Other Links:
Confession
thejanechord
Diaryland
notifylist.com
2003-03-13
12:04 p.m.
I just looked in a mirror and realized that I’ve been noticing the same thing every time I look in a mirror lately: I look tired. Something about my face is not as bright as it used to be. Something about my presence is not as bold as it used to be. Something about my physique is not as commanding as it used to be. And I’ve narrowed this disturbing fact down to one of two possibilities. Either it’s simply a result of getting older, or it’s the result of the fact that I’ve given up.
When I was in school, people used to give me a lot of shit about how big my eyes are. They continually made fun of the fact that I always seemed to look surprised. Despite the fact that I hated the world, at least I could look at it with eyes that weren’t so goddamn tired. Now, I’m tired of looking at things. I can’t keep my eyes very wide open because I don’t want to see anything.
And I’m even more tired of hearing things.
At the end of everyday, I get home from work feeling like I just can’t face the sight of a single other human being. Even watching TV in the evenings abuses my eyes and hurts my ears. The sheer humanity of it all makes me feel like I want to run away. And it’s not helped at all by those damn reality shows. I don’t want to see reality, dammit. Show me something new and different, something I don’t face everyday.
But nothing’s new and exciting anymore. Everything comes as one more checkmark down the page of things to do in a lifetime, and it’s no thrill, no accomplishment, no real reason to care. It’s just the same damn thing day after goddamn day. And even though I try to avoid as much interaction with people as possible, I still feel as though I’ve been attacked and harassed by the end of each day, and I don’t know if I can do it again the next day.
Luckily, the world has a vast supply of chemicals that make it possible for me to continue waking up everyday and pretending to be one of the normal people even though I’m not. Or is it lucky? I hate going to work everyday. I hate seeing the same people everyday. I hate having to see the sun everyday and feel the wind on my face and hear the constant voices of people that all seem to talk WAY TOO FUCKING LOUDLY.
My big eyes can’t keep themselves open long enough to take any more of it in. My sensitive musician’s ears throb with the sounds of horrible screechings and moanings in the poor excuses for music I hear everyday against my will. My face is beginning to show the wear and tear of years. It’s beginning to show how disgusted I am with everything. Its natural state appears to be leaning more towards frustration and despair than intrigue or curiosity. I don’t know that it ever occurred to me before that my disgust with life would eventually end up imprinted all over my face.
I can’t hide it anymore.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’ve quit wearing so much make-up and I’m just not used to seeing my natural self in the mirror. For the past twelve years, before venturing out into the world, I always applied large quantities of make-up to my face. Now, it’s the bare essentials: the foundation that has sunscreen in it so that I won’t shrivel up like a prune five years from now and the powder that smooths over the minor imperfections that weigh far too heavily on my mind.
I’ve stopped trying desperately to attract attention.
I don’t want attention anymore. I want people to treat me with the same disregard with which I treat them. I want to be treated as though I don’t matter because nothing seems to matter to me. Anything other than that would seem far too out of whack with the rest of the world’s goings on.
The only trouble with this appears to be the fact that when people don’t pay any attention to me, they still intrude on my peace of mind. They still irritate the hell out of me, even if they aren’t talking to me directly, even if they aren’t looking at me directly. Their simple existence is a major source of irritation to me, and I wish they would shut the fuck up and calm the fuck down so that I could wander through life without their bothersome intrusions.
It’s all their fault.
It’s the fault of the rest of the world that I’m starting to look like I feel: overly worn out and tired. It’s the fault of the people on the bus who feel like everyone wants to hear their oh-so-important conversations. It’s the fault of the people who yell at me for not giving them change. It’s the fault of the people behind the counters who treat me like it’s my fault they’re having a bad day. It’s the fault of the people at work who expect me to cover their asses by doing their work too. It’s the fault of the less intelligent people who don’t understand simple instructions. It’s the fault of loud little kids and their stupid little faces so full of potential for crushed illusion.
My eyes are tired of seeing it all, and I just want to go to sleep.
In the evenings these days, I feel like I have to take time to sit in pure solitude and silence just to recapture a slight feeling of oneness with myself. My head keeps spinning from all the shit I had to do at work during the day. My mind is overtaken by characters from my novel who are still there when I’m alone. I can still hear voices talking and telephones ringing through the apartment walls. I can still see light and dark and shadow when I’m trying to see nothing.
There doesn’t seem to be a place to rest my tired eyes.
