I just got back from a school party. I am always in a contemplative mood after one of these affairs. I am not sure who I am meant to be when I socialize. Since I was a teenager, I have never really felt like I belong to large groups. I smile; I make the small talk, crack the stupid jokes and leave before people get too drunk. When I was drinking it was easy, because I would drink until everything went black and could careless what anybody said or what I did.
These days the parties are much more tame and the nights much shorter. A good friend of mine asked me, “I have been trying to keep up with your blog, but man, you are cranking them out. How do you find time?”
I have been thinking about his comment all night. I guess I feel much more safe on these pages. My hermitlike behavior could be considered anti-social, but I feel it is through my prose that I can best be myself. These words are the flag that I wave on my own terms.
When I do I find the time? I guess the answer to that question is that I make it. It is a priority for me to sort through my thoughts and emotions. I scribe them to help make sense of my reality. I have given up on trying to find an audience, but it always feels good to know that someone finds these ramblings helpful and/or meaningful. I feel I have no choice. Sitting in my kitchen listening to music, what else can I do but tap the keys and hope for one line of magic? It is all I have ever wanted, that one line that connects to someone and forces them to nod their head and smile, and whisper to themselves that they understand. I will take that connection over small talk any day.
I may not be able to carry a decent conversation, wait I take that back; I may not be able to make small talk, but I am more than happy to meet you here in my prose.