I’m an anxious person, which means I’m afraid to say (write, speak, express) or do (paint, make, be seen) anything. It includes blogs–I used to have a LiveJournal, but certain people never got the picture that I wanted them to GO AWAY. It includes playsites like OKCupid where, for whatever reason, I’m popular, even though I’m a bitch. It includes any expression of opinion toward family, friends, acquaintances, strangers, coworkers. I still do it, because people say I “just need practice,” and I still fear it. Something that bothers me in particular is anyone seeing me move. The bigger the audience, the more awkward and jerky I become just walking, gesticulating, showing any kind of facial movement aside from a blank grimace.
I probably have less privacy here, but we’ll see. Who really wants to read the ravings of a very self-involved introvert who has no local social support?
(As for OKC, I can’t seem to not be bored with the guys I meet there, if I was ever initially attracted to them at all. The art of conversation is lost on us all. I cannot be both sides of a conversation, you schmucks.)
I just need to talk. If it’s to the ether, then it’s to the ether. I could pretend there’s some supernatural creature out there that is actively interested in my personal struggles and dramas–a friendly ghost, a small god, a fairy godmother. God knows the real people in my life don’t care–not even those I consider my closest friends. I remember there used to be a time when people showed concern for each other . . . when the effort they put into communication transcended MySpace.
Yeah, I am bitter! And I know I’m part of the problem, so I’m annoyed, too.
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