my limbs are cold,
the air feels blunt
a few thoughts circle,
I said a prayer.
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When I start a conversation with anyone I can't help but feel that I am using up a quota of some sort. No matter what the agenda may be, I tend to pull from a category box in my mind with a meter that goes from mild to exhausted, oftentimes sooner than I think is socially normal. I guess to alleviate my nerves a little on the matter I have convinced myself that I am anything but normal, even going so far as to emphasize just how odd I really am, and I don't know yet if that has really helped me come to terms with things not going smoothly, but it has given me a logical branch to climb on, and I enjoy climbing trees. But what I mean to expand upon is that when the point of exhaustion is reached I am utterly, well, exhausted. The fuel runs out, and I wait for a miracle to give me some sort of quick ...what's that called when someone's not breathing so you rub those two things together and put them against the person's chest and say "CLEAR!". Well, that's what I'm envisioning. I wait for that, hopefully before anyone notices that I am mentally (but oftentimes also literally) sitting Indian-style, very, very still in energy-saving mode...(I keep trying to figure out what it's called, electrical CPR?...resuscitation? ...I think that's it) And most of this so-called "fuel" is probably just a hologram projecting from a deep dark cavernous part of my ego/fear/tilt towards masochism, because I also realized it only rears it's ugly self when I step OUT of the conversation and am no longer listening but analyzing the interaction from an observational standpoint. Whether I'm observing how the other person is taking all of my words in, or subconsciously comparing it to normal behavior. If this is still all not making sense some examples would be :
1. I have exhausted the extent of my "girliness", and can no longer feign giddy or illogically concerned (am I stereotyping? Maybe. Not on purpose. Trying to stay aware.).
2. I have exhausted the topic of God. That sounds horrible because I'm not eloquent, but what I mean is that the intensity I oftentimes find myself saturated with, when I start talking about the oh so many spectrums/variables/perspectives/postulations regarding a being completely unlike me yet so all-knowing, can bring out the megafone...this sentence is so long and grammatically wrong that I forgot where it was going, but again it's the hologram; ... I think that I am being overbearing or too intense, but maybe the other person or persons aren't thinking that at all, and I am just watching the hologram like a zombie, mouth slightly ajar. (this blog should be called UNEDITED@blogspot.com) Moving on.
3. I have exhausted the topic of music.
4. Food
5. (insert word here)
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Having a public blog is dangerous for someone who writes from her reality. Disguising names or trying to sound subtle, but not too subtle as to veer away from what I really want to present to the reading eye: something not far from a keyhole view of my soul.
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Ok the baby in the next table has a bad case of camel toe and it's very distracting.
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And speaking of perspectives, I was elated at the first real snow blizzard (think in terms of ice cream oreo blizzard, not a regional impairment) here in Nashville, I remember shouting at an hour before midnight: "IT'S SNOWING! IT'S SNOWING! IT'S SNOWING!" and then running outside into a snow globe with my roommate twirling and giggling, taking pointless photos of what ended up looking like just a car window or just a lamp post, or just a corner of a building. My pixels apparently don't pick up snow particles. Delete.
Then last night, when I was so cold, so cold I had to write a brief poem about it (see above), I stepped out to go to the grocery store, because that's what happens when night rolls around and I'm awake, and there it was. Ashes. Decrepit little devils trying to kill me with their ice spears.
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JmeGrey
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