Sitting in my glasshouse

A "Fuck Art" moment.

I just want to burn them all. Every notebook. Every sketch filled "journal" every single scrap I have ever even DOODLED upon. Erase it. Forever.

To Scream: LIES

And: I WILL NEVER BE A COMIC BOOK ARTIST.

Fuck Art.

"Art is what you can get angry with."
Why does that make me smile?
Why do I ask questions I know the answer to?


Did I mention I'm happy? I truly am.

Judgement

As much as I tell myself "I don't care"; I do. I do and I don't want to. Yet, to admit that is to admit more than I am willing to share.
Fear.
Yet, it is overcome by a mere thought ("Nobody minds. And even if they did, do I care? No.")..though, unfortunately, that thought does not simply end there ("...perhaps. Yes. A little. Enough.").

Complex social dynamics. I must remember that I, too, am [human].
Human.

The desire to run away is strong. The fear [I will convince myself] is unfounded. ["I am loved - all you need is love."]

Are they the same as I?
I'm hoping for something unexpected... will that defeat it?

"Did you hurt your hand?"

I hadn't seen him standing there....
He caught me cleaning the gash.. luckily it looks a lot better tonight, I could pass it off as a washing-up accident. The bread knife a likely enough culprit.

"Oh.. yeah.. I didn't want to worry you guys because you get.. worried."
"Where were you?"

I needed to get away. The walls were closing in again. I needed to talk.. but there's nobody to listen, nobody who I want to listen, so I went walking.

"Walking... I had my phone."
"You didn't answer it."

It was on silent, still, from training Tuesday night. The reason I missed Tora's call this morning and why I didn't get Trefyn's message... I should change it.. but I won't. Not ready for the jarring loudness it seems to explode with every time it demands my attention (as if to shout "ANSWER ME").

"Sorry. I didn't know it rang. Oh...yeah, one missed call.."

I wouldn't have answered it anyway.. so deep in thought. I considered calling somebody.. anybody.. then realisation set in; I don't call people. Not that they would mind or that it was too late or anything like that... because I mind, because as much as I love all my friends there is only one that I cry to.. and never by phone. I don't even have her number.

"Yeah..."
"I.. had a thing..sort of.. misunderstanding, with a friend, so I went out."

I really do want to tell them sometimes.. what's going on in my life, how the world is through my eyes. It's obvious they would listen.. but.. even the simplest things go unsaid.
I love you, Dad. Sorry I didn't tell you before I went. Sorry I never tell you. I don't think you know how to hear it.

"Oh. Well, you're home now. Goodnight."
"Night."

We live at the edge of the miraculous

Tantrum over.
Crisis done.

The story has gone to my secret keeper and all is balanced once again..

I'm READY for this.
"Everything remains unsettled forever, depend on it."

What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here...

I had three parties to go to last night.
THREE. One would think I'm fucking 'social' or something.
I chose Kaine's... I chose his and it was "perfect"... meant to be, anyhow. So fucking special.

Felling betrayed; a little angry.
Very much ALIVE, however.

More complications.. not what I was after, but it sure makes things interesting.
Perhaps I should stop analysing.. lying on the floor, freezing, curled in on myself.. it was like old times, while it set the "low"... The desperation was gone. Hurt without the release. Some thing's got to happen.

Feeling less [human]. More detached. Not feeling LESS, simply not being affected by what is there. Tired, mostly.

There's an eloquent way to explain this, I'm sure.

On a long enough time-line even the most extreme things begin to feel contrived.


-----------
3hours & 4minuntes later


I need to write because I.. it seems I have lost the ability of talking and the will to express myself any other way..

Before I get into that, the story of the Canadian Engineer:
It begins (as many interesting stories do), with a bottle of Vodka.
Smirnoff, of course. Like drinking metho from a wine bottle - there's something romantic yet truly repulsive about it.
The setting, Quinn's house; if there is a place that hold more mixed feelings and memories I don't know of it.
We'd been speaking on and off all night. Physics, engineering, a bit of philosophy. He knew his stuff, but I knew far more.. it felt good, showing up a fully qualified engineer while very, very drunk... but the most amazing part of the night was curling up half on the couch and half lying against his chest. I do not even know his name but for that mere 45minutes of stillness, of listening to his heartbeat, his breathing, and the occasional sound of him drinking his beer.... it was WARM and SAFE; I felt CONNECTED to another Human. He assumed me to be sleeping and just let me cling there, against him. When, finally, he had to go, he slipped out from underneath my head and covered me in a blanket saying "I've got to go Fin, I hope I'll get to see you again sometime."
The kindness of others astounds me sometimes...it's so fucking perfect.

I DON'T UNDERSTAND PEOPLE.
Yet, I do. I'm just frustrated.

And I'm mad at [you].
I'm mad at [you] and [everybody] and [everything]... and really I'm just mad at myself.
For being stupid.
For caring.
For not caring enough.

And, truly, I'm not even mad.... betrayed, perhaps. Uninformed. Sad, mostly.

Going around in fucking circles; that's it, I'm breaking this chain.

The killer in me is the killer in you

Felling rather antsy...
In a I-need-to-get-out-of-here sort of way. I might just have to pump the tiers of my bike up and ride until I don't know where I am anymore; it's been too long since I've done that.

An IQ of 146 and I haven't even been able to write a fucking simple three page letter.

I'm sabotaging myself again. It bothers me because I am so hyper aware of it.. which just serves to aggravate the situation further.
There are very few things I care enough about to get angry over and this is one... this one is the toughest. I should be able to do this, I can fight it... I keep telling myself I can and yet...
Argh! I might need to ask for help; that in itself is hard enough.. the problem is, that even if I were to ask, I don't know who to turn to.
I can sort this out.
I will...
I just have to remember I'm [human]... sometimes [human]'s need a little help.... right?

New month. New everything.

I'm changing; for the better.

Sorting myself out.

New hair. New focus. New job. New plan.
It's all getting sorted.