Inner Questions Answered

August 3, 2011

There are times that I go an entire day without speaking to another human.
Not counting myself.
The inner dialoagues in my head are constant.
And that’s okay, I repeat to myself, as I leap over sidewalk cracks and count the number of lightposts between the grocery store and my front door.
When it becomes problematic is when my mouth gives voice to those inner conversations and suddenly I’ve gone from ‘mysterious, intellectual girl with a book’ at the coffee shop to ‘scary weirdo who is arguing with the table.’
I guess I shouldn’t wonder why I can’t ever find a dinner date.
So, while I may endeavor to temper my soul-searching discussions until I get home–for the sake of those around me–I refuse to believe there is anything substantially wrong with me.
I’ve often heard that talking to oneself is a sign of higher intelligence.
I choose to prescribe to that line of reasoning.
While I always excelled at school, I was never the top student, of course; geniuses hardly even make it through high school.
I made sure never to show up early to class or receive the top grade in my honors class or finish my summer reading assignments before June. I went above and beyond but not too far beyond. I revealed a capacity to learn as a genius should.
But also an uncanny ability to rebuff social rituals. As a genius also should. No one ever saw Einstein with a friend. Just his crazy hair and chalkboard.
I’m still waiting for my genius to be confirmed.
And when they finally are, I can’t say I will be overly surprised.
In all truthfulness, I will only sigh with relief and think Finally, the proof I’ve been waiting for.

I never know what to do when a person is staring at me, so obviously waiting for me to leave, whether it’s my vacating the register as soon as I receive my change or turning over to her the restroom sink in a punctual manner.
I try to be quick. Considerate. But my desire to consider others, and to avoid eye contact, is continually conflicted with my mental urgings to slow down and let them wait.
People are rarely concerned with the time they take to put away their change at the checkout counter, I repeat to myself, becoming increasingly hostile. My fists balling up as I grasp for my purse.
I have spent countless minutes awkwardly staring and then looking away, staring, looking away, at the girl occupying the only mirror in the bathroom. While she is more than content to blot and dab her lipstick as I fidget with fire in my eyes.
Maybe my awareness of myself and others is just more heightened than other people’s, I say to myself.
I feel the eyes boring into my neck. I imagine the long line forming behind me as I move faster and faster, hurtling change into my wallet.
Or maybe it’s not concern for others at all. Quite possibly it’s my fear of being looked at.
This desire to go unnoticed spans all the way back to birth. I swear I came out of my mother’s stomach with a trenchcoat over my head and squinty eyes, quiet as a mouse, praying no one notices me.
I have never wanted attention. I despise it. I always pushed it away like most children push away books and vegetables.
If I were crying and someone noticed me, my mom would push me into her leg as I only sobbed harder. The only thing worse than crying is having some adult in your face asking if you’re okay. I was 15.
This quality continues to haunt me today.
Instead of going to parties, I read. Instead of making human friends, I walk dogs. Instead of speaking, I write.
A couple of years ago I learned sign language in preparation of the day I would give up talking all together. But once I realized that signing was basically acting, I tossed it away in contempt.
I’m currently planning to take up braille.

well-meaning but inaccurate

August 25, 2010

It really is true what they say:
The squeaky wheel gets the oil.
Keep seeking and you will find.
The early bird gets the worm.

Yes, when it comes to getting what we want, we have to survey the situation, make sure our circumstances allow for the change, make a plan, and do it! No hesitations. Just follow through.

Whether we’re talkin’ bout a fitness goal, a job change, a baby, a new hairdo, re-locating. It doesn’t matter–the process is the same.

And most of us will be surprised to find: A–change is fun (who knew?!), B–more options exist than first met the eye, and C–we’ll, most likely, want to do it again!–with a new goal.

Ancient proverbs would have us think otherwise, however, regarding creating opportunity and many other things.

I tend to dislike these proverbs. They paint immovable, concrete images, impressing a singular rule, without a hint to an exception or alterior possibility.

And plenty of them are plain stupid:

“Opportunity knocks only once.”–most people are living testaments to the falseness of that one.
“Only men laugh, only men weep, only men dance.”–I think the feminists would have a bone to pick here.
“Pleasure is the bait of evil.”–depends on what kind of pleasure they’re referring to.

There’s plenty more, of course; but I’ve tired of arguing.

My point, though, has been proven.

No one should be able to control or hold rein over another person’s life. Nor should someone allow another that ability for dominance.

We all have incredible potential, and the naysayers can just pipe down, I say.

Blogging?

February 7, 2009

So I just signed up for this blog. Not really sure how to use it . . . But I am a journalist. I have a four-year degree in it. I have worked for a newspaper, written feature stories, press releases, brochures and newsletters. Does that mean I can really call myself a Journalist?

I don’t feel like a journalist. I still get nervous before I sit down to write. I think, what am I gonna say THIS time? I have major doubts about my abilities. So what better reason to have a blog!, I say to myself. This way I am forced to continue growing in my writing. I gain practice and, therefore, experience. And I’ll have to be more careful about word usage, content, etc., than I would be if I were simply writing in my journal at home. Where no one can see it . . . no one can read it . . . no one can ju . . . d . . . g . e . . it . . . ? What the?! . . . maybe I didn’t think this through enough. I was rather quick on the uptake here. A friend of mine–and fellow journalist–mentioned the blog idea to me two days ago. She talked about how easy it was and how there’s so many web sites to choose from. So I found wordpress today, and I thought, why not?! Well, here goes nothin!

So how am I doin so far? Remember not to be too harsh please. I am a first-timer. And this post is quite short notice, I might remind you. My writing ideas have not yet had a chance to ferment and reach their full potential. But I’m slowly getting there. I can already feel the fibers in my brain start to work and strain, pulling on each other to extract the good and interesting thoughts that are floating inside my head like dust particles (insert much more intelligent word picture here).

Well, before I get too lost in my thoughts, I think I will bid my sole loyal reader adeiu (Bye Mom!), and leave you hankering for more. And to give my brain fibers more time to work. In the mean time, I will be watching the new chick flick He’s Just Not That Into You. Which promises to be a storyline both vapid and tired. Pretty people sauntering around pretending to be luckless in love but in the end always finding that perfect someone to live happily ever after with. I’m sure it will be box office gold.

Adeiu for now.