lackluster and shine
The more I think about it, the more I realize that I'm really not comfortable writing what I really feel in this blog anymore now that the readership has grown so large and "active." This may mean I take a break for some quiet contemplation for a while, it may mean that I'll end up going somewhere else, but most likely it means that I'll whine about it for a few weeks and get over myself. I usually do. And the truth is, it's not going to stop me from talking now.

I've been feeling awfully lackluster for the last... while. You may have noticed that my "sense of humor" is m.i.a. Yes, and I'm feeling tired, mediocre and uninspired. So what? So's ninety-percent of the rest of the world. The ten-percent that actually ARE on cloud-nine I usually worship with a slight grain of resentment. I thought to myself, after dinner, as I was sitting with a full-belly and dull eyes in some horribly digestion-inhibiting posture, that I am indeed in a bit of a slouch. I'm all bleary-eyed and boring. Blah. This must change.

Why must it change? Because I am going to be going on an adventure very shortly and I need my mind to be sharp for the transition to be smooth.

It must change because I deserve better than to be bored and boring. I deserve to get up in the morning with a smile on my face and look forward to my day rather than dread the monotony of my routine and the ineptitude of others.

It must change because I had a moment this weekend where I saw myself as an old woman and realized with some chagrin that these are the days I will pine for when I'm old and crusty. I will pine for them regardless of whether or not they are fan-fucking-tabulous or mediocre. But I'd rather give myself a serious case of a nostalgia-inducing orgasmically good time than pine for the half-assedness of my routine-laced, self-sacrificial, boring-as-fuck, self-conscious days. I'm pining for an endless summer. I'm wanting to make that every day. I want some dreams to believe in that get me through more than just a day or a week but that carry me though months, the way my feelings used to.

I had a dream this weekend that reminded me how precious idealism and faith can be. In the dream, there was a building. At the top of the building, accessible only by elevator, was a floor that led special people into a magical dimension. Only those who had permission to enter the magic domain would be able to see it; anyone who entered the top floor who wasn't "blessed" would only see an empty attic. Another girl (whom I didn't recognize) and I were attempting to explain to two non-"blessed" individuals what it was like to be able to enter this domain. Because they were with us, they could sort of half-see the world around them but only in a ghostly overlay. We told them that they had permission to enter the domain but only if they could pass the test of entry required of everyone to come in. To enter, one had to stand before the doorway of the portal and simply believe with all of their heart, that the space beyond was real. With any shadow of a doubt, they would be barred from entry.

I remember the difficulty that these two initiates had in understanding how they could believe in something that was only a shadow to them. I also remember the conviction in my own heart that I knew I was part of something special, unique and real. In that moment only, I knew that I was dreaming, because the warm feeling in my heart was like nothing I have for anything in my life. It was pure faith, full and free from doubt.

The retelling of this dream was a bit odd, because I had the disctint feeling that I'd ripped off the "believe and thou shall enter" from some book or movie. Justin says it's "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe," but I'm not so sure. Now that I think about it, it smacks eerily of Christian idealism. Fuck, that's creepy. But... I want that feeling. I want to "find religion" even if it isn't "God." I'm just too much of a Doubting Thomas any more.

And that's why I'm going to Japan. Because I want to do something different; something inspiring; something that scares me and is so out of the realm of the ordinary that it will force me to put my petty concerns into perspective. My worry, of course, is that the shock caused by the transition will, rather than dissipate these ailments, amplify them. I know how I get when I'm lonely, isolated, or frustrated. I just have to be able to change those behaviors from paralyzing into self-actualizing.

I've also reoccurantly wondered if I may be co-dependant. After six-some years of long-term serial monogamy, I haven't spent a lot of time alone. When the threat of female soliture looms on the horizon I glom onto another male, surrogate boyfriend or not. I love male company (not in a sexual sense, mind you, though probably vaguely) and the sort of yin-yang completion it gives me to be close with a guy. I suppose I worry that this is somehow wrong. I don't really think it is: some day I hope to have that sort of mutual companionship give me satisfation through a lasting marriage. The problem is that I'm haunted by the sort of incompletion I feel when I'm alone. It scares me to get so restless and feel that I have to salve that restlessness the way I do.

I want to start to feel REALLY good about something in a WHOLE sort of way. The way that comes from killing all those nagging doubts that destroy the precious commodities of friendship, love and faith in my life. I'm going to start quantifying the goodness in my life, just to help me start seeing it. As much as I hate quantifying anything (read: math, grades, statistics), it does help make sense of the hidden details. Don't get the impression I'm depressed tonight because I'm not. I'm just... blah. I'm happy but not happy enough for it to matter.