September 1st, 2006

Pool, I'll be alive when I get out...

The words are dying ;_;

I was in a pretty good mood tonight, just me being all by myself for yet another Friday night at work. Then I had to go up to one of the floors to get a record. One of the clerks pulled me aside, I thought to ask a question about the record I was nabbing. He asked if I was Alexandrian or... and I got all confused. I could figure out he was asking types, and I can see he's an okay guy, but types of what? He points to my pentacle that I almost always wear. "Oh, I, um... I just wear it for protection..." and quickly change the subject back to work so I can work in the words "stat" and "ER" and flee. Nevermind my shyness or fear of people or social anxiety disorder or whatever. I suddenly felt really isolated. I'm a witch without a coven, a pagan sans sabbats. I'm almost weeping, and yet I can't figure out why this never bothered me before. Perhaps it's some sort of lonesome dove syndrome, where I was part of a covey at least with my pool league and even that's now gone. Sometimes I feel like I just wake up go to work, do nothing constructive all night until I sleep and repeat until the weekends. Sometimes I feel that I just want to do that. Nothing. I'm become not anti-social, but sociophobic maybe. I know that a lot of this is my own making, but I can't help but to feel trapped. I'm being an emo fool. Am I a fraud? Some sort of fakery, a front that conceals, what? The emblem makes most people too uncomfortable to ask, and those who understand it mostly give knowing smiles or compliments, but an actual delving query about what's behind it, why I wear it, and I falter like a stage wall that's no more than a board frame covered with muslin. I've been afraid to look behind it, to see what I really might be. I've done it once before and realised something very shocking about myself. I worked to bring that forward, and in some ways, it's changed my life for the better. In other ways, I'm not sure if I might not be happier having never seen behind that painted surface. I don't think I'm feeling any kind of regret or longing, but I'm quite confused at the moment, like when you exit an elevator on the wrong floor. I want to run back inside, and wait until things are as they should be, so I can get off on the right floor. I'm afraid that there might not be service there, however. It's the thirteenth floor, and it doesn't really exist. Maybe I'm just a maniquin and think I'm real. It's almost schizo, but I know there's a firm reality in place, but maybe I'm unsure if it's the right one. I'm getting nowhere fast by typing this out right now. It could just be the terrible dichotomy of the two people in one body that I'm hearing read to me in The Drawing of the Three right now, and the fabric of that world is peeking through the seam of mine. Mandy is so emo. This too shall pass.
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