unreal 20.05.08 11:00 a.m.
Today doesn't feel the least bit real. I have to be at work in four hours, and that doesn't feel real either. There are bright red hibiscus flowers blooming on the tree next me, but they seem alien, as though I haven't actually been nurturing the scrawny tree for nearly a year, watching the blossoms open and fall like clockwork for the last several months. It feels more like purgatory, like I'm aching and bursting for something that isn't this. And I have no way to escape because I have to do this in order to go on to something else. But I've been feeling like this for years.
We all get a little paranoid sometimes.
Sometimes I think I'm a catalyst, that I exist so others around me can be inspired or motivated, but it requires that I remain static and stagnant. Just sometimes, though; if I'd felt that way all the time I would probably be dead right now. And no, that is not an exaggeration.
I'm tired of waiting for other people to pay as much attention to me as I do to them. I also need them to shut the hell up when I actually give myself my attention, instead of devoting myself to them so thoroughly.
(I'm so thorough. It's a curse.)
And if I were to start giving myself the parts of me that I deserve, start caring about myself the way I care about all of them? They'd all vanish.
I don't want to need people. I want to like myself. I can't have it all.
I have to leave for work in three hours. It still doesn't feel real. And I won't feel real while I'm there.
listening:
reading:
ingesting:
(see entries before 20.11.05)
previously on Smothered Hope:
unreal - 20.05.08
in which our narrator kinda just babbles on a bit - 15.05.08
drank several margaritas last night. they were great. - 04.05.08
spacey - 29.04.08
i will most definitely regret posting this in public - 28.04.08