Andy is mad at me right now, I think. My birthday was pretty awesome, but since then I've been feeling down. I just now got home from a decidedly lackluster evening of attempting to educate completely apathetic adults. I would have killed for a clove cigarette (sorry- cigarillo) but none of the package stores are open when I'm driving home, so I settled for Camel Bold Crush things when I stopped for gas-- I was on empty.
And I'm on empty in my brain as well. Terrible segue. I got home, didn't say much, snagged my laptop and promptly headed to the back porch to type. It's actually quite nice- about 78 degrees (according to my car at least), overcast enough to make the barely waxing moonlight filter lightly on my computer just so that I can see what I am doing.
What am I doing? Meh. I had this whole idea planned out about trying to explain how I feel about birthdays, and my ideas about getting older, family, obligations, friends, life...
I had a good birthday. I usually don't. The subject of how shitty my birthdays usually are is a subject I have covered far too many times. I don't feel like it anymore. The past few have been good though. The addition of Andy in my life seems to have a lot to do with it. But I digress again. Saturday was very nice. Very calm, no annoyances, just friends and family eating and chatting and such. I like that. My brain was clear for one nice day, a clarity that lasted for most of Sunday as well. Then 27 set in.
27 has been my "lucky number" for as long as I can remember. It has a lot of significance to me; too many to mention here. It should have been an age I was looking forward too, right? Meh again. Then comes 28, 9, 30. I don't fear or abhor getting older. I guess I just wanted to feel happy and clear like I did for most of the day on the 6th. And yeah, it's only bee a day and a half. Today just was a bad... something. It's not like I didn't sleep well. In fact, I sleep too well. By too well, I mean too much. Too long. Like my body wanted to compensate for that year that had suddenly been tacked onto my life.
Rolling this almost spent cigarette around in my hand, I'm just losing sense of direction. My husband is confused and disapproving, my dogs are confused as to why I am sitting out here and not in there with them, and even I am at a loss. I'm tired. I could sleep. But I won't.
Maybe here is a good place to state something about cigarettes and me. I seem to buy a pack a year, and it lasts me that whole year. It's not a coincidence that the pack in question is bought in late summer. I probably have about 2-3 dozen lighters around the house, packed up, shoved away, stowing in the nooks and crannies to convince myself that I have them in case I want to light a candle in and given part of the house and have a lighter within reach. Really though, it's because I stop to buy cigarettes and I need one right then and there, so I buy a lighter at the same time. So there's that.
Am I having a down day? Probably. Will I feel better tomorrow? Meh once again. I might. My car smells REALLY bad, so I'd like to at least clean it out. That's a project I can look forward to, right? Perhaps in another mood on a different day, I would joke about how the only thing in my car is everything I've ever owned. It's quite disgusting. But then, so is my mood when I am like this. I lose all will to take care of myself and don't want to be bothered. I hope to whoever that it won't get worse with age, but I know it will. It has. One day I'll wake up covered in bed sores and cat hair, my own hair shaven off because it's gotten to be too much to take care of anymore, and think: "You said you'd stop this. But you haven't."
It's that sneaky hate spiral. We all have ups and downs, but my downs are just getting worse and worse. The ups aren't as gratifying as they used to be. I crave companionship then push it away. I desire the ability to cry and show some semblance of human (non-cunty) emotion, but just... can't. I'm no different from anyone else. I know other people feel this way every day, and some don't even have the happiness to look forward to. Who am I to sit and whine about this? I'm Shaylin. Hi.
I'm not glowing. I'm fading. I am not a vibrant, intelligent, intuitive young woman anymore. I was once. I, I, I. Maybe I should start focusing on something else.
I think (I GAHHH IIII*) that might be my new goal for this week. Epiphany!
*As an English teacher, I say it's okay to use "I" in moderation, but all of my damn blog posts have "I" in them at least a few dozen times. IIIIIIII! I is not a bad word. You're the schmuck who's reading this shit anyway. Right?
And I'm on empty in my brain as well. Terrible segue. I got home, didn't say much, snagged my laptop and promptly headed to the back porch to type. It's actually quite nice- about 78 degrees (according to my car at least), overcast enough to make the barely waxing moonlight filter lightly on my computer just so that I can see what I am doing.
What am I doing? Meh. I had this whole idea planned out about trying to explain how I feel about birthdays, and my ideas about getting older, family, obligations, friends, life...
I had a good birthday. I usually don't. The subject of how shitty my birthdays usually are is a subject I have covered far too many times. I don't feel like it anymore. The past few have been good though. The addition of Andy in my life seems to have a lot to do with it. But I digress again. Saturday was very nice. Very calm, no annoyances, just friends and family eating and chatting and such. I like that. My brain was clear for one nice day, a clarity that lasted for most of Sunday as well. Then 27 set in.
27 has been my "lucky number" for as long as I can remember. It has a lot of significance to me; too many to mention here. It should have been an age I was looking forward too, right? Meh again. Then comes 28, 9, 30. I don't fear or abhor getting older. I guess I just wanted to feel happy and clear like I did for most of the day on the 6th. And yeah, it's only bee a day and a half. Today just was a bad... something. It's not like I didn't sleep well. In fact, I sleep too well. By too well, I mean too much. Too long. Like my body wanted to compensate for that year that had suddenly been tacked onto my life.
Rolling this almost spent cigarette around in my hand, I'm just losing sense of direction. My husband is confused and disapproving, my dogs are confused as to why I am sitting out here and not in there with them, and even I am at a loss. I'm tired. I could sleep. But I won't.
Maybe here is a good place to state something about cigarettes and me. I seem to buy a pack a year, and it lasts me that whole year. It's not a coincidence that the pack in question is bought in late summer. I probably have about 2-3 dozen lighters around the house, packed up, shoved away, stowing in the nooks and crannies to convince myself that I have them in case I want to light a candle in and given part of the house and have a lighter within reach. Really though, it's because I stop to buy cigarettes and I need one right then and there, so I buy a lighter at the same time. So there's that.
Am I having a down day? Probably. Will I feel better tomorrow? Meh once again. I might. My car smells REALLY bad, so I'd like to at least clean it out. That's a project I can look forward to, right? Perhaps in another mood on a different day, I would joke about how the only thing in my car is everything I've ever owned. It's quite disgusting. But then, so is my mood when I am like this. I lose all will to take care of myself and don't want to be bothered. I hope to whoever that it won't get worse with age, but I know it will. It has. One day I'll wake up covered in bed sores and cat hair, my own hair shaven off because it's gotten to be too much to take care of anymore, and think: "You said you'd stop this. But you haven't."
It's that sneaky hate spiral. We all have ups and downs, but my downs are just getting worse and worse. The ups aren't as gratifying as they used to be. I crave companionship then push it away. I desire the ability to cry and show some semblance of human (non-cunty) emotion, but just... can't. I'm no different from anyone else. I know other people feel this way every day, and some don't even have the happiness to look forward to. Who am I to sit and whine about this? I'm Shaylin. Hi.
I'm not glowing. I'm fading. I am not a vibrant, intelligent, intuitive young woman anymore. I was once. I, I, I. Maybe I should start focusing on something else.
I think (I GAHHH IIII*) that might be my new goal for this week. Epiphany!
*As an English teacher, I say it's okay to use "I" in moderation, but all of my damn blog posts have "I" in them at least a few dozen times. IIIIIIII! I is not a bad word. You're the schmuck who's reading this shit anyway. Right?
