The Cynical Romantic's Lament
I'm tired of smiling when my head hurts, of attending activities I dislike, of pretending to be interested when I just want to go home. I'm tired of the games I'm supposed to play—of flirting with purpose and of remembering names. I'm tired of "Sorry!" I'm tired of being so nice that I nauseate myself. I can't even say the word nice without hissing, without afterward swallowing the tiny bit of vomit that came up with it.
Tonight I was chatted up. I should have responded; I should have giggled and patted his arm and asked about his interests. Instead I answered a few questions, then flipped an excuse and headed back to my couch.
I like my couch, even if it does reek of cancer-causing flame-retardants. It does not stress me out. My couch does not voice expectations from our cuddling sessions. My mother does not ask me about my couch.
Yet with all that, I can't purge myself of the idea that somewhere out there is someone who will make me feel real and alive instead of fake and dead. If I could just get rid of that nasty expectation, I would be so much happier.
Tonight I was chatted up. I should have responded; I should have giggled and patted his arm and asked about his interests. Instead I answered a few questions, then flipped an excuse and headed back to my couch.
I like my couch, even if it does reek of cancer-causing flame-retardants. It does not stress me out. My couch does not voice expectations from our cuddling sessions. My mother does not ask me about my couch.
Yet with all that, I can't purge myself of the idea that somewhere out there is someone who will make me feel real and alive instead of fake and dead. If I could just get rid of that nasty expectation, I would be so much happier.
posted by Bethylene at 22:29
3 Comments:
Wonderfull
I love you.
Okay, I don't know you. That said, this reads as a little self-indulgent.
Maybe I just missed the point that it's "artistic", and "art should be a little tragic".
You are WAY too young to be that tragic...
When I consider (what I perceive to be) your socio-economic background, I refuse to believe that your life has been any worse than mine.
Then mix in my own view of "I can is more immportant that IQ": The only thing that can make YOU happy is YOU.
Lady Beth, you have a very articulate, eloquent voice to your writing. I enjoy stopping by your blog and appreciate all of the insight I gain from it. Your writing definitely holds my attention longer than it should (whilst I am working). Please, find some bright and good things in this life. Please, see past the tragedy and into the miracles that abound.
Things like the changing of the leaves or the autumn sunrise, the stink of an old baseball glove or brand new puppy breath, a baby clutching your finger or the discourse you participate in at lunch on the quad or in class. These are worthy things, of your time and energy, of your attention.
Find your happiness, and a man equally as happy will find you...
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