|The Umbra Lifted
||[Oct. 7th, 2007|10:57 pm]
My weekend-don't ask, I'll tell you.|
I spent Saturday working on my car. It sucked because people are too lazy to do their jobs right the first time, but I got it sort of done, well enough at any rate. I don't know if anything's been made better for it, but that's what I did. My arms are covered in cuts, which I didn't feel at the time but have left lots of little marks on me. Little memories, things that could grow into scars if I let them, leave me with a canvas of stories either real or imaginary, all through something that didn't hurt and was sort of productive. At least it wasn't a total loss. I like staring at the cuts, reminders of living. People whose skin is flawlessly smooth and soft are interesting to me for about a minute, but a topography of flaws makes for an interesting afternoon of exploration.
You know, it's kind of unfortunate that technological advances have made our lives more convenient, and yet made them just as bad through heightened expectations. Take the telephone for example. Even in its original incarnation as a party line, there were problems getting calls through. Then we developed the individual system, which eliminated waiting for lines to an extent but the added assumption that one would be in your house lead to things like telemarketing, and the assumption that just because you get a call it must be worth your while to pick up. Then there was the answering machine, blah de blah, now there's cell phones. We're always connected, we know who is calling, we can talk to them whenever we want. But at what cost? I understand that in practice this may seem like an unrealistic requirement on my part, but it really pisses me off when I call someone and they don't bother to call me back. I mean, your phone is right there, I'll know that you got the phone call if it rings at all (because it would go straight to voicemail if it was shut off). If you can't be bothered to call back at SOME POINT...what, am I SO unimportant to you, do I not enter your thoughts for the MINUTE or less it would take to make a call, at SOME POINT in the day? What does that say about you, or me for that matter?
I know it's unreasonable, I try my best to let it slide but it's how I think.
I also know that people read this, and choose not to comment. I know that I am guilty of the same thing; I don't know what to say, or I don't feel like saying something: this is normal. But it doesn't stop me from imagining that no one listens to a word I say anymore. I could talk about personal mutilation or violent acts and possibly, I might imagine, no one would bat an eye. Growing up I was taught that those who make threats about killing themselves or whatever were doing so out of a desire for attention rather than any sort of actual desire to end their lives. I think at this point that I wouldn't be able to recognize a real cry for help if it slapped me in the face. I don't know, I've also gotten worse at giving a shit about other people. I just don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore.
I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I came into my game today to find that two of the players decided that they had better things to do than play in my game. That they had to choose between spending their free time doing something ostensibly more productive or spend it with me and my game. They chose the former. I don't know what's wrong with the way I do things. I mean, they barely played at all, didn't give it a chance, and already they're bored and want to quit? Was it THAT bad? They seemed to be having fun the last time we played, which granted was a month ago (damn vacations). I just see doors closing everywhere. I don't know what to do now.
I know that a few years ago, if I read the above passages I'd have wanted to console the writer. Today, I think that I would be compelled to shun them from my life. So why am I doing this? I don't know. I guess...lack of options. No, there's always the option to hide yourself away. Maybe because this was supposed to be a soundboard for my thoughts, and I let it become deluded. Maybe I want you to know who this person is, make sure that you really want me as a friend. Some things are easier to tell the wall than to someone's face.