Why am I so greedy, and so selfish?
And what is the solution to this?
I want too much.
I crave freedom, and yet, in freedom I falter.
How am I supposed to live like this?
Always wanting so much more than my fair share of life.
I wrote once about wanting to live 9 lives, like a cat, but simultaneously and on repeat...
It's true, I do.
Right now it feels as though there is no medicicine for yearning except to achieve the object of desire.
Only, there is not an object, there is a life.
No more dishes, no more laundry, no more trips to the gym, no more cooking, no more cleaning.
I want to be a tumbleweed, lost in the plains.
Or a piece of driftwood caught in a strong ocean current...
It's probably just hormones or the weather or my genetics.
I'll probably get over it.
I'll probably be thrilled with my life again--maybe even later today.
At this moment, I ache.
There is a dullness so sharp inside me that it gags me, closes my throat.
I feel lost and abandoned, but I'm not.
I want to leave a note and drive all night.
Just land wherever.
Hopefully a small town, something with a diner and a tattoo parlor--
and high speed internet.
I want to learn to smoke cigarettes, and pay attention when I play pool.
I want to learn to mask my face when asked where I come from, then offer a cold, "East coast," with a finality that forbids further inquisitions.
Spanish...inquisitions, I should learn spanish, and cry my way to Mexico.
I could work at a resort, and spend my days off silently staring at the sea.
I want to be mysterious and vague--
close this book of self from which I run a constant stream of passages to any and all I encounter.
I would be miserable and lonely.
But at least I would have something to write about.
Yes, I believe I've just answered the question, "Is writing about it as good as doing it?"
It is, it really is, for the most part.
have you ever wanted something so completely that it took possession of you, body and soul?
and when you got it, you realized it wasn't what you wanted after all...
Lines from a song.
It's just that...I don't know.
I get these stupid ideas in my head of things (or situations) that I simply MUST have, but in reality, they're not going to fill me, any more than a dessert fills my loneliness.
I should probably go find a shrink, eh???
Nah, this little brown box is my shrink.
I can solve the puzzle of me better than anyone else, because I've been working it for 31 years.
Ok, so that's a BIT of an exaggeration.
My cognitive skills weren't terribly well-honed until at least 4.
I'm feeling a little better already.
I think I was wallowing.
I hate wallowers.
If I can shed all my craziness here, then it will not be rattling around in my head.
That's the goal here.
Checked out a brand-spankin' new location of my gym today.
It was huge, and empty.
But then, I sort of remember saying that about my previous gym when I first moved here.
Whatever, it was a great workout--
After these last couple of craaaazy weeks, it really does feel good to be exercising again.
I like their scale better, too.
Suffocated and ignored...
I refuse to accept that as my life's description.
Life lines offered, but never given.
I guess I was right...everything's too perfect.
Perfection is ephemeral.
This sounds depressing.
I think I need to find my funny again.
(hold the "farm", smartass)
It's probably hiding out with my libido and my nurturing...
Somewhere far away from the rainbow.
Please stay tuned for your regularly scheduled Lisa.