Notes From the Rim of Obscurity
The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.
- Robert Louis Stevenson
[SPOILERS: This is another depressing and pathetic "woe is me" entry. Don't expect anything entertaining or thought-provoking. In fact, you're probably just better off not reading it. It's not even sad enough to be heart-wrenching. It's just lame.]
The people I love, the people I want to love, don't love me.
They say they do. But they "love" me. I'm great. I'm a riot. I'm so funny. And I'm always there when they need me. And Someday, I'll Make Someone Really Happy.
Not them. No. Some other woman will have to bite the bullet and take one for the team by having feelings for me.
But I'm great. Really. From a distance. If no one interesting or exciting is around.
I don't know why I waste emotions on people who don't give a shit about me. So, fuck them. I want to withdraw. I want to wither and dry up. I want to atrophy. I want to feel nothing. I want to be numb. Still and placid and numb.
But I can't.
So fuck them.
The punchline is that they don't even bother to read this. So they won't know how I'm feeling. And if they did, they wouldn't say anything. Because they can't be bothered to try. Isn't that fucking hilarious.
blah.
I should probably go and find someone else towards whom I can be supportive and understanding while they're fighting with someone for whom they have real feelings. That way I can act as a surrogate loved one while things are bad, from whom they can withdraw freely and easily once things are patched up with the person about whom they actually care. And in the end, the only reward I seek is that justice has been done. Sometimes if I'm lucky they still talk to me for a while afterwards, even after their relationships are good again, and do their best to withstand the hesitant awkward silences that ensue when I plead for their affection, like a fool. That's very kind of them.
Why do I do this to myself.
Why do I keep caring about people when I feel like they're using me.
Why doesn't anyone, ever, pick, me.
...eh fuck it. Maybe I'm just tired. I'll sleep on it. Night all.
- Robert Louis Stevenson
[SPOILERS: This is another depressing and pathetic "woe is me" entry. Don't expect anything entertaining or thought-provoking. In fact, you're probably just better off not reading it. It's not even sad enough to be heart-wrenching. It's just lame.]
The people I love, the people I want to love, don't love me.
They say they do. But they "love" me. I'm great. I'm a riot. I'm so funny. And I'm always there when they need me. And Someday, I'll Make Someone Really Happy.
Not them. No. Some other woman will have to bite the bullet and take one for the team by having feelings for me.
But I'm great. Really. From a distance. If no one interesting or exciting is around.
I don't know why I waste emotions on people who don't give a shit about me. So, fuck them. I want to withdraw. I want to wither and dry up. I want to atrophy. I want to feel nothing. I want to be numb. Still and placid and numb.
But I can't.
So fuck them.
The punchline is that they don't even bother to read this. So they won't know how I'm feeling. And if they did, they wouldn't say anything. Because they can't be bothered to try. Isn't that fucking hilarious.
blah.
I should probably go and find someone else towards whom I can be supportive and understanding while they're fighting with someone for whom they have real feelings. That way I can act as a surrogate loved one while things are bad, from whom they can withdraw freely and easily once things are patched up with the person about whom they actually care. And in the end, the only reward I seek is that justice has been done. Sometimes if I'm lucky they still talk to me for a while afterwards, even after their relationships are good again, and do their best to withstand the hesitant awkward silences that ensue when I plead for their affection, like a fool. That's very kind of them.
Why do I do this to myself.
Why do I keep caring about people when I feel like they're using me.
Why doesn't anyone, ever, pick, me.
...eh fuck it. Maybe I'm just tired. I'll sleep on it. Night all.
posted by Patrick at 8:06 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home