Weird

That’s how I’m feeling lately. In some ways I know why, in others, I wonder what’s really bothering me. I feel like my life is out of order. The past few months, I’ve had the most fun I’ve had in years here in Philly. I’ve kept in great touch with my established friends, as well as making new ones. I feel like I’ve grown radically since January. I’ve gone new places, tried new things, and grown as a person because of them. I’ve faced things in my life that were holding me stagnant, made tough decisions on how to change them, and those changes have been generally positive. But this weekend has had me looking back.

My friends Chuck and Joy were visiting Malcolm from NYC this weekend. Hanging out with them (and many other sundry friends) tonight was fun. At the same time, I felt a little off. Like, I’m having trouble relating to Malcolm. That in itself isn’t odd at all. I mean, logically, our lives have been drifting apart in a lot of ways these past few months. Breaking up with a person can do that. In some ways though, because we really didn’t have a clean break, it’s been more of a drifting process. Drifting doesn’t seem like moving when you’re doing it. Only when you look back do you realize how far you’ve come. Only when you have a measure of comparison. When you can look at the shoreline, see the changes along it, does the map come clear.

I’ve spent some time looking at the shoreline today. Not out of a sense of regret. I wouldn’t change anything I’ve done, because the decisions I’ve made were exactly right for me and him. But right doesn’t mean comfortable. Change is anything but comfortable. Maybe that’s where the weird is coming from. The dichotomy between comfort and discomfort.

There is a piece of me that always attaches more meaning than I should to these kind of things. I’ve always been the one to break off what few relationships I’ve had. And, in the end, the decision (I believe) always hurts me/hits me harder than the other party. Or maybe not harder, just longer. It lingers in my mind, long after any shred of the relationship has faded away. I wonder if this is just a weird quirck of me, or if others have the same problem.

All of this, as well as general lack of sleep, has infected me with a sort of background melancholy that has made me start questioning all aspects of my life. Why do I always hesitate just short of achieving my goals? Why am I unwilling ot commit all they way when it comes to a relationship? Or, more accurately, why am I willing to pretend not to commit, while at the same time committing far above and beyond expectations (or even my own perception of myself)? All of my life, I’ve striven to be honest with myself. Have I failed? I’ve lacked ultimate trust in my own judgement for most of my life I think. Faced with uncertainty, I’m more likely to believe someone else has a better answer than me. I’m not good at solving problems efficiently. This leaks into my writing. My characters come up with stupid plans they believe are intelligent, and in the end, I create problems for them that are often far beyond the ability of the character or myself to solve. I’ve always felt like I was missing something. My writing is symptomatic of this. I keep waiting for someone to tell me I’m full of shit. And maybe they are, and I’m just choosing not to hear it. Or maybe I’m just spinning my mind in circles.

Today, in Japanese class, the teacher asked us about the flowers of our heart. For Tanaka-sensei, it was her children. For me, I said my stories. This has nothing to do with the above subject, but it was interesting, and I can only whine so much.

I’m going to bed now. I really hope most of this weirdness is stemming from the fact that I only had four hours of sleep last night, because I went to see Serenity again on the big screen in celebration of Josh Whedon’s b’day.

And I got laundry done today.

Weird or not, that was my biggest win of the week.

Vash