… Was a martyr. Neither Naked men draped over objects nor heroism born of weakness are the theme of the day : I’m just listening (rather against my will) to Sam Patch, and that song’s lodged itself in my head. I’ve recently taken to employing Spotify to fill my brain with hitherto unconsumed-by-me music. I don’t want to become one of those people who stops enjoying different music because they got hung up on the same 200 songs and have come to believe all music made after *2006 is garbage. Some of the music I’ve heard the past little bit I’ve not loved but I like to think its forging new synaptic pathways.
The past few days I’ve felt insecure, anxious, and existentially bored. At any moment in time, I’m experiencing a dervish of those random-ass emotions and I’m accustomed to them, but the intensity of this row was a bit much. Friendship is hard in a new place and I’ve found that there’s something about me that attracts “tourists”. People who want or need something, want to visit my life and touch me and demand so much without giving. So, I get bored sometimes, because I need people to force me outside my own lines.I just need the people I allow inside my lines to be trust-worthy. My The insecurity and anxiety are just constants, drummed up by insane hormonal fluctuation. FUCK. just carve my uterus out with a grapefruit spoon, I am done.
As usual, my writing this is broken up by the drinking of strangers and the asking of (today at least) some really inane questions. I should pick much better times to open up.
I’ll continue later when I can think.