This past week, I'm adjusting back. Also, I'm rediscovering how lovely it is to sit somewhere quiet with a good book, or movie, and breathe the morning fresh air and drown in my meandering thoughts. This has become a kind of solace for me, in odd moments of the day, when I'm overwhelmed by all the activities and conversations I find myself in.
Take dancing.
My feet have been set to dancing, since whenever. I don't truly know why or how. The music, the vivid vitality of it, just takes over my limbs and stretch turns into a sweeping up of the arms, into a fluid motion of arms and torso. And the legs brought up into a leap, and I'm off again. I can't explain it at all. I've been awkward before this, but I've always strangely loved dancing, and more or less jumped at any chance of learning dance, as terribly stiff as I've been. I'm always amazed at how graceful dancers are.
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I realise, quite depressingly, I've been distant from office to distract myself from musing over small things. I realise I can't please everybody. To be belittled and frowned upon my own choice of actions almost give me mental breakdown.
Í'm tired of trying too hard to make myself fit in and belong. My bleeding heart can't be bleeding enough. I'm just too easy, aren't I? That you can push me around.
I have a heart that feels and a mind that thinks too. My large gestures and laughter, when I try to make myself look like I don't have a care in the world, end up hollow. i'm tired of swallowing words that's been grinding down to painful awkwardness.
It's not worth crying over the crowded thoughts as much as it hurts me.
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I'm waning, beyond the turmoil even though your presence gives me an odd sort of comfort.It's the sheer drifting space of the oblivion that comes with the tiredness, after. It never seems to have an end, except when I set my mind into motion again.I hate it when I find myself repeating small restless and mindless actions.
I'm tired of feeling sick of the things that I do. Yet that seems to be the status quo, for now.
I want to get out, to be out of the ordinary in my life. Yet I don't want to be confronted with the unfamiliar right now. I'm just too raw and too tired to push myself into dealing with anything new. I wonder why the adrenaline remains. I'd like to be rid of the emotional loop-de-loops on this rollercoaster, all things considered.
How much hurt or pleasure is a human heart truly capable of? Can there ever be anything of a fathomable answer? Everything I feel is still so intense. I'm oddly happy to relax and kick back and do silly things, but there's still a kind of watchfulness that remains with me.
It just bothers me when I get into these moods, when the castles that I build in the air start to condense and fall to the ground as heavy-weighted expectations.
I don't want to have to meet expectations that I'm feeling, or possibly even just making up in my head from small perceptions and quirks and inflections of voice. I don't want to control the future, or to get this disappointed when things that happen does not happen the way it's supposed to. I don't want to care so much about what people think, or even worse, what I think people think. I don't want to have to carry on the act, and be this golden girl who's got it all together because I don't. I really don't. I'm not too sweet to act in a certain way. In fact, I'm hardly too sweet or too nice a young lady to be doing any particular thing at all.
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All right, enough of this.
Life can just suck for no reason. Especially when writing long angsty post like this.
