Aimless
i’m writing sitting on a toilet because life is weird. under my feet are a pile of dirty clothes I will pretend are clean when i need them for work. i’m halfway through a documentary on minimalism that I’m watching in the bathroom. halfway committing (maybe only a quarter) to the concept.
ecofeminism is enticing but I’m afraid i’ll have to give up meat. so i think I’ll avoid the topic to feel better.
but maybe i won’t. maybe i’ll woman up and dive in. i know myself. I won’t change dramatically, but maybe I’ll make a dent. I’m borderline vegetarian anyway.
life is weird and so am i. I am an oddball, who believes I can get anyone I want. But it’s saturday night and where am I? writing a tumblr post on a toilet.
Today, alone, I hosted a radio show, I was a guest on a podcast, I cooked a bit and cleaned a bit, and slept in until 1:30. I drank too much coffee and wished I was interesting enough for Seinfeld to want to talk to me. I thought of friends in comedy, even though I know nothing of comedy, and how fun they would be if they were real.
I thought of corporations and how I’m in one, and how I’m okay with it. And how I think this nagging thing of “what else?” will be there for a bit, until I either get way better or try something new.
I thought of how I want to figure myself out but I don’t know what that means. I read through letters I never sent. I almost cried. I may send them, but don’t want to seem too sappy. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.
I thought of projects I never do, and of people I’ll never see. I thought of halfhearted social attempts and of how they never pan out. I thought of living alone, and the benefit of it, and of how grateful I am that I’m doing what I’m doing. I thought of Sir Shadow. I wonder if he thinks down on the rest of us. I bet he doesn’t. But he kinda makes me think down on myself.
I thought of how talented women scare me. Of how they intimidate me. I though of how jealousy shapes my actions. Of how sometimes I don’t “like” when women are better than me (or get more attention than me) for things I’m good at. Or wish I was good at. I thought of how pathetic that is, and of how I need to be better. Lifting, not wishing.
I thought of being famous. Of how there’s a part of me that wants the world to know me. But there’s a part of me that doesn’t.
I thought of friends and how I don’t think anyone could point to me and say “her. That’s my best friend.” I know they couldn’t. Because I can’t do that to anyone.
I’ve been awake for only 9 hours and it’s getting late. If I stuck to a proper circadian rhythm I’d be asleep by now. But I’ll still probably go out. I’ll still try to meet people, but not really succeed.
The world is odd. I am odd. This time of year is odd.
Odd.