When I think about where I was last year at this time I feel as though I have aged a millennia. This past year has matured me and my parts have grown cynical. I look at the digression my life has taken and feel the need to place some blame. Sadly, I feel as though there is no one to blame but myself. The nice part about being a pessimist is that you are constantly being either proven right or pleasantly surprised. When faced with optimism it is hard for me not to well up with rage. It didn't always used to be this way. A positive outlook was the first thing I tasted. Opportunity was at my window, tap, tap, tapping; inviting me for a cup of coffee and a nice long chat. As I turned to look and reply with an eager 'yes', he ran at the sight of me. I do not know where he went but it seems to me he isn't coming back for a visit anytime soon.
As I sit here, high as a kite, I just want to talk. My white toothed friend is far from here and I wish it weren't so. He seemed to be the only one capable of understanding my constant chatter. Now, as alone as I am, I rarely speak in large nuggets of thought. Thus, when I do encounter a moment where I am in a situation appropriate enough to speak, I do, a lot. I think it frightens people how many words I have stored up. White tooth man was constantly there for me, the release valve on my pressure cooker. The only one that ever fit. I'm tired of feeling like a nut-case every time the words overflow in public. It is like Auntie Flow in white pants. Shameful. No one cares enough about what I have to say. As Marla said in Fight Club, "They are just waiting for their turn to speak".
One thing relates to another which relates to another, all in this metaphysical world we have created. The hardest part is figuring out where I am related.