"If you ever hear feedback [during a sound check or a performance], it means you're not close enough to the microphone, and you actually have to get closer."
- John Ebdon
I'm tired of being tired all the time.
My problem is a self-made one, and hiding in a pair of fig-leaf pants from the solution (which I can recite to others at will with all the firey conviction of Paul Washer) isn't helping me one bit.
Getting up the nerve to start over and correct my course is also proving to be a challenge. Any enthusiasm I manage to manufacture is very quickly dampened by the prospect of not getting what I want, which in my case, is usually clear and immediate answers.
I want to know what's going to happen so I can be ready for it, instead of getting ready in uncertainty for anything that might come hurtling around the corner -- like my ex did last weekend while I sat reading in her workplace with that stupid Halsey song we once danced to playing overhead.
You make horrible, impulsive decisions thinking you might never see many consequences, especially after you repent and nothing big happens and you start to feel safe and whole-ish. That is until they're suddenly staring you in the face with cold eyes and tight lips, and your heart is racing for reasons that scare you to death as every moment of pain and sin starts replaying in your mind all over again.
It's fine. It'll be fine.
|An unfinished building, an old metaphor for myself|
Everything is hinging on my rate of maturation. I hate being young in mentality when I feel grown in my body and in my face while I gaze out at the world. It's a weird thing I've been aware of since I was a little girl pretending to be married and pregnant with a plastic babydoll. I've always thought I had grown-up thoughts and held grown-up conversations; everyone was always impressed with my ability to articulate and discuss things with anybody, even complete strangers.
So, at 21 (or 22, however that math works), where has my wonder gone? How did I get so stunted, fall so far behind my peers? Where did this feeling of being trapped in a smoky, green, brown, and black darkness come from, and how do I make it lift?
Rhetorical questions, I assure you. I've sewn many a fig-leaf suit in my day.
The temptation to run away is great, even if just for a few hours into a dream. It's easier to be sad and ponder why than it is to get up and fix it.