Trash Night

I sometimes wonder if I did something wrong. If that's why you think I'm disposable. If that's why you think you don't need to pay attention. To respond. To be the friend you promised to be.

I also wonder why I bother to care. Because you don't. That much is blatantly obvious.

I wonder if I ignore you the way you ignore me, if that would make you notice. If you might then realize exactly what you appear to be throwing away.

I'm okay with the situation. In fact, I'm thrilled to be saved the complications of it all. Especially since it has been a good long while since we came to that resolution. I haven't broken my end of the deal.

Why have you?

Did I do something specific to deserve this? Did I pain you in some way? Am I that horrendous a being? I don't think that I am.

I could make excuses. I could say to myself that you're busy. That you have alot on your plate. That there are circumstances out of your control that make you so distant. Would that be true?

I seem to be in a trend, a rut. I keep letting people dispose of me. In this rut, I'm okay with it being trash night, and I'm the trash.

But this cannot continue. I'm not trash. I am more than that. I am better than that. I deserve more and better than that.

So how do I get to be kept? I'm probably not going to change, so if it just me you don't like then I'll leave on my own. But there is something not being said. There is a secret lurking.

And this message into the oblivion isn't helping. You think I'm nuts. Stark, raving, stalking, crazy, mad. I'm just concerned. Because I don't understand. I'm confused, and I think you have the answer I'm looking for.

If you were my friend, I think you would just tell me. So, either it is a terrible secret, you don't trust me, or you aren't actually my friend. I'd like to think I can rule out the third one, but perhaps the other two are closer to the truth. But if it's the third one, if you aren't even my friend, then I need to have my judgement checked.

So, here I am, staying up late again when I should be sleeping or writing a speech or something because I'm trying to figure out how to handle this situation. I want you to care enough about me as a person and a friend to do something that would serve the purpose of maintaining our friendship. My artificial deadline for this act is when I finish summer school.

If by then there is no concerted effort, I am going to make myself give up. I'm not a quitter, but I swore to myself I'd stop being a masochist about maintaining friendships that don't stand a chance.

This is sort of like that scene in Erin Brokovich when the biker guy has that jewelry for her and says he was just waiting for the next time she was nice. I am nice. I presume you are nice. I'm waiting for you to prove that you are nice. Your gift is my friendship (which is one heck of a bargain, if I do say so myself!).

Otherwise, I'm taking out the trash. And this time, it won't be me getting sacked.

Love always, ~Heather

Hiding

I'm supposedly not supposed to put my personal life on the internet. I think my friend is right. If I ever make it to a real life where I'll be working in the world, I'm going to want to have a bit of stuff that people don't know.

That being said - I'm thinking about a feeling that isn't bad or good. I'm having that feeling in the most positive way possible. I'm [said feeling] because I miss/wish the thing I am [same feeling] of.

This is like a bad word puzzle. I'm going to bed. Love always, ~Heather

Cliff-Diving

Ugh to the missing-oh.

This is me, sitting on a big purple chair, wishing there were some way to explain this yucky feeling inside me.

This is me, typing away to people who may not even know me.

This is me, wishing that somehow my work here will fill the empty void I feel inside myself.

My theme of the month is that "I am unrejectable." In theory, this theme is quite good, because it really empowers me to feel good about myself. The only hitch is, you can't really claim to be something you have no control over. In fact, being unrejectable puts me in the curious and precarious situation of not actually putting myself out there with any of my ideas (because if someone were to reject me, my theme would be destroyed).

I dream that someday I won't have to think this way anymore and that I'll be able to read my journal without coming across some angst-y passage. But the only euphoric entries are the fantasies, and no one can truly live in a dream world.

I'm a firm believer in keeping my two feet on the ground (literally and metaphorically). Why is it that I am consistently striding out to the edge of cliffs and dangling myself near the edges - tempting myself to jump? Because even when I don't jump, I usually fall.

This time, it was an unusually large drop. It hurt to hit the ground. Worse yet, it feels like I was made of rubber and keep bouncing along falling repeatedly, but not knocking any sense into myself. For the brief moments my feet are on the ground, I am stable and strong. Then physics takes over and the excess energy bounds me off into the land of repeated pain.

The good news is, that a ball never bounces as high the second time. The fall will be shorter and shorter, the bouncing less and less fierce. The time on the ground will grow longer, until I am solidly there. I have the funny feeling that I'll be leading myself to another cliff though - like a slinky on a staircase, aching to let gravity take control.

I like the idea of being grounded, I do. But I keep thinking to myself that one time - just one time - when I hang out by that cliff I will fall and be caught or fall and learn to fly. As much as it sucks to keep hitting the ground, is it worth it to not jump the time when someone is really there or the wind is just right?

Wouldn't it be marvelous to fly?

I hope being caught will be equally marvelous. And I hope that one day, it happens to me.

[Sidenote, completely ruining my poetic flow there - a NYTimes article recently said that 51% of American women aren't married. That doesn't really play in my favor.]

Bedtime. Love always, ~Heather