There’s a condition that is constantly repeated in this place. A condition by where words said or actions performed are swept under the rug, like the guest stars of a primetime sitcom. There are no chain of events in this place, nothing is bracketed to the next, creating an experience to tie togther; to learn from the next.
Every nuance of the discussion is set aside for other immediate concerns–most of which are never immediate or of importance. I am a ghost attached to a relic of stage, in a theater house no one frequents. I speak, but my verbs used seem to resonant with the recipent, more than the sentence they are a part of. I perform simply chores now, on this stage, mechanisms I have adopted just to keep myself from remembering that all around me is dust. denial. broken. This is not what I have envisioned or foreseen in my course. No one expects failure, especially when the stepwise process has been mapped out carefully. Still, the human frailty lurks. This condition, where words spoken honestly, must be constantly held unspoken; and acting out in the face of public(for, heaven’s above, if the children are to suspect that the garden is dying) is normal. I am furtive. I have become furtive, a myriad of emotions I don’t agree with, but for sake of survival must accept.
I do not enjoy this condition, and I’m not afraid to leave the stage. I’m not afraid to accept that there is no loving audience basking upon me up here. There are no new words in my script or stagehands in waiting to draw the curtains close when I am done. This concert hall is broken. This stage I stand upon is broken. I need to move off, on, and out.
Ten years ago I wouldn’t even care. Ten years ago the world was open, prospects available; choices a plenty. Ten years ago I’ve been honest with myself, said my peace, and left without as much as a regard for where my shadow fell behind me. Ten years ago I was primed, and the interest-level by my peers ever rising. Ten years ago was ten years ago.
What I literally do not understand,
Is why it’s ok
to insult someone, and then expect that person to respect you afterwards, as if you treated them like they fucking deserve to be treated.
Like no I’m not going to admire you as a person if you make me feel like dirt–lesser than dirt.
You’re supposed to bring up your friend’s self-esteem, not beat what little they have left down to the ground.
Edited for 2015
So I decided to clip my wings and delete both my tumblr and facebook account. Call me crazy, but I wanted to see the world from ground level.
I am finding it very difficult to be this adult, parent-like person everyone wants me to be.
Check that: this adult, parent-like person people hope I aspire to be.
I can’t adjudicate with regard to how to parent or dispense fairly, with respect to children. I can’t separate myself from judgmental to empathetic when someone has greatly disappointed me. I lack empathy to someone who is doing wrong, and my emotion indebtedness has left me, because of history, to question every thing this person says or does. I can’t give advice without wanting to also hand down a punishment worthy of the mendacity laid at my door.
I don’t think I’d make a fair parent. I’m wise, despite periods of frailty and immaturity, but I don’t think I can wield the specter of parenthood as a apt as others have or should. Perhaps this in itself lies the growth aspect. One can’t be told he’s a good father or father-figure, but has to experience the path. Parenthood is a road, not a destination.
I’ve learned thus far that it’s far easier to assemble a 500 piece lego set than be an adult on any given day. This afternoon was the most trying, insofar that I’ve found myself on three occasions being the “better person” in a disagreement I would have otherwise, on any other terms, won. Years before, this time of year, around my birthday, is typically exciting for me.
And yet, now an adult, I’ve come to view this time of year, the end of the calendar year, as being extremely exhaustive. Maybe it’s not so much the adult-holiday conundrum, but the entirety of 2014. It’s been a very taxing year for me. Very So much so, I’d like to take a raincheck on the festivities and sit this one out.
Perhaps as a teenager or younger adult I would be unable to explain myself or feelings, but being much older I am well versed in how I perceive the world around me.
All in all, I need a break. A break from the “keep at arm’s length” communication or stray dog treatment.
Maybe these visuals are a tad excessive, but they don’t belie why I really need a raincheck from the next three weeks.
I don’t enjoy writing live commentaries. I’m not a videogamer. I’m not endorsed to play video games live for an audience.
Yeah, I don’t get off on writing or updating on the fly, but here I am. So, my 2014 Christmas tree has been standing in the corner for 48hrs now, waiting to be dressed in her holiday jewelry and colors. Waiting, still.
Don’t worry, the tree isn’t being made to suffer for the fail safe of others. The Fir is seated in its steel tree stand, warm water to the brim.
The tree should have been decorated a day ago.
But for reasons of personal interests over a yearly tradition, the tree has been made to take third place in a competition it didn’t ask to be a part of. I want to decorate the tree on my own, but that would probably add to the what’s going on here.
Today’s employment climate is looking bleaker with each changing quarter as States are ordered by their governing principalities to curtail spending, or in some cases make cuts to programs that are necessity to everyday citizens.
However, the Nation’s financial impairment isn’t readily felt by all, as there exists a beneficial demography who lie immune to the recessionary shock-waves coming from all angles. The media, whether digital or published, seeks to disprove the atmosphere of recession, and serve up(on a platter or by escort) a world where the hardtimes have subsided, and the worse has been met.
Regardless of their porported information or denial of economic woe, there does exist a group, like swatches of color, that suffers–nonetheless.
I should have written this last night, when the critical emotions and thoughts were lined up in tandem. I shouldn’t have gone to bed, allowing brooding confusion and disappointment to float away with the tide, leaving whatever is left of me on shore…and still in harm’s way. I was lazy. I don’t even know if I can conjure forth the words to explain what I’m actually feeling.
Regret, more so?