Work

There is a chasm of difference between my coworkers and myself.

Every single one of them is married or in a long-term relationshion, and has at least one child.
They will all at the drop of a hat describe their excruciating pregnancy and the joys of motherhood.
They discuss cooking, cleaning house, spending time with lovers and children, and carry on in the most Stepford manner.

I struggle to understand them, what makes their world spin around, and how to carry a conversation with them.
Not only that, I believe they don't how to reach me. So their answer to the worlds of difference is to just ignore me for the most part, only speak to me as much as work requires, and leave me to my own devices.
They are not bad people, nor malicious or cruel. They simply can't relate to me.

It suits me fine, to be left to work at my own pace, to find my way through a work shift, and to meander along.
But at times, I feel so lonely, and feel as though I will never deeply connect with any of these people.

The hardest thing about this all, is the way I compare it to my old job, where in a staff of maximum twenty people, I got along with every single person, knew each of them outside of work, could carry on conversations for entire shifts, and happily built work relationships. We knew so much about each other and had the best moments together.

And now, in a far more professional workplace, surrounded by many more people...watched at all times...I often feel lonely.

For the most part I try not to compare the jobs, because they are of two completely opposite existences, but at times I remember the good times had by all, and miss those days.

I love my job, but there are cons to it, as per anything.

I Would Like

to meander my way through a post, without any sense of direction, and without intentionally attempting to get one point across to you, the reader. I would like to start here and finish there, making no sense in between, just filling the spaces with words and sentences that may only make sense to my mind.

So here I go.

[April 14] I find that he gives me pure joy, and he knows that, he knows that he makes me smile, can make me laugh, and he's nervous, and shies away from me. He's afraid that I'll start caring for him, that I'll attach myself, and that he'll hurt me. I love that he is gentlemanly and that he wants to do the right thing. But I wish that he would smile and laugh with me, and not be a fraid. I know it....sometimes when we actually look, yes look at each other in the eyes, we blink and quickly look away, him always first. In those seconds of looking, I see into his soul, there's a brief open moment, an assessment of each other. And every single time I feel so very vulnerable and raw, but I could keep probing. He can't, or won't. He can get under my skin, open me up, make me feel vulnerable and awful, and yet make me smile, give me hope, quiet the voices, calm my head.
I hate vulnerability and hate having my doors open, letting people walk in, take what they want, ever afraid they will walk right out, back through those open doors, leave.

[April 9] So people who believe that there is no such thing as a future, that our existence is random, and that absolutes are an invention of society, are people who don't want to accept their meaningless existence. They devalue life in order to make their feelings about their self-value minimalized. Really, it's an attempt on their part to fool themselves...to escape the facts of their pithy existence. And that is so apparent, it's almost painful to consider. It's the white elephant in the room, the painfully obvious fact that who we are is a continual struggle for us. We constant fight to understand who we are, and will never get some of those answers.
I think at times we can be compared to birds in cages, moths trapped in lamps, butterflies caught in nets. We uselessly beat our wings in futile efforts to free ourselves...and our cages and entrapments may be vices, relationships, circumstances, thoughts, patterns, internal struggles, and cycles of violence or other occurrences.

[April 7] I feel at times overwhelmingly happy to be alive, and then at time, alone, frustrated, and overwhelmed period. So the vascillating to and fro is...well, makes the good time that much more wonderful I suppose. It's tiring though, because I feel as though I'm consistently examining myself when I need to "let it be" (thank you Beatles).

[March 23] So it's odd how you really don't forget people. Someone or something always brings them to mind. It's usually some external force. Someone else who is reminding you, or an event that triggers some memory.

~Randominities~

So today, right here, right now, I've had the most honest and self-probing thoughts.

Here's the thing. Or rather, thingS.

I complain about not having close friends. I whine that my life is devoid of social activity. I feed my self-pity by thinking of how alone I am. And I don't exaggerate when I state that I have no close friends at this point in time. I don't. And the thing is...

I've chosen it to be this way.

I've allowed people to slip away from me, as sand trickles through your fingers. I've allowed time and physical space to push us apart. I've waited for others to make the first move instead of attempting to rekindle fires myself. I secretly find many people boring, which is why I don't try to make friendships work out.

And then I complain that I'm alone. But...I've chosen it to be this way.

I've chosen uneventful nights, I've chosen long work hours, I've chosen uninterrupted weeks of working, I've chosen to avoid people, I've chosen this path in life.

The right to complain is now null and void. This has become all too clear to me. You lay down with dogs, you get fleas. You live with your life decisions. And that is that.

How exactly was this epiphany triggered?

I was talking to someone about another friend who is fading out of my life. My statement was: "We can no longer relate to each other and I find her boring."

The girl I was talking to was silent for a couple minutes and then said, "Don't you think people think that way about you?" To which I arrogantly replied, "No, because I'm not boring".

But after a few minutes of thinking, I can now see how people would see me as boring. I work all the time, don't bother going out, don't go to movies, do not go drinking or clubbing, and basically talk about work. And music. And so, yes, I can see how people would find me uninteresting.

So basically, here's what it comes down to.
I have to learn to live with the life choices that I have made, and I have to learn to live with them gracefully.
Things will never be perfect or precisely the way I would like them to be, so why not be happy and grateful for what I do have?
And if I want more, I need to go out there and get more.

There's just one BUT.
But people, it is always me! It's me who chases down other people and tries to make them care! It's me who shows affection and emotion! It's me who tries to extract care from people! It always is bloody me who tries to make friendships and relationships work. I'm so tired of being the one who ends up feeling hurt and abandoned, while the other person just waltzes out of the situation completely untouched by what went down.

I know I just stated that I wouldn't complain, but this is my blog, and if you don't like it, stop reading it.

Basically it's a catch-22.
I'm frustrated with being the person who tries to make things work, but I'm even more frustrated with my cynical, apathetic attitude.

|| Walls ||

What is it about people who have walls that makes them so compelling to us?

The people we know who are private, elusive, and silent are the ones we attempt to pin down.

It's as though...because they push us away, we insist on hemming them in, trying to discover what makes them tick, attempting to know and understand their minds. It almost become an obsession...trying to delve into them, and uncover their secrets.

The plain truth is...they are usually as uncomplicated and similar to us, but the walls are what drives us to believe they must be hiding something. The walls signify a lack of openness, and seem to promise of something great inside.

It becomes, quite simply, a challenge to us. We want to scale those walls, we want to know what is on the other side, we crave information from them, and the more they withhold, the more we want to know.

They could be as boring as your typical great-aunt or grocery store cashier, but their mysteriousness and refusal to engage in typical conversations or honesty leads us to believe that there must be something, something different about them.

How disappointing it is then, when once we have managed to squeak into the opening of their hearts, to find they are no different than us, just a person with emotions and feelings, that remains closed because of uncertainties or fear.

The people with the walls are the ones we desire the most. We want what is denied us, and the human heart seems to naturally crave what it cannot have. Rather than being satisfied with people we can easily be close to, we run, climb, and frantically chase those we cannot readily have.

How strange is the human heart and mind...