I did the thing. I wrote the two little blurbs about myself for the place with the job.
And it was not easy. I can see why I kept putting it off. On some level I knew that writing short blurbs meant to represent me to the public would stress me the fuck out.
So I wrote them. But I am not happy with them. I will likely go back and punch them up so they are funnier and more engaging and more in my signature style.
Which I am currently working on developing.
I know I have one. Writing literally millions of words on this blog has to have at least that effect. I am dimly conscious that there is a consistent (ish) mode which I use to express myself in the written (typed) word.
I just need to shepherd myself through painstaking process of becoming consciously aware of my style without wrecking my writing in the process.
I dunno. Maybe it’s not worth the risk and I will end up just barging my way through things without forethought like I usually do.
It’s worked for me so far. Somehow.
Some day I am going to throw myself into some wild (but potentially productive) intense social situation and just improvise (bullshit) my way through it.
Crash some kind of entertainment industry party and schmooze like crazy. Without worring about doing everything right.
Because I won’t. I will, in fact, have no freaking idea what I am doing, Therefore I will have to rely on my instincts and they are highly untrained so I would likely be crashing into the furniture and causing a stir with my attempts at learning to socialize.
But one learns by failing. And there is a comfort in going into something knowing that you will be extremely bad at it at first and thus have to concentrate on staying in the game long enough to learn it.
Tonight’s situation is unusual. I spent the afternoon writing periods doing the job stuff instead of blogging so I will have to do my full 1K works this evening and it is already 8:40 in the evening.
Ya know, we call it the evening, but never say what it evens.
Does that mean the day is “the odding”?
That would make it even.
Anyhow, it’s no big deal. Long and ever ago I used to do my 1K words in one sitting every day, starting around 7 PM ish.
Then I got sick and was far too tired and weak to do that, so I broke it up into two 500 word chunks to make it more manageable.
Then when I got better, I discovered I really liked doing it like that. So I kept doing it.
The plan right now is to do this chunk now and the second chunk around 11 PM.
It’s a bit of a tight schedule but I will get it done. No problem.
Because above all, I must always remember : I’m fucking awesome.
And that’s really all that mattes.
More after the break.
Part 2 : The Partening
Still haven’t had that cry. Still need it.
I’ve tried. But it feels like my waterworks have rusted shut. I try to bring up the emotions and let them be felt and it makes me feel like I am going to cry, but I never do.
Which is frustrating, as you might imagine. Like when you know you have another sneeze coming but it won’t come.
Or like masturbating without being able to climax, I suppose.
Some vital part of my emotional expression network is down and won’t let the tears come. Perhaps some part of me is scared that if they start they’ll never stop.
Silly, of course. I mean yeah, I have a lot of unexpressed pain and fear and so on. My life is pretty awful sometimes, especially medically, and yet I just keep going in my accustomed mode without ever slowing down or stopping or even letting the pain and fear of it all show.
Truth is, I am a massively repressed person. So repressed that the only way I can express my feelings at all, even to myself, is to sit down and write about them.
Which is, obviously, what you’re reading right now.
A classic example of how repressed I am would be the issue of my lust. By all rights, I should be horny as the proverbial fuck (sic) all the god damned time. Were I more alive inside, and therefore able to access and feel the full range of normal human emotion, instinct would be driving me to seek out sex wherever I could find it.
But it doesn’t. My balls are a perpetual state of Smurf blue but most of the time I don’t notice. When I do, it’s purely physical. The actual emotion of lust is almost never felt.
Because what’s the point of tormenting myself, says the sick part of my mind. I’m going to get the same amount of sex and of the same kind whether I let the lust be felt or not, so what is the point of letting myself feel all that frustration?
And that makes sense in a narrowly hedonistic sense. But scratch the surface and it reveals itself to be a deeply broken and life-denying way to see things.
Emotions are not optional and repressing them always comes with a cost. This is especially true with the reptile brain emotions of anger, fear, and lust.
I have lived in a state of artificial calm created by extensively suppressing nearly everything for far too long. It’s warped my entire life around this need to remain “in control” (ha) all the time.
It’s a massive overreaction to anxiety. No wonder I am so fucking numb. A healthy person would feel their emotions and deal with them, not lock all their feelings away in the deep freeze of a severely impaired psyche.
In short, I am all broken inside.
And I want to heal. I want to learn to feel. I want to know what’s real.
But I am so damned scared.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.