Low moaning

I seem always to have a complaint. I know that this is more a symptom of my being wrong than the world's but the world seems easier to put to rights.

People want to talk to me about things I don't want to talk about and don't want to talk about what matters to me. They either want to know what I'm thinking or don't want to know what I'm thinking. The problem is, I do a lot of thinking and it's not all for sharing. And the audience for what is can sometimes lack. It's frustrating when you think that it will exist, or ought to exist, but how can you convince people that they ought to give a shit about how you feel about things, particularly when what they want is for you to feel something else?

Someone said to me the other day that they would drag me to a gig if I were close enough to them geographically. But I wouldn't need dragging. I'd go in a shot if I had company to do it with. If I think about how I've managed to live a life that has left me entirely bereft of people who share my interests, I really am scratching my head. I really must be doing something wrong because I don't come across them.

Look, I know I'm a fucking idiot. I don't need telling. I've made way too many choices that even at the time I knew were only longshots of coming out well not to be all too aware of it. Sometimes it's as though I have a destructive jockey. When he's in the saddle, I am sure to fuck up. I think a lot of us are like that. If you have a broad capacity for unhappiness, something about you will help you find a way to be unhappy. I don't mean that you'll look on the dark side or that you'll be unhappy about things you should be happy about. I mean you'll fuck up so that happiness is not even possible.

Even the things that make me happy don't work out for me because there is no way to structure my life to make them fit. Partly that's because of who I am and partly because of who other people are. I sometimes wonder whether it just doesn't go because I'm doing something wrong, like when I stuff up a gear change and there's a shrieking noise.

A low moaning. It's more like a low moaning. It's the part of me that knows it has to die and thinks it's going to be shortchanged. It's the other jockey, who rarely gets his chance to ride, the one who has the capability to drive me to better, or at least more, things. We keep that fucker down. It would be impossible to maintain low self-esteem if that guy was doing the driving.

And without low self-esteem, I would be just too human to live with.

posted by Dr Zen @ 2:14 pm