Friday, August 13, 2004
Why It Doesn't Matter Anymore
Because I stood there, thinking of something to say, for no reason. I even thought I was expert at standing at the bar and ordering, but I couldn't do that without anxiety.
I think I've come to a clearing, in which I've heard enough of people trying their very best to convince me how young they are, seven years older than I, when I feel so much older. The tears people hold back are as good as shed. Better. Denial's real thin when it's only shaded by glassy eyes.
Mostly, it was the lack of excitement that gave me away. Or all that I over-thought. Because when you're me, nothing's natural anymore. And if I can't discern a reason for why an army ant can flip into a dancing beetle in the space of a second, I can't join in.
It could be because the only time I ever thought was when I was thinking about getting out. Or maybe it was because the excused reason we were all there was the only reason keeping me going. And on that note, I can give myself some credit: I know how to order, how to tip, and how to tip it back. Because that was the only thing that kept me from running. And I couldn't stop bringing that glass to my lips. Hey, we've all seen it. When the glass runs out, what else is there to hang on to?
It's never about what we say it is, is it? Even when I tried to turn the conversation to what brought me there, I ended up drinking up. Because no one listened. So I tasted and ordered and tasted again. And I'm still good at that.
Liquid courage can remain a joke for everyone else -- let that staged sip promote big laughs. For me, it's got to be enough to blind me. What's to fear that you can't see? If I can still see it, then it's only because I've left. Because there's nothing like blind courage. Honesty would be anything less than confronting the infinity of availability in front of everyone who knows better.
And that's a whole lot better than trying to convince people who don't care who you are or why you're there. And that's a whole lot better than walking home and seeing kids with peach fuzz walk the way I used to walk before I learned why I ever came out at night (and, thus, began running home). And that's a whole lot better than standing around with nothing to say and trying to look natural while looking at nothing. And that's a whole lot better than dancing to music when you don't dance. And that's a whole lot better than remembering sappy speeches that suddenly pertain to you. And that's a whole lot better than realizing just what it's going to take to relax. And that's a lot better than bothering to explain to people that when you walk in a circle, the path can still change, while still becoming boring.
I jogged back over the bridge, noticing a trap door that contained no significance. I walked through my backyard in jeans too long for me. I must have looked ridiculous. It smelled like hot dogs. I still don't have a front door key. I forgot to take my medicine.
Nobody really listens to you when you mean something. They always look through you, and then on to the next door, or whatever they can walk through. I think if I timed it right, I could stop speaking, and they'd be gone, past me, before they realized I stopped speaking.
I'll never look down on someone who learns very early, the benefit of hunkering down. And parrying.
I think I've come to a clearing, in which I've heard enough of people trying their very best to convince me how young they are, seven years older than I, when I feel so much older. The tears people hold back are as good as shed. Better. Denial's real thin when it's only shaded by glassy eyes.
Mostly, it was the lack of excitement that gave me away. Or all that I over-thought. Because when you're me, nothing's natural anymore. And if I can't discern a reason for why an army ant can flip into a dancing beetle in the space of a second, I can't join in.
It could be because the only time I ever thought was when I was thinking about getting out. Or maybe it was because the excused reason we were all there was the only reason keeping me going. And on that note, I can give myself some credit: I know how to order, how to tip, and how to tip it back. Because that was the only thing that kept me from running. And I couldn't stop bringing that glass to my lips. Hey, we've all seen it. When the glass runs out, what else is there to hang on to?
It's never about what we say it is, is it? Even when I tried to turn the conversation to what brought me there, I ended up drinking up. Because no one listened. So I tasted and ordered and tasted again. And I'm still good at that.
Liquid courage can remain a joke for everyone else -- let that staged sip promote big laughs. For me, it's got to be enough to blind me. What's to fear that you can't see? If I can still see it, then it's only because I've left. Because there's nothing like blind courage. Honesty would be anything less than confronting the infinity of availability in front of everyone who knows better.
And that's a whole lot better than trying to convince people who don't care who you are or why you're there. And that's a whole lot better than walking home and seeing kids with peach fuzz walk the way I used to walk before I learned why I ever came out at night (and, thus, began running home). And that's a whole lot better than standing around with nothing to say and trying to look natural while looking at nothing. And that's a whole lot better than dancing to music when you don't dance. And that's a whole lot better than remembering sappy speeches that suddenly pertain to you. And that's a whole lot better than realizing just what it's going to take to relax. And that's a lot better than bothering to explain to people that when you walk in a circle, the path can still change, while still becoming boring.
I jogged back over the bridge, noticing a trap door that contained no significance. I walked through my backyard in jeans too long for me. I must have looked ridiculous. It smelled like hot dogs. I still don't have a front door key. I forgot to take my medicine.
Nobody really listens to you when you mean something. They always look through you, and then on to the next door, or whatever they can walk through. I think if I timed it right, I could stop speaking, and they'd be gone, past me, before they realized I stopped speaking.
I'll never look down on someone who learns very early, the benefit of hunkering down. And parrying.
