Social media causes angst.
I want so much; and then I find myself looking in every drawer, closet, nook and cranny to eliminate, give away, and strip to bare minimum. I hate stuff. I want to give it all away, minus my wardrobe and my books. The books are my library. They tell me stories. And when you read the titles, they give you insight into where my mind has been and who i am. And as much as i don’t say, they speak for me. My clothes are my presentation to the world. They are my mood and how I’m feeling today. Who do I want to present, who do I want you to think I am? I hate you for wearing pajamas to the airport. I hate you for wearing house slippers to the grocery store. I don’t hate you because I know you; I’m angry with you for telling me this about yourself.
Coming upon big change. The lease is up soon. I want to move. I want to move far away. Wipe slates clean. I have no shame. Just new. Refresh. I’m feeling tired and worn out with this. Even though I know I’m on the precipice… I don’t know of what, and I’m frustrated. I’m gathering options and places. I haven’t given up on my music, I’m just being realistic. I am not counting on others.
I see your fashion and your shoes and your make-up, and just the pictures exhaust me. Isn’t it so hard to maintain? I resent you and the money you waste and spend to show up and show off, and I admire you at the same time. This is the most honest thing I can say.
Before he introduced himself, before he said his name: the stranger man said to me “You look like a very low maintenance woman.” Does this mean i am plain?
I wear earring studs and nothing else; all other jewelry is in the way.
I see the food you eat, and I am both grossed out and anxious, like i’m missing out. I justify my lack of indulgence in the guise of saving money and saving myself the dis-ease those ingredients inevitably bring. Yet i’m drawn to your post and recipes and gatherings; and i gander. I live through it all vicariously. It eventually passes; it always does. They are just pictures. You are probably suffering.
I am not a jealous person, I do not covet you or things. I am so non-inquisitive, men I’ve been in relationships with wonder if I care enough. I do. I wouldn’t spend my time there or with you. But I love being alone. And I do not admonish human nature. I do not hate men for being who they are.
I hate being alone so much. I know I would get more accomplished if I lived with someone. Just your mere presence would hold me accountable to how I use my time. I’m ready for you and us. I want to be one half of a power couple. There is so much I want to do; there is so much we can do together. We would feel powerful together, that’s all. Staying inspired by myself is exhausting. You excite me.
This world, so much destruction-heartache-pain. There is so much, it is non stop. We are abundant and deprived at the same time. We are anxious and angry and scattered with desire. We close our eyes to sleep and it gets louder. This insomnia is when we finally allow ourselves to think. This is why meditation is so important. Isolate it. Free it. Let yourself just be.
Some feel driven by purpose, but this purpose is destruction. Keep your head up. Keep your mind clear. What is good? What feels right?
I want to be so wrapped up in my ambitions and loving relationships that I don’t have the brain space to consider the sadness and heartbreak and destruction. I want to be serving the well-being, putting out good and joy.
Social media pisses me off. I am not naive nor do i want to be oblivious, but what we think on, talk about, and share, only serves to perpetuate. What are you generating. What fuel are you firing?
Oh human fallibility, oh ego! You trip me up, scatter my thoughts, confuse my sense and only serve to get in my way. I am pushed to want, need, and desire. My survival is only really dictated by my adaptability to change and evolve. In this process, i want to feel alive and in love with it. Survival mode is primitive. Thriving mode is beautiful.
I am ready.