The ironies of life

Are such.
When you want a conversation, everyone will be busy.
When you need to be alone, people will seek you out.
When you want to keep a low profile,
your private news becomes everyones business.
Then, I decide to double cross.
I keep quiet, when I want to speak out.
The silence works much better than an outburst would.
I smile when I am at my angriest.
Hopefully the argument will end without any permanent damage.
And sometimes, when I realize I am not strong enough
to bend will against instinct,
I stay alone.

Happy Christmas to you!

These days...

I think a lot. When disappointments threaten to turn into despair. When realizations strike me that must be shared, or at the very least, scribbled somewhere, if only to be read later and laughed at.
So, my big thought:
When I make a friend, I invite that person into my life. To see me in all my moodiness and whimsical behavior, to know what makes me tick. I learn in turn. About what brings a frown or a laugh. And what must never ever be said. Perhaps that is the reason why, when a friendship goes astray, I feel like a little part of me is gone as well. That although I will certainly move on, an irreversible change has just occured and a gap in my otherwise neatly chaotic world has been created.

Mediocre at best.

An endless, tedious, hopeless, predictable existence. Running like a hamster, for example. There are moments in life, when you witness someone giving voice to your innermost thoughts. Art does it well enough, and you turn the page, or shift in your seat while clutching the popcorn, drinking in whatever unfolds before your eyes. A book I once read mirrored what I saw today and I was elated. Positively joyous. I know now why I have this time on my hands and what I am supposed to do with it. And myself.

Reading.

While some assume reading is reserved for those who are considered nerdy, let me tell you, you are far off. I realized today, that one of my favorite parts about books (and there are many) is falling in love with a completely imaginary character. Why can't these perfect men ever be real? As silly as it sounds, it's a lot easier to love someone who only exists in your mind than someone who is real and right there but only pays attention to you when it's convenient for them. And yet, while it's easier, it's not better. And for some strange reason, I still want to focus on the one who probably never looks twice at me.

This weeks to-do list.

*Stop being a baby and just bloody do it.

...Yepp, that's it.

It's really not that difficult, yet it's been three weeks and it still needs to be done. 

I hate feelings.

Dear feelings,

You keep making everything ache and hurt and throb. Stop it right now. I don’t think I can handle any more of you. Stop keeping me up at night. Stop making the tears fall. Stop making my voice quiver, you make me look like such an idiot, really. Stop making me play sappy songs. Stop making me feel worthless. Stop stirring up inside of me and then always, in the end, justifying everything he says.

I hate you. Go away.

Please.

Please, don't. Just... don't.

Mind block.

I can't express in words how I'm feeling. I've tried, and all I've come up with are a bunch of useless saved drafts that make no sense. I suppose I could use synonyms. Hopeful, cheerful, even? I'm not sure. I think my brain is stuck at an exceedingly long stop light, not allowing my creative thoughts to flow forward and to blossom on this computer screen. Hmmphh. 

Pensive.

I hate these types of nights. The nights when you are by yourself and your head is just a reel of thoughts that you would rather keep hidden. The thoughts grow and grow, about to break free of their barriers. Sometimes, I want them to break through, just not all at once. But sadly, they come flowing out of my mind, all blurred and jumbled together. Like Dumbledore, and his pensieve. I wish I had a pensieve. Instead, I try to push them back, back to the silent sanctuary. Only until I close my eyes to the darkness of the night where I can attempt to sift through them slowly. The difficult part is the sifting. During this process it is impossible to keep my mind still, because I keep going back to him. Every word, every look, everything. It's never ending. How am I supposed to keep myself from exploding from all my erratic thoughts when I don't have the willpower to focus and separate them? I really do hate these types of nights.

Maybe.

Maybe. Maybe?