Just as soon as something happens that makes me feel good about myself, confident in my abilities and my personality, and shows me that there really are people out there that find me as interesting as I do when I talk to myself, It's all wiped away by the simple idle passage of time. Imperceptibly but irrevocably.
Why is it so hard to meet people? Why is it so hard to know people? Why does it freak people out when I open up to them? Why is it that amid a group of unbelievably fantastic, supportive, and loving friends I have so much trouble sustaining happiness? Why is it that the moments of happiness I do experience are just that: moments? Fleeting. Disappearing. Gone before any kind of certainty can ever be imparted, and no shadow of the moment ever manifests again, other than my own whiny yammering to my all-too-patient friends. The moment is gone, to be forgotten. Because if it isn't forgotten, it will just torture me for far longer than anyone seems to expect it to, myself included.
Am I just vulnerable? Am I missing something? Am I being a baby? Is this kind of singular struggle one that afflicts others, but they're just better at hiding it? Is this where sad music comes from?
I didn't notice the moment when it happened, and now I miss it.
happy magnetic fields day to you too, brother!
chin up and/or come see me, portland loves you & so will the stupid amounts of hipster women.
10:34 PM, Feb 2, 2009
Self reflection is a fertile ground for poetry.
Let's bake a cake!
9:07 PM, Feb 3, 2009