| | Before I begin, I want to mention that there's a guy in the library with his headphones on. His music is so loud that I can hear it from over here, 4 meters away from him. In fact, his music is so loud that I can hear it even after stuffing my sound isolation headphones into my ear. How inconsiderate. Alright, moving on.
It's 8.18 am in the morning. I'm thinking. I have a bottle of ice tea with peach and pear juice. I don't think I should be drinking it in this library, but I do it anyway. The soft sounds of David Torn are drifting into my mind, blocking out the world. I want to think. I want you to know my thoughts.
I think should write like Rorschach from Watchmen. That facet of thought was introduced to me while I was spending time on my "clan site" on Kingdom of Loathing. I'm putting the inverted commas because I know how nerdy that sounds, and I am adverse to that. I am concerned about image. Ironically enough, I don't really have an image. I'm just the tall Asian guy. I'm thinking I don't want to divulge this secret. That I want to keep it a secret. I don't want people to picture my thoughts in the context of my appearance. But now you know, or you already knew. My clan, from before, is filled with middle aged or younger men and women. Some of them are lesbians. Many of them are overweight. Some of them are cynical, some of them are sweet. They have a strange sense of humour that takes a lot of getting used to. My sense of humour is dry. Sometimes I worry about my sense of humour, but not often. I am in a constant state of oscillating between worrying and non-chalance. I dislike it. I wish it would be steadier.
I mentioned that I'm in a library. I am concerned that people I know will come and look at what I'm doing. I dislike that too. The people I know, my "acquaintances", they don't know this side of me (although, it undoubtedly leaks through my solemn behaviour), writing while other people are watching is embarassing. Ironic. I'm thinking this stream of thought style of writing is ineffective. I'm thinking that no one will read large blocks of text. I'm thinking perhaps I don't need anyone to read it. I'm recalling the past. Writing helps me think. Writing focuses my thoughts. I'm thinking of Brenda and Dillon. They write like I do. I think they gain clarity. I'm concerned about Dillon; he doesn't seem entirely happy. But I remember, neither am I. I'm a work-in-progress. We all are. I want Dillon to find a girlfriend, for his happiness. I want Brenda to find love, for her happiness. Brenda is interesting, verbose, disciplined, even. I respect them both.
I have been encountering moments of awkwardness. I can't say things like love easily. It troubles me. No matter. There is a man here. Me and Al, a friend from law, we call him Joe Whiteman. He's chubby, looks like a balloon. He has an annoying face. He is somewhat obnoxious. He is always spending time with girls, which I can never understand. No matter. Maybe I am jealous of his popularity. But I am definitely annoyed by him. Perhaps I read faces too well. I wish that I could read faces the way Tim Roth in Lie to Me does. I want to know people's intentions. I spend time playing Magic: The Gathering with my friends and brother sometimes. I don't dislike the game. I know quite a bit about it. The people who play the game with me, they make me feel inadequate. The good players have excellent memories. The bad players seem to be failures in normal society, although I don't want to stereotype them. They are, also, mostly overweight. I enjoy the game, but I want to move on in life. I want to do things like normal people do. I want to finally get that driver's license. I want to lose weight. I wonder, myself, why there are constantly things bothering me. Perhaps it is because I never actively seek to remedy my ways. I'm thinking this paragraph has become somewhat depressing. No matter. We move on.
My dress sense is faulty. Not spending time outside, or with people, enough makes it this way. I have few clothes. I don't buy my own clothes. I feel there are obstacles to buying clothes. I don't want to buy overly large clothes, in case I lose weight. I think my obesity is preventing me from achieving anything. I dislike saying the word. I can't laugh about it. I feel like obesity is just one large barrier. When I have children, I will discipline them to never become overweight or obese. Humans should not be like this. I find myself unlikeable. Obesity is troubling. Many people seem to suffer from it. My thoughts are extremely scattered right now, because this has been an issue for most of my life. I don't want a perfect body. I don't want to be like a well oiled and photoshopped David Beckham. I just want to be thin. To not carry all this burden. It is a burden to me, and you are my councellors.
I recall my friends. They once complained about another mutual friend who spent alot of time complaining about his life. I heard them say: "Man, everyone has problems, we just don't talk about it." I am greatly concerned about all this. But I have to talk about it. I have no need to hide my troubles from the world. At least this world. But I hide it anyway. I feel like I'm combating my genetic desire for natural selection. Some of the people I know; they think on a different level. I cannot communicate efficiently. I feel slow and retarded. I cannot seem to win at many things. I feel inferior. Men live to win things.
I have been troubled about something else. I was told that I have little tact, that I am rude. This much I know. I was told that good human interaction NECESSARILY involves saying mean, hurtful things in a nice way. To me, this is the equivalent of lying. I dislike it. But I was told this is how people interact. I agree that life should not be about knocking other people down, but about building them up. Saying spiteful things destroys a little bit inside of the recipient of the words. Words are part of our construction. The feelings we obtain from other's actions is part of our character. But I refuse to lie. I want to say blunt, truthful things to those I care for. But I don't think I should. I don't know. I don't know if I am capable of understanding much of this world. Perhaps I am overly self-conscious, but the more time I spend with others, the less I feel I know the world. Hence this troubled rant. I lack courage. I am going to breathe deep.
These insecurities exist. I have not dealt with them. I don't think I can deal with them alone.
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| | Posted 9/23/2009 8:02 AM - 15 Views - 4 eProps - 5 comments
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