Saturday, June 27, 2009

Postproblemproblemsolvers.

Wednesday, 6th February 2008

My thoughts don't matter much. I usually forget the things that have been in my head after a week or two. And I tend to think other people do too. Or I wish they would. And - I dunno - if I'm in a speech-making mood, I'll preach what's in my head. And I mightn't even mean a word of it. Because in the wrong company, I lose the eloquence that is so blatant here. The things that are in my head vary from the things that I actually say. Which is why, I think, that I seem entirely loopy sometimes. And it is why, when I think of the me, the Emma Norris, that the rest of the world sees, this blog is totally out of place. Written by a different person entirely. I don't mind people I don't know reading my blogs. 'Cause the impression ya get from these is probably the most accurate one that you could ever obtain, as far as what the interior decor of my head looks like. But if ya knew me these blogs would, and possibly do, seem pretentious and over-written. But all they are, at the end of the day, is a summary of what's in my head. And there could be no truth at all in 'em. And they are trivial. But I have no qualms at all about emptying the contents of my head onto a keyboard. And, I dunno, they just seem to look nicer on a blue and white background. With my name up there. So I guess it's kinda neuroticism and self-absorption. But no one's obliged to read.

Life justs get funny sometimes. And I'm forever saying the wrong things. Telling people things I should never tell them. And after one or two or five of these leakings, I tell myself, 'Never again'. Because I hate feeling vulnerable like that, having people know the odd theories in my head. And I have no idea why I do it. I could speculate. I could jump on a notion and explore it. Is it because people who act as though they are better than anyone else infuriate me? The people who pretend that they don't experience the same mundane or crazy and mortal thoughts as everyone else. I suppose I want to be a person. And I want other people to know that I'm only a person. But other people have this knack for professing that they are completely void of such peculiar thoughts. And then I feel like a maniac. But it requires a lot of brain power, thinking yer a maniac. And I couldn't be bothered anymore. So. I've decided. That I don't care anymore. About what other people think of my mental stability. Or instability. Or whatever. Because even if they abhor me and my head, no amount of thinking or worrying or debating about it to myself would change their opinions. And my life is full of things that are fine just the way they are. And, I dunno, that's that really.

And everyday life is tough enough sometimes and there always seems to be something wrong, a tiny something that's there, niggling. And right now it's my foot. And it's swollen and I'm going to the doctor's in an hour for that reason. But I have a thousand and one other maladies to present him with while I'm there. And I don't know why but I feel like crying. And I haven't in a long time. Not properly. And certainly not just because. Every time I touch my foot where it's swollen, I get this wave of sadness engulfing me. And I feel like sobbing. And maybe it's because it's a reminder of all those little tings that are always going to bother you. The only change in my routine lately is the varying ailments that affect me. They are there, a given, everyday. But some days it's a sore throat. And other days it's a sore foot. And, I dunno. Ya'd just wonder sometimes.

And I guess I just need another rest. 'Cause I had a bit of a one fer the last two weeks but it took so long for me to get into the swing of it that I wasted energy as quick as I was recovering it. Having been so exhausted for the few months before that. And it all kicked off again. And I'm glad, I really am, but I need to sleep. And just be. But I do think that I am happy and that I'm smiling on the inside. Nah, I'm smiling on the outside. :] And perhaps some day soon I'll have a cry - a nice one, a relieved one - and I'll be ready to go somewhere new. New adventures.

And it sure was. It was just the way it came out that was hard to grasp at first. But I was okay. And I'm always going to be okay. And I learned things about myself that I really, honestly never knew. And, I dunno. I'm smiling again. 'Cause I'm actually proud. And I know it wasn't all me, that I had good friends who were lookin' out fer me, but I helped myself too. And someone said that. That ya haveta help yerse'f. And it was my metaphor, another 'un, that said ya haveta look after you before you can hope to take care of other people. Like, ya have to put on your own lifejacket before trying to save other people. 'Cause if you die, how are ya supposed to help other people? And ya can update that to the noughties if ya want, and say that the flight attendants and parents of small children have to put on their own oxygen masks before trying to assist other people with theirs. And they tell ya that at the beginning of every flight ya'll ever take and on every single one of those aeroplane disaster documentaries my dad watches ... So I'm kinda tryin' to mind myself a bit more than I used to. He always says it, he does, 'You're the most important person to you, Emma'.

So I've said too much in this and to him and to feasibly every other person I've ever spoken to in my life. And I wish people would interrupt me and say, 'Too much informaaaaaation, Emma'. But they never do. And I never realize until I'm at home in bed at the end of a day and I cringe because there's no taking it back and it's been said. But I don't care anymore. And that might seem like hopelessness. But really it's acceptance. Maybe things only happen 'cause they're supposed to.

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