||[Jul. 17th, 2016|09:35 pm]
|||||Where The Love Is - The Sound||]|
On Tuesday I was proper hyped up at work, probably from eating proper, capsicum-laden food for the previous 5 days. Endorphins flying all over my body. I was cheery, chatty and bouncy. It was entirely the wrong place for that to happen as eventually somebody mortally offended me (probably by doing something as simple as not hearing me, which I spun into a hideous snub) and I recognised the process my brain was going through and no matter how much I tried to reason with myself and plead with my brain not to go back to the way it was... I lost it. I had plans for the next three weekends and THAT is when that feeling would've been most useful. Of course it would be great if it could stick around permanently, or at least most of the time. I spend a lot of time plotting to trick the chemicals in my body to balance out in such a way that make me a pleasant, adjusted person, able to comfortably socialise without the needles of introversion stabbing at my face from the inside.
So I went to a thing yesterday and at one point I was having a proper good laugh with some of the old Odeon folk, but it's really distracting when your inner voice is saying 'oh look, you're having a good time - I wonder how long this will last?'. Imagine if you went through 90% of your life not being able to forget that you're blinking - utterly frustrating. I'm not sure that's the best analogy. Is there one? Does writing about this help? Or am I just helping to solidify it? Trying to ignore it hasn't really been all that successful. I think I'm much better than I used to be. Have I developed better methods? I know I care less about things that don't matter. It doesn't become any less frustrating though.
I currently feel like I'm one of those unfortunate exceptions in life. If you're a kid with acne and get told that it'll go away in time, then you get to 65 years of age, still saddled with the stuff, you'd feel a bit cheated. The worst part being the assurances you'd get from people. I guess that's just what people say though. If people told you that you were completely screwed, at least you'd have nowhere lower to sink to.
Sweeping all of that self-indulgent mind-refuse aside, I am quite fortunate really, in my life. You know, friends, a home, my health, etc. But we're not made for contentment, are we? And that's a good thing. Keeps us going.
Perhaps I should just stop trying to socialise so much? I could just mope about at home with my skeletons and my post-punk/coldwave/darkwave soundtrack. I could just keep having these pretend scenarios that I'm ever-increasingly invoking. Sometimes I snap back to reality and realise my face is hurting from grinning. The world disappoints me because it's not perfect, so I invent these perfect people to make myself happy. Hypocrite. Everybody's n% arsehole. Why can't I accept that? I don't want the best things that ever happen to me to be a conceptual Davies Production.
The most pleasant time I had recently was in a cemetery in Motspur Park. I decided that I was in love with a man who's been dead for 16 years, because of his voice, the words he sang and that disturbing look in his eyes. I indulged myself, because what else am I going to do? I was going to London to partake in the Hitchcock season (which was brilliant) anyway, so I went to visit the site where his body wasn't even located. It was just a slab of marble with his name on it. But it was so peaceful there, there was beautiful sunlight, followed by a heavy rainstorm, then the return of the sun. I just sat there, feeling very pleased. I left a bunch of yellow roses there, making my own vase and burying it in the earth so it didn't blow over. I chose yellow roses because I used to walk past some on my way to work and the scent always made me happy. I wanted to give him some of my happy because I think he became very unhappy. You can hear his struggle in his music. It made me want to reach out and help. Like I could. Anyway the whole time I was in London by myself I felt great, like I wasn't socially anxious at all, everything just fell into place and it was such a relief to feel okay with everything. If I could relocate my flat, I would. I couldn't live in London (the air is horrid), but I think I'm done here. I don't seem to meet any interesting people anymore (especially since I can't socialise... that's a lie, I can. Just, it's complicated.). I want to go places where interesting people are. Not that people aren't interesting in their own way. Gah.
Forget everything. It's all full of contradictions as per anyway. Every post I make is just different arrangements of the same confused, unevolved whining. Here's a picture from my happy time.