I feel that it may be my responsibility to document my journey. I ventured off the trail today. It had rained the night prior. By morning’s first light, it was still overcast and the sky was determined to stay that way. Swirls of cloud in the wind up above me but no sign of reprieve from the white fog that lay there, just a couple dozen yards upwards of the ground. I ventured off the path.
I wonder what it is that attracts me to sadness, to painful memories of disappointing and embarrassing times. I wonder how I came to fetishize loneliness, alone-ness, having to do learn certain things for myself when I should’ve been taught by others, having to nurture parts of myself that should’ve been nurture by others.
I think it’s time I wrote about certain eras of my past here on the internet. It’s a good time for a few reasons. Reason number one, I don’t have anything else I want to write about. That may mean it’s somehow my calling to write about this. But mostly, I’m just a little embarrassed that I’ve been slacking off with my posts here on my blog, which I said I’d be taking more seriously now.
And second… Idno. The topic is just calling out to me somehow. I describe myself as a person who is open about their fears, failures, embarrassments and all. But it seems there are things in my past that I just haven’t discussed and don’t actively bring up in conversation.
I think that this is the case because I just don’t know how I feel about that particular part of my past. I don’t know what to think of it. All I remember are the things that happened and how I felt while they were happening. But I don’t have much of an opinion on those times in my life, looking back at them now.
And I guess it bothers me that I don’t have an opinion on them. It makes me feel as though… I’ve left those feelings unchecked. It’s as if I’ve been avoiding thinking about those times. Maybe there’s pain there that I’ve chosen to ignore, but I don’t think I should run from those situations if I’ve been hurt. I don’t think I should turn a blind eye to the past, just ‘cuz it’s ugly.
If ever I was hurt in those times of my life, I think I’m still hurting just the same if I run. Then things aren’t settled. Then, there’s still a part of me that has to mind the… unminding of the things I want to ignore.
I don’t know how my story-telling work flow works. I just… get ideas and write them all down. Sometimes, it takes a second to stabilize a particularly delicate part of the story but it mostly just comes out. But without further ado:
There once was a great fleet of many ships, each one lacking on its own but all of them connected to a great, central super-computer. This thing told them what to do, how and when to do it, and what was going on around them. Things were going well; missions were all completed with minimal casualties and optimal results.
But one day, someone had the bright idea to make each of these ships completely independent.
I wish I was extremely competent and that nothing lay outside of my perspective. 8ut having good friends to watch my 8ack is okay too. The lone wolf, limping 8ut proud, with no one on their side; that’s what I wish I was. 8ut that’s just not who I am. I’m just a kid without eyes on the 8ack of his head, who needs to hold someone’s hand to cross 8ridges with glass floors. Who awkwardly tries to 8e a little profound, 8ut really just wants to 8e known and understood and accepted.