Alpha to Omega

The last couple of months have been progressively stranger. I'm sort of stumbling around with the feeling that I should be doing something, but I'm not sure what doing entails, nor what the outcome or goal is supposed to be. School feels argumentative, and though intellectually stimulating, entirely entrenched in a bizarre unreality that conjurs in me an intense lack of motivation or purpose. A bunch of people sitting around with the intellectual power to change the world for the better, but only after a few dozen pitchers.

I rode home today in my friend's car as she blasted freakin' Christmas music, and I thought of home at Christmas and how much I've come to loathe the holiday--it's pressure. It's not the time I get to spend with the people I care about--I like that--it's the arranging of that time, the preparation, the fucking stress of whose house is graced with my presence on the actual day. 'Cause you know, it doesn't count otherwise. This year I'll only have one dinner to attend, and that's fucked up in itself.

I can't get my mind around the thoughts that go through other people's minds, and maybe that's why I feel like I'm constantly having some kind of fight or flight response to this anti-reality. No one makes sense to me, and I catch myself (and they catch me...even worse) just staring at them, trying to understand why the words aren't connecting in any real or meaningful way. It's frustrating and making me angry. Maybe there's something wrong with me. Dog the car on the bed couch into a pervasive hat man uncomfortable shining basket. Ok? Sure.

The craziest shit of all occurs within that petty and predictible realm that humans are funny enough to term relationships. If there wasn't enough hilarity and insanity in my own life already, there is now.

My friend who listens to Christmas music has taken to a friend of a friend in a rather bad way. It's uncomfortable because I know it's bad, but she doesn't. I think he's going to get upset with her soon because their casual relationship has turned into a professed need for constant action. Which men don't understand as sex. They get really scared and worry about someone getting too emotionally involved. That's going to be uncomfortable.

And then there's the crazy-ass bitch who made a collage of another of my friends. Not someone she's involved with because she's too married for that. Picture of her. Picture of him.......picture of her kid. Times two-hundred. It made my hair stand up on end. And then she topped it all of with writing a really funny letter about how she isn't a groupie. Ok honey.

My own relationship issues are just as funny, if only because we actually speak two different languages. I don't mean to suggest that I went to some exotic country and picked up a hot and muscley pool boy for myself, though that may be a better technique, for future reference. I realise that the men of our generation have their own peculiar set of psychological issues, but I'm not exacly sure what makes them think the rest of us aren't just as royally screwed. Or that they'll suddenly tell you they want to marry you. But.

In conclusion. I'm not sure why I'm suddenly more sane than everyone else.