A mother's love

I'm tired.

And its not from the three, four, five, ten, fifteen mile runs that I find myself running these days. I can deal with physical wear. The are remedies for that- a hot bath, a good nap, and a good meal. I'm weary. I'm fatigued. I'm demoralized.

I can feel the faith that I instill in people slip away, little by little. Disappointment by disappointment. I'm growing more apathetic than empathetic to the plight of people around me. My conversations feel vapid, empty. My writing seems soulless; only a caricature, a hollow imitation of my inner voice.

As I write this, I feel torn of what I want. I don't desire recognition. I don't necessarily want appreciation. I just want people to pay attention to details. So much of discourse is based upon listening, reading cues from who you are talking with, judging reactions. It's a lost art, replace by emoticons, drunken hazes, and texting. God, what am I talking about?

I hate it when people consistently change plans at the last minute. I hate it when people are consistently late. I know its seems petty, but those little things, those thoughtless things that you do subconsciously, they are what shows your character in a sense. Its the difference between niceness and kindness. Its the difference between acquaintance and friend.

When I was young, I thought it was the big gestures that showed love. I loved receiving presents from my parents. I thought you could quantify how much your parents loved you by how big the present that you got for Christmas was and how much your allowance was. And even as I grew older, I kept that mentality. I showed love by grand gestures, which usually involved money.

I never understood in church what they meant by to love is to serve. I think I'm beginning to know now. I realize now that my mom loved me because they was always a hot meal waiting for me on the table and always clean clothes in the hamper, and not by any gift or allowance that was given to me. Lately I find myself picking up after someone else even though they may not notice. I don't quite know the reason why I do it. Maybe I always saw, but was yet mature enough to understand the implications.

My mother was always afraid I never listened. I don't think I ever did. But watched, and I am still learning lessons from her. Even from memories from my childhood.

Perspective

Generally, I like to think that I have a good perspective on life. (Nate speak translated: I laugh at a lot of shit I just don't understand. I'm not overly bright, so you'll find me laughing quite a bit) I try to keep an open mind, I try to shut up more often than not, and I try to listen. (This lesson is still being taught and still being learned. I respond best with the threat of physical violence. And duct tape to the mouth. Or taking away my game controller) I try not letting myself get too high or too low and try to keep on moving on with my life instead of wallowing in the minutia that life sometimes presents. 

I don't know how or when, but I think I lost perspective. I think it was just a gradual decline. You don't notice minute changes daily, they just kind of creep up on you. But gradually the little things add up and shift your perspective of normality from something completely different than what it was. (Like porn and women. I used to respect women. And then I watched porn. And slowly, but gradually, my high regard for women morphed into viewing them solely as objects of sexual conquest (Jokes!). 

So I really tried to maintain what I thought to be a healthy, objective distance to this whole online dating thing. I approached it with about as much humor as I could muster, laughed off the rejections and unanswered emails and kept on mowing through profile after profile, hoping to find the girl out of the match.com commercials that is attractive and equally attracted to the guy that she's with, that laughs at his jokes and such. I kept on sending email after email. It became like a job, an obsession; I enveloped myself in this world on winks and emails, profile views. And I kind of lost it. Perspective that is.

As an adult (which I barely am), your personal shortcomings sneak up with you and surprise you, kind of like how zits still pop up from time to time, even though you were assured in the sex ed classes when talking about puberty that they said that acne would go away with adulthood (those fucking liars). Being on match, its made me realize that I was lonely, dangerously so, that I was willing to put my life on hold and live in this artificial world that online dating had become to me. 

I don't know. It's just fun to sit there and look and pretend (yes, I use the word pretend. I realize that this world is fictional. I'm not that delusional.) and let your imagination wander. Its easy to get lost in the possibilities - its easy to get stuck in the trap of complacency, thinking that you are moving, when all you're doing is going through the motion.

And then something jars your world back into focus. And its usually as pleasant a splash of cold water when you're really, really hungover. Or an unexpected, swift kick to the nuts. 

Yeah. I don't really know where I'm going with this blog post. They usually just write themselves, but right now, I wish I didn't feel so run down. I should stop taking shit so personally.

Heh.

dumpings and perspective

So I got dumped.

I've never been one to mince words, especially when it comes to my own life. I mean as dumpings go, it was a kind, soft and fuzzy variety, but nevertheless, it was a dumping and as kind, soft, and fuzzy and good intentioned as it was, it still signified the end of something that I wanted to be more than it was, but ultimately was not.

If I said it made me sad, I have to add the caveat that it made me sad in a good way, as good as a way as sadness can go. In the end, the sense of loss reminded me that for as brief of a period that it was, there was a void in my life that was temporarily filled, that I had forgot needed to be filled. And now that the void is back, it's just the naturally readjustment and the discomforts associated with acknowledging it that I hate. In the end I know this emptiness I feel should no longer be ignored anymore and that I should, at some point in time, try and fill it again.

So back to online dating for me, as for now, it;s my only viable vehicle that has been somewhat successful for me to meet new people. And back to writing one way emails that have yet to be answered. And then figuring out ways to not take the not-answering-of-emails-that-I-write personally. I'm still working on that.

It's weird, but as I exist and dwell further into the intrepid world of online dating that I have found the need to self-censor myself. As one of my dates found my blog after our first date and discovered that I didn't share her interest in me, or with another date, where I found myself questioning whether or not to write about my dates with her or with the emails and my profile that I write on match; I choose generic words that are chosen carefully to relay some muted message of what I am thinking and how I feel instead of the really communicate candidly what I am thinking and how I truly feel.

I've noticed the moment that I start writing for expectation of other people is the moment my momentum for writing begins to stutter and stop. Even this blog. It's great that some people find my writing amusing and frequent this online diary of sorts. But I write for me mostly. I write to put down my thoughts. To rationalize and logically think, with the objectivity that writing with words from a key board and a glowing monitor provide.

I forget the secret of writing is to be your own biggest fan.

Yeah, I know the past two post have been a bit introspective of late, but I've had a lot of my mind and haven't really talked about it with the people around me. Sadly, my friends give me sympathy when I want perspective.

God, isn't that the story of my life. I could write a whole post on that. But not tonight. Not now. For now, this is enough.