never improve. That thought should scare me out of my escapism, but it only makes me panic a little and sends me deeper. Since I can't have what I really want, what exactly does it matter- or so my brain seems to reason. I am apparently not very well wired.

Tonight I tried a slightly different method of distraction, and auditioned for a show. My voice wasn't nearly what it should've been, and I'm almost positive I won't get any sort of role. No matter how relaxed I otherwise am (and I was, despite the complexity of just getting to the music hall tonight, in which I was helped immensely by a very patient Dad) certain physical reactions always bother me. Tonight, it was a completely dry mouth and throat, which affected my tone with hoarseness and a lack of consistent control. I did my best to make up for it with diction and volume, and happily did manage to fill the audition room a number of times with some nice sounds... just, I'm afraid, not enough of them to make me a real candidate. It's too bad, because I know I could do well with a couple of the parts, but consistency is everything, including my main weakness, so that is probably that. In either case, having something to work on was a pleasant change. I need more of those, but opportunities are few.

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