Blog Every Day April: 4/23

"Darkness is a harsh term, don't you think? And yet it dominates the things I see."

Roll Away Your Stone

Mumford & Sons

I know this is bound to shock you, but I am not always good with words.

I wrote a lot yesterday. None of it was good, and none of it was (really) meant for this blog. The words I sloppily stitched together were mainly in the form of emails to Laurel, my future roommate and partner in crazy. And despite the fact that she was clearly having a worse day than I, when she she called me at 9:30 last night I proceeded to moan about my own problems for an exorbitant amount of time.

Which she took very graciously.

Upon stalking her photos on Facebook (creeper 4 lyf), also, I learned that we attended the same event on the Tour de Nerdfighting in 2008. Consider my mind blown. I found myself in the background of one of her pictures.

Friendship is kind of cool.

I can't discern exactly what got to me last night. Sometimes, I've come to realize, I need to separate myself from people for a while when I'm upset. The internet, though I love it so, is a constant experience. The phone in my pocket will continue to buzz even as I lurk off to hide under my covers. And I appreciate this, I do, but on occasion it becomes cloistering. I can't get away.

Which is how it felt last night as I vainly attempted to slog through a fit of angst. Nothing I want to say right now is socially acceptable, I thought. Nothing I want to say right now will be understood.

"I keep thinking of these things I would do if they were socially acceptable," I wrote Laurel. "I would change my last name. I would write a truth-drenched letter and send it and never see [him] again. I would say what I felt. I wouldn't be so closed with the fact that my heart is is cracked and in pieces.

"I wish people could know that this chaos is all I've ever known, that normalcy hurts. I wish people could know that I don't know what I believe. I don't feel like I can admit that to people. And I wouldn't know how to go about these things as it is.

"I'm not always sure I want to get out of the labyrinth."

I walked three laps around my deserted neighborhood in the space of an hour as afternoon turned to evening. The phone buzzed and, against reason but right on time, the concern paralyzed me. I don't always have the words. I don't always want the words, and it isn't often that I have the emotional energy or wherewithal to deal with situations in a poised-like manner. (But who does?)

Midnight rolls around and the words I set here fail to find conclusion. The sadness does not wrap around me completely, yet I am struck by how little I know with certainty.

My wishes are not answers.