|Verily, tis yet August 13, 2005...
You can catch me flying, Trying to find the moon on a cloudy night..
I want to chronicle my weirdness. For once, I'd like to appreciate my oddball aspects, instead of criticize or hate myself because of them. Because for the most part, they're harmless. And I think my weirdness gives me an appreciative, fanciful, delighted outlook on life. When I get to revel in my weirdness, then I am delighted with life.
1. I talk to myself a lot. A whole lot. All the time. I have debates, I teach imaginary people things. I read out loud to children. I frequently explain myself to that imaginary person who really wants to understand me. Maybe someday I'll have a real person like that, but for now, I'll just keep talking to myself. When I am listening to music in the basement, I perform songs before an audience. Sometimes it is a karaoke contest, sometimes I am on American Idol, sometimes I am at an open mic night, and my family is there. I actually become physically nervous, as if there really is an audience there.
Sometimes I am the lead singer of a rock band called Black Cherry, and I have red hair. Beautiful red hair. Actually, I often portray the lead singer of Black Cherry. She has no name, but she wears a tee shirt that says "Lead Singer". All of the band members are designated by their roles, and they choose not to use names. I love being this character. Sometimes we are performing at the Grammies. Sometimes we are being followed by MTV cameras. Sometimes the cameras are on me and I don't even know it. I have that fantasy a lot when I am dance-exercising. One of the bandmates is in love with me, but because I am a Witness and he is not, he knows that we can never be together. But he watches me.
When I listen to music and sing or dance, I am always performing for someone. And when I talk aloud, I am always talking to someone. Yes, I rationally know that there is no one there, but I still feel as if there is someone there.
2. I am highly attuned to incongruities. Recently I read a book. It was one of those standard modern-day thrillers, where there is a killer on the loose, and the brilliant (yet complicated) detective has to find this person before he strikes again. All ultimately leading to a showdown at the detective' s home (which is of course, highly implausible). I've encountered that plot SO many times. Anyway, I was so ANGRY with this book. I was passionately angry. I was so mad, I had to write a list of all the things wrong with it. This happened to me before, with a popular movie.
I can actually become offended if characters do not behave consistently. I have a strong sense of what is harmonious and what is not. It BURNS me when characters in movies or books behave in ways that such a person really would not, but for the writer's laziness and convenience. Well this book had a fascinating character, the villain, who was brilliant, and ABSOLUTELY WOULD NOT have made the mistakes he supposedly made. So OUT of character, and I HATE when that happens. Also, the author of the book didn't seem to realize what a goldmine he had with that intriguing character, and the book was just SUCH a waste. Well, this kind of thing bothers me.
3. I like ants. I don't remember that I like them until I get a chance to observe them, and then I like them all over again. When I was little, one summer there were ants in my room. And I didn't tell anyone, and I certainly didn't try to kill them. I kind of felt like they were my companions, just busily trudging along, doing their work. I let them be and they let me be. My father put an end to them as soon as he found out. But recently we discovered ants in our bathroom. And I just got to watching them. They are fascinating to me. They follow the same path, and they're quite industrious. I don't know what they are doing but I like to watch them do it. I even dreamed about them. I should get an ant farm!
Okay, that's it so far in the weirdness chronicles. I'll think of more things later.
September 4, 2005 - Pages are meant for turning...Bridges are meant for burning
I'm not sure when I realized it exactly, but I am alone. Emotionally alone. Physically, my family is here. I think we're closer than ever, but we're all so different and there is so much water under the bridge. Still, we're doing okay, as a family unit. Since I've started going back to the meetings, I have more acquaintances. There are sisters that if I want to talk about makeup or recipes or the latest interesting scriptures, I can do it. But I don't have anyone right now who is going to get inside that inner gate. The core of me has gone untouched by human interaction for quite some time. Yet I can't say I've succumbed to loneliness. I think perhaps the loneliness is often tied to depression, and I'm not depressed so I don't wallow in any negative states anymore. Besides, I do have people around.
Last night I was thinking about changing my attitude. Instead of being so self-centered and concerned about what others can offer ME, I'm thinking about what I can offer and do for them. So maybe there isn't anyone right now who can light my fire or massage my heart, no one who offers a mind ripe for melding. But there are amiable, sympathetic people who maybe need some encouragement, or someone to talk to, someone to care about them. I've been the recipient of a lot of love and well-wishes over the years and it is time for me to start giving that back.
September 13, 2005 - I'm moving on up!
Just a quick entry because I'm super busy. But somewhere I just had to write..I'm moving out! Next week! Very exciting, lots to do.
|Diary Page Sixty-One|