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Rambling at Work
I'm comfortable today, though I am and have been starving since eight am. My morning slim shakes aren't doing the job anymore. Maybe there's food nearby? I haven't heard of any birthday celebrations today, but that doesn't mean there isn't something free to eat at a desk on the other side of the building, somewhere.
I managed to get a good walk in yesterday evening after departing from work. I've really lost my motivation to exercise as of late, so it felt good to get out there and move. Walking long distances always centers me. Whereas I used to simply walk the circular labrynthian neighborhoods all connected to my own home street back at my parent's house; since moving, I've ended up walking all of the hilliest and most unforgiving roads in terms of terrain and traffic that I can find. It makes for a much better workout, though it also runs the risk of allowing people to throw shit at you, which happens more often than I would prefer. I've been hit directly in the back of the neck with a quarter, which, while painful, I had to hand it to whoever threw it: it was a damn good shot, especially out of the window of a moving car. I've also been hit, dead on, full force, in the crotch by a cup of ice. Once again, this was from a moving car. That one was also a pretty good shot, and it took every ounce of my will to stop from slowing my pace. It hurt really, really bad.
I walk for many miles, generally stoned if at all possible, and with my headphones on. That beautiful sensation of making progress, of making headway and of just getting somewhere, anywhere, is probably what I love most about my walks. In my day to day life, there is a stagnancy. I'm not unique in this regard by any means, but it's still torturous, especially on my bad days. I've always been the type of person that desires purpose, and I've yet to find one that's lasted. There was a time when I felt that my purpose in life was to eventually become a professional artist, but I've bypassed that, and these days I hardly do any drawing at all. After that, I was sure that my purpose in life centered around Emily, and keeping her happy and at my side. After she left, and I had my uproarious identity crisis which turned me from a fat, mostly-jovial and exceptionally kind teenager into a thin, cynical and stoic asshole of a young adult, I was completely at a loss, dropping out of a college and taking on a full-time job just to prevent myself from dwelling on my sorrows in my free time.
After becoming a college drop-out (the first time) things only got worse and more out-of-control. Upon my return from Columbus, I knew that there was really nowhere to go and nothing to pursue. I had no goals besides getting weed, staying high and hopefully, somewhere in the midst of that, finding a girl that will stick around this time. A dozen failures and another ruined relationship later, I was worse off than when I had started, completely broke and at a point where suicide sounded logical rather than drastic. But I'm a dramatic and emotional young man, and in time I weathered that storm. These thoughts do crop up from time to time though, even now. Despite my good job, my friends, my family; none of it matters to me apparently, though it is what keeps me going. I want something more.
I have a habit of constantly checking things where people may be trying to get a hold of me. Whether it be my e-mail, my Facebook, my cell phone or this site itself; I'm always glancing when I have a spare moment, hoping for a word from... Someone. I'm not sure why, nor am I sure what exactly it is that I'm waiting for. Just... Contact. I suppose it's just my conscious/subconscious desire to be wanted and sought out manifesting itself. As if one, beautiful day, I'll open a new tab on my internet browser and take a peek at my e-mail; there, I will find a long, wordy, unabashedly DESPERATE message from someone, maybe Kathleen, telling me that they want me, they NEED me, they're IN LOVE with me and they can't go another day without me at their side. Suddenly, all of this chaos that reigns above my head and keeps me held firmly at bay will disperse, and I will rise, oh yes, RISE into the heavens and become, at long last, a happy and fulfilled person.
Stupid, right?
It's a stupid habit to have, one that I should be taking active steps to rid myself of. But I suppose there isn't any real harm in it. If I take some simple delight in doing so, why not take a moment to make a wish and then see if my wish came true? I've had wishes come true before. As cheesy as it sounds, Emily coming into my life was a wish that came true. I was lonely and had been single for some time, and every day I wished to find love. Suddenly, love came, in the form of a beautiful Italian girl that was so far out of my league that I was legitimately confused when our time together began so quickly. And we worked, for a long time. So maybe that will happen again. Who can say? I may be having absolutely terrible luck with women right now, but hopefully it won't last.
I've felt the sobering sting of rejection far too much in the past year. It's been a brutal time to be alive in many ways, and I'm glad that things have gotten so much better, at least financially-speaking. But still, I am alone. My solitude may be what's best for me right now, but that sure as hell doesn't mean I have to like it. I haven't the faintest idea how to stand out to all of the lovely, captivating women out there. The longer I go unnoticed, the worse I tend to think of myself. That isn't fair or even really sensible, but it's not something I have much influence over. I like to think that some day, I'll be able to properly judge my own self-worth, without taking into account shallow occurances such as a girl that eyes me up and down or the vague, half-informed opinions she may have about me based on my appearance. But if the entirety of my life up until this point is any sort of indicator, then I will likely be this way forever. Unfortunate, but it's hard to do combat with who you are at your core.
It's fun to look back on my time with Emily at this point. I miss all of the warmth that accompanied it, and it's nice to reflect on all of the good times. Megan and I never had a relationship like that. Ours was a relationship built around sex, strain and intoxication. I don't really know if I regret the time I spent with her. It lead to nothing besides conflict, with her and with friends that knew her, and I suppose in that regard, I do wish we had been wise with whom we chose to lay with. I also missed a few chances with other girls while Megan was around, but I doubt any of those paths would have lead anywhere relevant.
Really, I wish I had been better to Megan. I wish so distraught all of the time, and I allowed my patience with her to wittle down to absolutely nothing. Never in my life have I argued with someone so often and so fiercely. I have never been one to raise my voice to anyone, even out of anger, but Megan simply brought it out of me like no other girl ever could. We were an extremely physical couple, wrestling often, fucking constantly and always playfully pushing each other around. We never actually raised our fists against one-another of course, but at times, I wasn't exactly sure how long it would be before Megan straight up threw a punch at me. I'd deserve it too. She was unreasonable and obnoxious more often than not, but she was also exceedingly sweet and understanding of my mood swings. She deserved much, much better than what I gave to her. Despite all of that, she still considered me one of the sweetest boyfriends she had ever had. That's so sad, and so unfair.
I managed to further ruin things between Megan and I when I drunkenly tried to get a booty call out of her a few months back. Certainly not one of my finer moments, but considering that she left me and immediately slept with that piece-of-shit that she's always hanging around, I honestly thought it was a plausible attempt (at the time). I regret that, of course, but I think in the end it may have been best to simply remove myself from Megan's life entirely. That's another thing that this last year has been about: the removal of those who are bad for my mental health. That's not to say that I've purged a large amount of my social circle; it really only applies to a small handful of people. But I'm glad to have done away with them, and I'm glad that the splash of their waves of melodrama is no longer able to reach me.
At this point, I'm not entirely sure what I was supposed to be talking about. I'm just practicing a form of writing that isn't poetry. Work with me here.
