Friday, March 27, 2009

Drunken paper scribblings

Apathy is such a strange thing for me to feel. It's so unlike me not to care if what I say hurts someone, or bothers someone, or ends a particular friendship. I hate it, actually, this unprovoked emotional minimalism, the way it doesn't correspond with how I normally relate to the world or the people in mine. I can conjure up annoyance, I'm good at annoyance, but annoyance is an emotional expression of personal inconvenience, not of caring one way or the other. I find apathy isolating, as though everyone around me is switched on and my wiring is fried.

The feeling of drunken isolation in a loud place, though, coupled with the urgency that is a blank page and a black pen, I sort of love because at least with the pen and the pad I am doing something other than watching people and feeling myself so separate. I feel like the people I'm watching aren't wondering why I'm silent, aren't trying to interpret my facial expressions. I stop wondering how to snap myself back into place, how to fit in, how to make myself heard or even understood and just let go of the desire to not feel weird inside and try instead to write the weirdness away.

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