The feeling of exhaustion consumes me, like imagining what drowning would be like, only without the euphoria. I know how I got here, too, but I can’t even admit it out loud for fear it becomes reality, even though it is my reality.
Perfectionism is a beast you can’t defeat. It rides on your back and keeps your head facing the screen. You must impress the high-brows or else. You must type the right words or enter the right numbers. You must must. Your heart dances, but not in a good way. It wants to grow a pair of legs and run away.
Run away to somewhere it feels safe to be itself. Somewhere no harm can come to it and nothing can tell it to stay in one place, musting into infinity. In this place there’s no beyond. There’s only Groundhog Day.
The days blend together and it’s hard to tell if you’ve been through the trenches already or it’s only just starting. All you know is the feeling of exhaustion.
Is it ever possible to share everything about yourself to someone? Maybe you can spend a whole lifetime with someone and never find out some things. Maybe you spend so much time together you share just about everything until you are sick of each other. I think in the back of our hearts we just want to be known. Not to be famous or anything like that, but not invisible. Some people like attention, but no one wants to be forgotten. If that happens, it’s like you don’t exist. No one truly wants that, even if some claim they do.
We all have things we like to hide from other people. We all have things we like to share with other people, including things we wish someone would notice about us. Some things we want to be recognized for without having to bring it up. Otherwise we feel underappreciated or like we don’t matter or don’t stand out in any way. The truth is, no matter how hard we have this desire to blend in or to fit in with the “in” crowd when we are kids, once we mature into adulthood all we really want to do is stand out. I guess Dr. Seuss was right all along.
How do you answer the question, “where are you from?” I always have trouble with this question nowadays. And even though I remember it was easier for me to answer this question when I was younger, I can’t remember what I used to say.
I bet I automatically assumed it meant I have to tell people I’m from China. I bet I thought that’s what people meant, like you don’t look like us so where are you from exactly? Then it turned into tell people the last place I lived like it would go something like this:
“Where are you from?”
“Not Baltimore City. Those two are different. That’s what I tell everyone…”
After this exchange I just sound conceited or something so I feel defeated because that’s not what I want to come across as at all.
Nowadays it becomes a conversation like this one, where I’m trying to figure out how I’m supposed to answer the question so that’s what I say and I end up giving my “life story” about where I was born to where I grew up and where my family has moved across the States. Then I feel like I’ve given TMI too soon and that leads to feeling defeated again.
So now I’m just left with the question hanging in the air and me a deer in the headlights. Awk…ward…
You cannot force a good idea to come out of you like lemon juice. You must first sit and meditate, do some flame gazing, go running underneath a trail of oak trees, talk to Grandmother Willow, have some spumoni, drink black coffee, and draw a unicorn.
People are different behind the wheel than in front of it.
Well, for starters, if you’re in front of the wheel, you don’t want to get run over. Haha, no I’m kidding. I wrote that statement just now and thought it sounded so profound until I really thought about it. Basically I’m trying to say you’re a different person while driving than not. Somehow driving is the one thing we do that really tests our patience to the point some have road rage. Why is that? I can never figure it out. The very same people who have terrible road rage can be the nicest, sweetest people in person. I don’t get it. So do those people hide their impatience behind the mask of being polite? Driving is a litmus test for how patient someone really is. Or is driving a separate animal all together and you can’t count it as a test for anything? Now that’s interesting. We should do a study of people’s personalities and how it correlates to what kind of driver they’ll be if such a study hasn’t been done yet. I could Google it, but I’m too lazy. There’s something cathartic about typing my guts out onto a blank piece of paper. I like it. 🙂
Sharted. That stands for shit and farted. When I see that word, I remember exactly who told me the meaning, how embarrassed I felt because of how loud the girl who told me the word was laughing, and how ridiculous the whole conversation was. I don’t think sharting is a common occurrence for a lot of people. It happens about as often as a blizzard. But the word makes me think of a shark simply because of how close these words sound. Who knows? Maybe sharting happens more often for sharks. J slash K! If you’re a non-smoker I’m all in. The girl had black hair. Actually I don’t know what to call it anymore since apparently there’s no such thing as black hair. Pocahontas! She had blue highlights as well.
There’s a feeling you get when you know something is about to happen. But then again, something may not happen. So you question it, back and forth like a pendulum. It’s a little like nervousness and it’s a little like throwing up. I know I’m not describing this feeling very well, but I don’t think there’s a word out there for it yet. I guess you just have to be in my body feeling what I’m feeling to really know what I’m talking about. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
You’re not going to ever feel exactly what I’m feeling. But it’s okay because I’m not ever going to feel exactly what you’re feeling either. There’s not another person out there exactly like me and there’s not another person out there exactly like you. Isn’t the world a wonderful place? So knowing this it makes me sad to think someone would feel so unworthy to be in existence they end their life by their own hands. Or someone would cause physical harm to themselves. People have seriously made life a lot more complicated than it is, but then again, maybe the way I experience reality is different from the way you experience yours so who am I to judge you for how you live? But if I don’t voice it out loud, I’m still going to do it in my head whether I notice it or not. You know what I mean?