Under the veil
Jul. 17th, 2006 08:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
butterflydreamingI want my life to be sparkling and interesting. I'm not much interested in it, so I don't know what to say anymore. I don't like to talk about my sex life. Once I realized how often I was talking about food, that also became a topic to avoid. I could talk about my cats, like so many (uninteresting) pet owners, except I wouldn't be talking about how cute they are. They are an unwanted responsibility.
I've stopped writing up my outings, sushi dinners and such, with the people I know in this city because who would care? They all know each other now, so it's not needed for identification. I don't write about hanging out with L because what's the point in that. I don't feel like I can talk about her, anyway. It would be different if she were on LJ, but her user tag is just an empty journal that she knows about and knows that she can use, but she probably never will, except maybe to read my story journal. It's much the same way that I don't talk about my friends Evie or Dandelion, because you don't know them. Anyway, I wouldn't want to find out if you didn't like them based on something that I said.
And then there is the problem of interruption. My writing of any kind has slowed down to a sentence or one and a half, with some reason in between where I have to stop. They are various. I don't have A Room of My Own; there is no where for me to go and shut a door, unless I leave my home for a coffee shop and I resent that. I resent that, after coming home worn out and wanting dinner that I need to make for myself, that I would have to settle the cats and get dressed for public view again and possibly have more interruptions anyway from people who know me.
Nor to I want to talk much about that, ways to force a little hollow of writing time, because I don't want advice. I take the goals that seem simple and doable, like one hour a day or writing on my lunch break or late at night or at the library or anything, and I can't do them, they don't work. I have too much noise in my head to be able to make use of time in 15 minute crumbs. They aren't pennies that I can save up in a jar. I can't get there just by closing my eyes.
I feel like a failure in my whole life, everything. It's one of those things where I know I'm not, and I know all the reasons why I feel this way, but that doesn't make a damn bit of difference to feeling that I will NEVER measure up. So it's better to keep my mouth shut, to keep my fingers from the keyboard, to leave the page white. To write something like this and not post it, stick it in a folder with only the date for a file name. Or simply to close the document without saving it. I feel tedious. I sound repetive to myself, and as if I'm making excuses. I lj-cut so that you can skip over me; I'm sorry for even being that intrusive. You have such a long f'list, it takes so much time to read, I could spare you me. I'm tired of having the computer on. I'm tired of trying. I'm tired. The shiny has worn off and I haven't aquired a pretty patina.
I'm making an effort to post something because I thought about how some of the people I care about are quiet and rare to post. I'm not naming anyone; I don't want you to feel bad. But I miss you. It's a noisy, crowded room and you're not there.
I've already run out of things to say. The less I talk, the harder it is to start. It's so hard to write even a few hundred words about myself. I spent a month writing a 14 line sonnet, when I have done one in an hour in the past. I get to this point where I'm staring at anything but the screen. In my peripheral vision, the sharp, straight line of the cursor blinks. Everything beyond it is dauntingly blank. The cursor is like a line drawn as a barrier. It looks like a closed door.
I almost feel afraid to make a sound. I want quiet so much. I want to be quiet.
I've stopped writing up my outings, sushi dinners and such, with the people I know in this city because who would care? They all know each other now, so it's not needed for identification. I don't write about hanging out with L because what's the point in that. I don't feel like I can talk about her, anyway. It would be different if she were on LJ, but her user tag is just an empty journal that she knows about and knows that she can use, but she probably never will, except maybe to read my story journal. It's much the same way that I don't talk about my friends Evie or Dandelion, because you don't know them. Anyway, I wouldn't want to find out if you didn't like them based on something that I said.
And then there is the problem of interruption. My writing of any kind has slowed down to a sentence or one and a half, with some reason in between where I have to stop. They are various. I don't have A Room of My Own; there is no where for me to go and shut a door, unless I leave my home for a coffee shop and I resent that. I resent that, after coming home worn out and wanting dinner that I need to make for myself, that I would have to settle the cats and get dressed for public view again and possibly have more interruptions anyway from people who know me.
Nor to I want to talk much about that, ways to force a little hollow of writing time, because I don't want advice. I take the goals that seem simple and doable, like one hour a day or writing on my lunch break or late at night or at the library or anything, and I can't do them, they don't work. I have too much noise in my head to be able to make use of time in 15 minute crumbs. They aren't pennies that I can save up in a jar. I can't get there just by closing my eyes.
I feel like a failure in my whole life, everything. It's one of those things where I know I'm not, and I know all the reasons why I feel this way, but that doesn't make a damn bit of difference to feeling that I will NEVER measure up. So it's better to keep my mouth shut, to keep my fingers from the keyboard, to leave the page white. To write something like this and not post it, stick it in a folder with only the date for a file name. Or simply to close the document without saving it. I feel tedious. I sound repetive to myself, and as if I'm making excuses. I lj-cut so that you can skip over me; I'm sorry for even being that intrusive. You have such a long f'list, it takes so much time to read, I could spare you me. I'm tired of having the computer on. I'm tired of trying. I'm tired. The shiny has worn off and I haven't aquired a pretty patina.
I'm making an effort to post something because I thought about how some of the people I care about are quiet and rare to post. I'm not naming anyone; I don't want you to feel bad. But I miss you. It's a noisy, crowded room and you're not there.
I've already run out of things to say. The less I talk, the harder it is to start. It's so hard to write even a few hundred words about myself. I spent a month writing a 14 line sonnet, when I have done one in an hour in the past. I get to this point where I'm staring at anything but the screen. In my peripheral vision, the sharp, straight line of the cursor blinks. Everything beyond it is dauntingly blank. The cursor is like a line drawn as a barrier. It looks like a closed door.
I almost feel afraid to make a sound. I want quiet so much. I want to be quiet.