The Trouble with Condiments

I have been propelled from bed-to-blog by an all too powerful force, created of course, by me.
It's that feeling of being off center, that indefinable inability to shift things into place internally, despite a painful awareness of their discordance. To be fair, it's a delicate balance to maintain: feeling grounded enough in oneself to channel your presence into the present, without losing that liberating humility which allows for the embrace of  change. And I seem to have lost my fleeting grip on it yet again, floundering in a discomfort which I can only hope to transform into creative tension without tripping open the floodgates of self-indulgent melancholy.

Ugh.

I recently became annoyed of my own blog (present company thus far included) AKA annoyed of myself. Which, as you can imagine, makes this entry a bit paradoxical given its attempts to relieve (?) my current state of _______. I think in part it's because the nature of my social life as of late has been CATCH UPS. ENDLESS KETCHUPS. With people I love, with people I am so happy to be crossing paths with again, with people whose lives and well being I am sincerely interested in- and yet, unavoidably I am required (and rightfully so) to balance out the conversation by summing up my past 3-6 months. And I'm getting so annoyed of hearing myself say the same thing over and over, gloss over the same ups and downs, discuss the transition from university student to "undecided...." NOT because doing so is in any way invalid or superficial, only because I have become anxious to add a little more to the story that I have become so obnoxiously well versed in reciting.
Certainly, it was difficult to adjust from juggling an overflowing schedule to, well, not. But for months now I have reveled in this inheritance of time and space- I have read books for pleasure, walked the dog, watched movies, ate slowly and spent time with myself- just the X of us. Really, I have found beauty and value and pleasure in my current, far from bustling, state of affairs. I think I've even recovered from India ;)
But much to my dismay, I must report that recently I have encountered boredom on more than one occasion. What an existentially disparaging feeling it is to be bored... to actually put into practice that horrific saying of "killing time." It's time, I think, to take on a little more, delve into some new stuff.

And so I've been feeling a bit off center. A bit annoyed with myself and the tale of "what I'm up to"- again, not because I resent the opportunity to share myself with people, but because I have come to a place where it no longer feels honest or true to where I'm at. It feels retold to the point of disconnect and I almost don't even identify with it  anymore. I guess it's no wonder then, that I'm "feeling weird." I let my self slip away from myself and get lost in a vast sea of KETCHUP... floating in pieces of dates and events and decisions and facts. And honestly, what's more annoying than when you can tell so clearly that someone's being fake?

It's like I'm reciting when I want to be creating. Not here- I strive for honesty in this blog above, I think, all else. But it became suddenly difficult to think of subject matter, whereas until now it has just flowed into beautiful expression (beautiful in the sense that it has felt honest and liberating and FUN). And it was that newly formed gap that I found endlessly annoying. I think that's just because I've fallen briefly out of touch, confusing my ketchup-me with current me (and probz a disillusioned absolute me has been thrown into the mix as well).

Hilarious, that just expressing that confusion rather than brainstorming ways out, veiling it with certainty, or even distracting myself with talk of other things, was actually what just felt so great. Shame it took me so long (although I can't really be sure of time periods, due to that whole eternity syndrome issue I described in earlier posts- ie. I often feel like what I am experiencing is how I've always felt and how I will always feel). Not that speaking something banishes it out of existence; quite the opposite, language creates and makes real-- transforms from "feeling weird" to articulated concerns that can be embraced or addressed or dismissed.

Thanks for giving me the space to write. Here's hoping I haven't annoyed any of you reading (thank you for reading) as much as I've annoyed myself in the past indeterminable amount of time. Oh, and also I'm menstruating so who really even knows if this will all just pass on its own with the cycle of the moon...