2004-06-12 - 9:35 p.m.
...everyone I know goes away in the end...
Yeah, I know. I just updated.
Well, I just posted an update - it was written before I left for the hospital earlier, but the servers were being wonky or something, and I couldn't get the post to go through.
I'm trying to decide just now if I feel like showering up and going out (or just going right to the Wharf, because being slightly in need of a shower doesn't stand out among the campers and fisherman. I could actually need a shower instead of just wanting one, and still probably smell good next to some of the folks who've been out fishing all day), or if I feel like staying in, and hiding, "enjoying" the empty house. (Dad's working tonight. His new job has him on midnights.) I could curl up with my book, or put in a movie, or just sit and stare at nothing in the gathering dark.
Last song I heard in the car (I burned an mp3 disc that more-or-less fits my mood) was Tim McGraw, Please Remember Me. It almost got me to break again. Almost, but not quite. It got me as close as it did because just before that was Johnny Cash's cover of Hurt - which also somehow nearly broke me.
Stay in, or go out. Neither is what I want to be doing. What I want to be doing is very much Off Limits right now. Hell, even if it wasn't, it would either be impossible or unhelpful in a counterproductive sort of way.
I'm slowly rewriting the rules of living for myself. They'll evolve over time, and just now some of them are more like drills to remind me that I have that inner steel, drills to bring that steel back closer to the surface. If I can't see where the middle path is, then by all that's important, I'll err on the side of "caution."
I have to decide what I'm doing with my night, now. Because just sitting here waiting for the universe to make sense again (well as much sense as it ever made in the first place) won't get me anywhere. I either have to go out and try to distract myself while my subconcious chews through the situation, or I need to force myself to sit down and actually think through things on a concious level - I've actually avoided doing that. Every time I've let myself really think about things, it's been while I've been doing something else too. I don't know if I'm afraid of the answers I might come to, afraid that I won't come to any at all, or if I'm just being cowardly in the face of opening myself up, and letting myself really react to this on the gut level I've been putting off more-or-less most of the time since I got back home.
Today's question (which, no doubt, would get me a "stop wallowing" from Gella) is this: If I'm so good, then why is it I keep thinking that I couldn't have been good enough? Why do I keep trying to figure out what it is that I did or said - or didn't say or do - that ended things up... ended?
I know. Stop wallowing. I try not to think of it as wallowing - I try to think of it as flailing blindly for a light, for a line of reasoning that will serve as trail-marker in my struggle to understand.
Stupid need to understand. I keep blaming it on writing, because it seems to me like I have more of an unhealthy obsession with understanding than most people do, and it's often my undoing.
previous howl
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Murrrrrrffff? - 2005-01-04
A Late Review - 2004-09-12
Weekend Update - 2004-08-08
Intermission - 2004-08-07
Rambling or something. - 2004-07-31
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