The strange thing is, I'm at the same time lonely and relieved.I've now spent a couple of weeks not being around people very much. And it's been such a good thing--I've gotten the house into a state where I feel like it's liveable, I'm watching my garden grow, I'm having quality cat time. I'm getting my body back in shape.
And at the same time, there is a resounding lack in my life. There are no voices outside my own head, friendly or not. Chris and Misha are busy living their own lives, and when i'm around the two of them together, I feel kind of left out--i'm simply not interested in the things they're doing, in the plots they're hatching. (While I read and enjoy some fan fiction, the urge to *write* it completely baffles me. I have a very intimate relationship with my characters. They are people I carry inside with me. Why would I let anyone else's characters that close to me? They might come in with their boots all muddy...and I am never as enamoured of other people's characters as i am my own. They'd always be the resentful, unwanted stepchildren. They'd sulk.) I don't watch much TV, though I am working slowly though Misha's collection of Highlander.
And while two of the people I care most about in the world cackle and spin tales between themselves, I'm off in the proverbial corner, watching. It's not too bad, though I rather miss them; I'd like to have something to talk about them with, to impress them with, to charm them with; but I find myself merely some sort of window dressing. I'm just sort of around, for whatever it's worth.
My self-esteem, for whatever reason, isn't the greatest at the moment. I don't feel like I have much of anything interesting to say, i feel like i don't do anything interesting. I try to write, but it comes so slowly because I have nothing in particular that I really want to say. I'm trying to get back into reading, and that seems to be working; I finished three books over the weekend and will probably read some of "The Age of Innocence" tonight.
And I'd like to go someplace, do something; but money is so tight right now that if it's not within walking or biking distance, I don't really want to spend money on gas to get there. I do have a book of bus tickets, and I've been using those to get places I absolutely need to be.
But at the same time, it's a kind of freedom. I don't have to worry about how to put on my interesting face if I lost it under the bed. I don't have to worry about times or places or conflicting schedules or how to deal with crowds of people. I don't have to worry about how to gently rebuff passes from men. I don't have to worry about possibly publishing anything if i'm not writing anything.
I don't have to worry about having emotions if most of mine are gone. I can kind of feel them from the next room, but they're muffled as if i've wrapped them up in something and stuck them on a shelf. I don't have to worry about everyone finding out that i'm actually not cool at all, that i'm actually totally lame and a big dork, if I don't care any more about being interesting or nifty or cool or anything. I don't have to worry about being a lameass if I don't hang out with anyone.
Because I am, really, kind of lame. I like being invisible. I'm clumsy. I love reading but I can't talk about what I read to any intelligible degree. I write but none of it seems like it's worth anything. I design but it's all variations on one design. I like music in general but i'm not educated about it to any real degree, nor do I have any desire to create it. I used to sing, but hypothyroidism took my voice away and left in its place something I don't recognize.
If I weren't me, I certianly wouldn't want to hang around with me. I'm not particularly amusing, I can't tell jokes or funny stories, I often forget what I'm saying mid-sentence. I've become so used to being so vigilant that eccentric behavior frightens me because it calls attention to me--I feel the weight of stares on the back of my neck, and wonder if I am exposed by association.
And part of this is re-entering the world where to confess that you're single is to have the word LOSER painted in large letters on your forehead. I'm not pretty enough that people assume I'm single by choice, so there has to be something wrong with me.
And, probably, there is. I'm not sure what it might be but i think i'm probably defective in some way.
Ah, bad brain chemicals. I love them. Really, I do. I feel like I'm drifting gently downwards, towards this dirty puddle that represents myself as I basically am. I would love to be a star falling from the sky, a falcon stooping, a whale breaching, a flower opening. But instead I'm a puddle. A dirty, shallow puddle. People tramp through me without noticing and I just sort of lie there.
Because i'm waiting, right now.
Waiting for the few remaining people who are watching to get bored and turn away so I can slip away.
Where to?
Just away.
And the funny thing is that despite all that I still enjoy my own company. Inside myself I still have conversations and make caustic remarks about everything, I laugh because some things are still desperately funny.But when I'm around other people, I become this boring, dry little person who can't find anything funny about anyone else's jokes, who laughs because she's expected to laugh and not because she finds anything funny. Who is deeply shy.
But I listen to music, quietly. I sit on the couch and read. I walk through Batelle. I ride my bike to and from work. I play with the cats and talk to them about small cat things.
I like the world when I am in love.Everything else is just survival.
