So, this is something I wrote a couple of days ago. I'm trying to read my scribbling chicken scratch. I hope it makes sense. This is how stuff comes and goes for me...in bursts. Like a fiery explosion going off in my head.
I am sitting here at my desk. Why am I not working? Because I can't focus. It seems to be a growing problem for me these days. Distractions. That's a harsh word. Okay, not really distractions as much as attractions. My mind drifts back. I'm back to that again. And it's a question that shouldn't even matter to me, yet it does. You matter to me. What a dreadfully long day this has turned out to be. It's terribly crowded in my head, but one thought stands out. Yeah, that one.
I'm here, but not really. Wonder if anyone at the top notices. I'm quite sure she does, but she leaves me to it. She can see that I am determined to get this out. Sitting across from me, it would be hard not to pay attention to me. I'm pretty good at pretending, but my little black notebook gives me away. The notebook that I guard with my life. It holds it all and I give it to you.
I need quiet and the phone keeps ringing. People can hear the disgust in my voice. I should learn to play the part and be nice. I might be the last person these fuckers get to talk to. That's a touch dramatic, but still. I already ate my lunch...slaw dog and tater logs. Southern fried greasy perfection. No, not really. It wasn't even close. I just want quiet time to write this and I am not getting it.
That will cause my moods to swing and shift and spiral downward.
Tee-dah! I am golden. I just solved a crisis. Not mine. Work related. Score one for Solly! I rock this multi-tasking thing pretty fucking hard.
Why am I talking to you about my boring life? I guess I have somehow convinced my twisted little mind that you somehow care inspite of me. Am I delusional in my assessment? Slightly, I am sure. I am the most uninteresting person that I don't really know.
Yeah, that's right.
Why would I bother to listen to myself?
I much prefer to listen to what others think of me.
Depending on who it is, I can build myself up or completely blow myself to bits.
Either way, it gives me ammunition for my gun.
Will I turn it on all of them or save one bullet and turn the gun on myself?
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5 comments:
Better be a misfire.
I admire you, Sdock. Shit flows for you. I even laughed a bit when I got to "Crisis solved!" 'cause I was all, "Whoa! Really?!?!"
What can I say? We rule at this.
Fuck.
......
Solly, Shelby, Sdock, Sd10,
"Sitting across from me, it would be hard not to pay attention to me"
Exactly. :)
"I need quiet and the phone keeps ringing. People can hear the disgust in my voice. I should learn to play the part and be nice. I might be the last person these fuckers get to talk to. That's a touch dramatic, but still. I already ate my lunch...slaw dog and tater logs. Southern fried greasy perfection. No, not really. It wasn't even close. I just want quiet time to write this and I am not getting it."
I know this is not for me.
However, you remind me so much of Hunter S. Thompson. Well, if you left out the 'No, not really part." ;)
That is a compliment, just in case there is any confusion.
I think you are amazing. And I am not the only one. I've always wanted to give you the best advice, but somehow I feel like I have fallen short.
It is all in you. I really believe that. ... do not cut yourself short.
I hope this makes sense. I'm super tired, and well, I just want you to be okay. I want you to be so happy.
Love,
Shannon
Sdock, never apologize for who you are. You are very sweet and I wish you the best. Thank you for the birthday wishes.
Mummy K
Thanks for the honesty on my blog. =]
<3
We didn't get to talk tonight.
Tomorrow?
I hope you're okay.
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