Perhaps I should have called this blog something more like "anxiety dump" or something, because as far as I can tell, I'm not writing this because of grief, but because I finally caught myself anxiously spiraling and breathed in the rain and now am trying to see if there's anything in my brain that needs to be let out.
I'm rather tired, and want to go to bed, now that I've wrenched myself away from endless youtube trailers that make me want a significant other more desperately than usual. But I just went outside and felt so...peaceful. It's kinda annoying that that peacefulness can flip flop so easily on me. I just came off of a great weekend, where I reconnected with Becky, and feel super great about my friendship with her, a source of mild anxiety for a few months now, and bam, two days later, I'm barely --wait. ONE day later! (gah!) --I'm barely keeping an even keel! Although I did eat my supper-salad at the table, even though I was alone, like a real human being.
Anyway, still anxious about car buying, frustrated at any help my mom tries to give me, etc, etc, and totally annoyed at myself for not getting rid of the blue volvo sooner! What a headache! I wish I felt more joy at the excitement of a new car, but mostly, I feel concerned that I will overpay for a bad car. Well, going to bed now.
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
I hold entirely too dear the imagined disconnect between my keenings and a potential listener. I suppose that is why simple listening is powerful: it surprises, everytime.
I muse sometimes, that my self-centered language is more elaborate and affected than my otherwise-centered language. Am I trying to impress myself and others with my capacity for deep thought? I thoroughly despise language too figurative to be grasped in one reading. I suppose I am capable, or contain the capacity, at least, for decoding others’ frufru language, but when it comes to my own feelings, I can’t record anything simply. I am reminded of a famous quote (google for citation/author/correct quotation thankyouverymuch): “Forgive me for the long letter; I had no time for a short one.”
Perhaps that is it. Feelings must be found, excavated, decoded, categorized and filed, so skimping on demystifying and translating is a small relief. After all, who can blame me for self-indulgence in a journal that happens to be available online, should someone choose to visit it.
I miss Omar. But I fear I miss our potential together. It might, of course, still exist, should one of us choose to move near the other. But I have thus far consciously rejected as much as possible the idea of
missing him for who he is because I worry I haven’t known him long enough.
I wasn’t able to show my whole self that fast. It must be that I know I haven’t
shown all of myself, so I suspect he has far far more in him, so the
uncertainty of missing him feels unsafe—what if I miss someone I’ve completed
in my head to be someone else? And all that worry is only possible because
while he was here, I found a fast friend in him. He just left before I had time
to find anything else.