jd yates

Having a serious issue coming up with a topic for this blog, but forcing myself to sit in front of this computer until i produce something. Doing this never yields anything read-worthy, but I just spent a half hour tracking down a blogger app so hell or high water I’m gonna use it. Not to mention that this could be a huge step toward making this whole blogging thing a habit… not that anyone is actually reading them.

Where do people come up with the motivation and topics for these things? Skinner’s always got some political or religious or philisophic topic to soapbox on which doesn’t help me because i know next to nothing about the politcal climate, i have few religious opinions, and i get my philosophy fix from him much less could i speak intelligently on any of the topics. Suddenly wondering how I could possibly be an interesting conversationalist.

Damien Rice may be the most depressing human being alive.

I’m uber-exhausted. Just ended a very long weekend of partying way too hard. Three nights in a row, each ending at 5am, is my limit. Not only am i completely sleep deprived, but my intake of alcohol over the last 72 hours is somewhere in the liters, which can’t be healthy. Depsite all the negative after-effects, it was a great time. Let it never be said that we don’t know how to host guests. Each night ended with me putting one if not two of our drunk arkansan friends to bed, a newfound joy in my life. Love those kids. Also, got to spend some time with the next door neighbor who turned out to be a hell of a lot cooler than we thought. Aside from a little unbudgeted expenditure, a very successful weekend.

Yawning on average once every 25 or so seconds.

My local friends were super flakey this weekend. Not unusual, but mildly uncharacteristic for a couple in particular. Will be interested to see how that pans out this week. After writing my last entry I started thinking seriously about the people I’ve been surrounding myself with, and if any of them had potential for a deeper friendship. The only 2 that came to mind were total no-shows all weekend. Worse, neither has returned any of my phone calls either. I should come to expect things like this.

On from Damien Rice to Daniel Powter. I need new music.

I never let myself stand still long enough to have to think about where my life is going right now, or what I’ll be doing in six months and how the decisions that I’m making now are affecting that position. If I constantly move on to the next immediate hurdle I never have to realize that I don’t have any of the answers. It must be the sleep deprivation, but now that I consider the alternative (dull, boring deskjob. no travel, no relationship, exhausted not cuz I a great, albeit crazy, weekend but because I’m depressed about the impending monday) I can’t imagine life any other way but so many people disapprove of the road I’ve chosen that I cant be all right either.

I think blogging just brings this crap out of me. More on that later, I’m wiped and am trying to limit myself from novel-esque entries. And here I thought I wouldn’t have much in me to write about…

Leave it to a perfetly suited Grey’s Anatomy re-run to throw me into one of my super-contemplative, overly thoughtful, mildly depressed moods that inevitably incites a blog post.

I’m jealous. My boyfriend has no less than 5 psuedo-therapists available to him at any given moment. This wonderful support system of caring and invested friends willing to drop everything in an instant to counsel him. He uses them frequently. They’re great for keeping him grounded and keeping him from letting his tendency to over-think carry him away. Most of all they’re especially adept at the simple task of being an ear to his idle ramblings when he needs to get something off his mind. Essential to me because it means that instead of all those small annoying things I do to get on his nerves being bottled up and eventually exploding in both our faces he lets them out as they occur, keeping relations healthy and communicative.

I, on the other hand, have no such luxury. I have no one close enough to me to talk to about even the most meaningless issues. Every time I try to bring someone into my life to fill this void they, like most people my age, are almost immediatley distracted by the next shiny object to prance across their path. This unfortunate scenario leaves me with two options. The first is that I re-visit the worst case scenario once a month of blowing up at my boyfriend or some other poor unsuspecting bystander over something trivial because I didn’t have a reliable method of letting go of all the little frustrations. The second is the one that I always find myself returning too and that is to completely deny myself the emotion. It’s a lot like the bottling up, except without the fireworks at the end.

This process has made me cold, but I have to think that’s a small price to pay for the happiness of everyone else around me. I fake my way through most interactions that require expression, so no one really notices, I don’t think. It’s nights like these though, when he’s using these great tools at his disposal that I sit on my couch alone and debate the merit of shutting down those parts of my brain that feel. Can I actively and fruitfully engage in a relationship in this state? Is this why my relationships with my family are falling apart, and beyond that the reason that it has yet to affect me? When it comes time to open myself up to someone will I remember how? How long can I blame my lack of desire to engage myself emotionally on my semi-traumatic past?

That’s the kicker, isn’t it? What a perfectly ambiguous crutch. Furthermore, what a perfectly complacent outcome. The only complaints come from the poor guy dating this detached, frigid husk of a human being, which are easily quieted by infrequent statements of feeling. I would contend that thinking is not the only pre-requiste to existence, but that feeling is equally necessary. How can people know who I am if I never express it?

My mother is an incredibly strong woman, a rock, the strongest I’ve ever seen. For years she sacrificed her own happiness and internal stability for the sake of smooth interactions with family and so that her children could grow up without having to process the tragedy that was unfolding around us. I can’t imagine growing up in a different environment, but neither can I decide if what she did was noble or too sheltering… and now that I’m repeating the behavior am I validating it as a practice or reminding others how not to be?