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| Monday, April 19, 2004 |
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written early this morning, around 3am...
This is why I keep my laptop by my bed, so if in the occasion that I have some thought- alcohol induced or otherwise - I am able to keep tabs on it. What is this damn thing called love? I hate to think it is what affects you. What riles you up like an unquenchable fire of emotion that no logic can extinguish? But maybe it is. Like when your parents can get you so worked up over one statement of nagging or pressure. Like one guy giving an indirect statement or suggestion that makes you cry on call. Is that what it is? I hope not. But sure seems like it.
I refuse to succumb to this definition. I cannot admit I am in love nor am I infatuated. It cannot be the end all be all…or as debbie’s question posted – the meaning of life. I volunteered the definition that my life is defined by how many people I have helped and made to smile. That I can die tomorrow knowing that I may have cried for over 25 years of my life and still gave about 2 and a half years making other people happy. So is life about sacrifices? I am so confused.
I cannot comprehend the ideas that other people have. Yet I belittle those with shallow views on life. Whether it be social standing or how much money they make. But who am I to say that I am more sophisticated in my knowledge…my wisdom. Another mental note – I am still unclear as to what I want even with all my efforts to unearth the options that this world can offer. Still in the dark, still unsure as to what I am meant to do in the physical realm that is life.
I am sorry for belittling the instances that I spend with a certain friend. I am writing this submerged with rum and bewilderment. I think I have apologized enough but am still dissatisfied of the state of gratitude that this person deserves. I had an entry that has not been published for over a month as to how much this person has meant to me. Though he may already know it, I’ve denied its existence because of my insecurity that he does not feel the same way. But what the heck. He was the first person to give me a voice. How? By simply listening to what I say. I used to be called a mouse because you would hear nothing but a mere squeak. Then this guy would call me each day and listen to me drone on until God knows when - until I simply assumed that he went deaf. As anticipated. It was not self-doubt but belief that I had nothing worthwhile to listen to. And yet he still listens to this day and I am amazed. At his tolerance and approval. Up until this moment and minute I find it hard to believe. That I have something to say worthwhile. And that the time spent is anything but boring or just simply passing the time – until something better comes along.
I said this in my head and now I want to let it out. I thought I was anesthetized because there was no grounds for me to feel any sentiment or passion. This explains my blog entries with a lack of muse for the past month. And with a few moments I realized that there is still (only) one person (so far) who makes me feel. Whatever it is, angry, sad, happy, excited and any emotion you can think of. I wish I could control it and make it go away but I can’t. I am mystified at this perplexed state. Sometimes I want to be the cold ice queen that most men have summed me up as. Other times I want to experience life with you, in this rollercoaster psychotic frenzy. |
posted by maldita @ 9:16 PM
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