[A lil’ something something I wrote when I came in at 8 a.m. this morning.]
Days like this one make me wish I was a smoker or a drinker. At least, there would be some relief from the tension and the “immense” disappointment I seem to cause. It’s a perfectly sunny day – you know the kind; birds are chirping and sun is shining but not too hot, overflowing with a sense of peace. Not necessarily peace and quiet, but some bizarre sense of inner serenity, allowing my thoughts to exist in their little bubble without being broken by my “dreary” existence.
Admittedly, I know it’s not that dreary at all, but rather I just experience it that way – maybe because I’m not the most positive person on the planet.
Today wasn’t dreary at all… well, not this morning anyhow.
Today I woke up in someone else’s bed and had to dash out and come up with an excuse for my “abhorrent behaviour towards your parents” who were “worried sick” about me. So here I am. I drifted in like a ghost (or some shit like that), took the expected argument, and then just sat here, inhabiting the space in my silence.
I wish I could smoke it away – not the memories of last night, but just the tension that seems to develop around my absence and presence. If I am here, it’s “the right thing” to do, but then, I’m still left with the rest of the day to argue about my “irresponsible” life decisions and my “ridiculous” lifestyle. If I’m not here, I am expected to turn up sometime soon, look sheepish, say “I’m sorry I didn’t call or text” and then somehow shoulder the blame for the entire situation anyhow. On this occasion, I ran out of credit and I was out, enjoying myself.
Then again, it’s not really about the blame, is it? I’m 24, going on 25. They insist I “grow up” and be a “mature, responsible human being” but still treat me like I’m a teenager who’s just learnt how to drive and can’t be trusted with new wheels., and who is targeting my bad behaviour at my parents because I can.
I wish I could smoke or drink. Drinking too much would probably give me a headache – even before the hangover. Smoking…well, I’ve never tried it but don’t seem to be drawn to it, anyhow. I guess having watched my parents avoid the doctors’ advice about smoking and all that stuff didn’t really attract me to it.
Part of me wants to sleep, but it seems futile – I’ll be reminded throughout the day of how selfish I am for trying to follow my ‘natural’ instinct (whatever that is), instead of being the obedient kid in the family. I don’t think anyone could claim my life is completely lawless or an endless orgy.
First, I get the “where have you been? Couldn’t you drop us a text or a phone call?” angry treatment; then followed by trying to be my chums and find out all about my night. Sometimes I wonder whether they are just trying to confuse the hell out of me.
I don’t know.
The first thing I did was sit down and write, because somehow that makes it all “ok”. I’ve been writing since 2001. It all began with fiction (online roleplay to be exact) and I eventually moved into review writing and blogging. I guess, as an only child, writing gave me somebody to talk to. Of course, it’s kind of impossible to “bounce ideas off” a piece of paper, but blogs are powerful. People can connect across the internet. I don’t really know what I’d do without my writing – it’s given me so much. I always feel the need to keep it under wraps. Still, I don’t think my family see it as me being “artistic” or “creative”. I guess I never let them get it – this conversation between the page and me has never really been open for judgement. But then, I guess I don’t write this for anyone except myself. Who needs therapy when you have a blog to rant to?