Thursday, May 20, 2010

"tell me why the road turns..."*

I really feel like talking about... myself. Not in a all hail Miss Malorie kind of way, but in the, I feel like sharing with you kind of way. Y'all know how I like sharing me with you.

I am lonely. Before you get sad, or piteous, stop. The sensation of loneliness is one I've been holding hands with since I was a child. I have always felt some type of loneliness. Sometimes, it comes for a day or two, sometimes it persists, riding under the surface of my skin, hiding behind my smile... sometimes, it touches me for a moment and leaves me again. I used to wonder about this loneliness... why does it exist when it shouldn't? Well, I a). no longer dictate to my emotions whether they should or should not exist (because it certainly doesn't matter, they will exist regardless), and b). I have always felt like I was on the outside looking in. Always. Always felt different, always felt like things were going on in me that weren't going on in others. Even when I meet people who are like me, that little part of me still exists. But it's gotten much smaller. When I get stressed out, or when things don't happen when I want them to happen, that little part seems much larger than it is. So, yes, I'm lonely. But only for right now. Tomorrow I probably won't be.

I am intense. No, not like I'll fuck you up if you look at me funny kind of intense, but just... intense. From my emotions to my facial expressions, to how personal I take things (we'll get to that), I am... too much for myself sometimes. Sometimes I aggravate myself. Sometimes I feel bad for recipients of my angry stares and sulky silences.

That being said, it's funny how the intensity of pure love dissolves the negative intensity. And no, I'm talking about the baby, you sho' look good right now kind of "love." (In middle school, always the scholar, I differentiated between the two by spelling changes. "Love" for the untouchable emotion I wanted, "luv" for the bullshit we-ran-when-Ms.-Witherspoon-caught-us-making-out-behind-the-building-and-I-made-you-cry-when-I-cussed-you-out-for-trying-to-take-my-virginity**.) I'm talking about the stuff that makes your heart smile*** and your eyes well up with sentimentality. Like when I'm having a shitty day at work and my favorite group of kids sits and talks to me though I'm sure I look like Oscar the Grouch with a book. Or like when he and I lie in bed and cuddle and talk... in those moments, it doesn't matter that I feel like the 7:30-6 is killing me creatively, and it doesn't matter that I may love him and he's not in love with me. In those moments, my intensity fades, and I'm just happy. Just happy to be in the position to receive the love.

I'm listening to the radio right now, and I was reminded of one of my favorite, favorite, favorite lines from a song, ever. I may be just a foolish dreamer... but I don't care... thank you, Lionel Ritchie and the Commodores for this song ("Zoom"), which encompasses pretty much everything I feel. Too often, I do feel like a foolish dreamer. Like I'm believing in all the wrong ideals. Love. Freedom. Love. Peace. Intelligence. Good-fucking-music. Writing. Creativity. Love, forever and always. Honesty. Kids, plenty of kids. Comfortable living. Love, deep, all-encompassing, true, stand-the-test-of-time love. Believing in true causes like the aforementioned can make one feel like a foolish dreamer. But you know what? I don't care.

I'm sure I've told you that I take things personally. Not as much as I used to. But I still do. This contributes directly to my "feeling on the outside-ness." I won't go into detail about that, but I do know that when people don't text me back, I do take it personally. If even just a little bit. Stupid? Possibly. Does it sting, occasionally? Yup.

Men and I... do I even need to finish that statement? Naw, I'll pass. You can fill in the blank space. What you come up with will probably sound better than anything true, anyway.

Retraction: it's not men and me. It's specific men and me. I'm not going to become one of those women who bashes all men for things they didn't do. All men cannot possibly be responsible for the folly of a few.

I think I'm done. I was exhausted earlier, but now I'm wired, the way I get when I'm writing. Plus, it doesn't help that my bed partner tonight is my laptop. I'd much rather be cuddling. Well, we can't always get what we want.

Before I depart, I must complain so I don't sleep with all this.
I don't have the type of money I want although I knew all the time that we would depart I don't think I was ever ready for the reality of it all the bureaucracy of adult life makes me forget how much I still love talking to children and hearing their unique viewpoint I wish we were cuddling now but that would mean I couldn't be writing I'm not not not ready even though I'm cynical and more realistic I'm still a romantic and I still believe in love and I hope the universe doesn't take all my ranting seriously because although I'm really cautious I do want to be someone's wife one day but it seems that I still either fall in the good lay category or the nice friend category but the girlfriend category and I seem to have had a falling out and I don't know what it's gonna take to get us back right because one of these days I'd like to be a man's friend before we have sex and I think it would be nice if one actually fell in love with me rather than practicing their unique brand of "I think you're a great catch but I don't want you" affection.

*exhale*

Complaint done. Now that I've complained, I thank God. Even through my frustration, I know I'm divinely blessed. And I don't take that for granted.

zoom... let me fly far away from here...


*-usually my titles have nothing to do with the post. This song happened to be playing as I was finishing writing, and its melancholy groove has always been a favorite. Plus, after writing so extensively about "deep" ish, I wouldn't have come up with a good title anyway. I did y'all a favor.
**-for the record, we did make out behind the building, and those little sniffles a decade ago were probably a well-played act so females would imagine him to be the "sensitive" type. I think he's a thug now, making rap music. Oh yeah, someone can't take something that's not offered. I don't know why I thought he was trying to take my virginity... it didn't matter, because I wasn't opening nothing but my inbox to write him a well-written (for my age) goodbye-I-can't-believe-you-did-this-shit-to-me letter. I was always a great fuck you, dude letter writer.
***-if you've never felt your heart smile, it feels like your body undergoes some type of mystical warming process... the good kind though. Not like in a microwave, but outside, in the sun, with a nice breeze blowing simultaneously. Truthfully, I don't know how to describe it. But it feels good.

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