Self titled

There are two words that I use too much. The first one tries to temper everything I say. The second expresses contradiction to what has been previously spoken. I hate both of these words, so I thought I'd cement them together for the title of this blog. This blog is private at the moment, so that I can write whatever I want. I hope that I can make it public soon, so that everyone that should think I'm fascinating has ample evidence to cite.

I usually start writing when I'm sad, lonely, and lost, and I'm definitely there tonight. I masked this barren part of myself for the better part of year, pretending that I had a functioning partnership with someone other than the other side of my personality. Since I'm writing this for myself I can be melodramatic and forget that half of the Internet thinks the same thing. Well, I was wrong to hide behind the relationship but I regret not.

I am trying to figure out why I return here, to sad, lonely, and lost. Is this why Annie Dillard wrote about a creek, or was she in it for the Pulitzer? I constantly feel victimized by my environment. Running away feels exciting, but not any more satisfying than staying put and spreading out my tentacles for once last gasp of the microscopic gunk floating through the air. Part of running away is to be done with the repetition, even if I have to demote my handful of friendships to phone calls and email.

Let's say I ran off to Montreal, like I did last year. I would blow a thousand dollars a month blithely taking French classes. I would live in a residence with kids ten years my junior, or find an apartment with some hip roommates. I would enter McGill in the fall and study urban planning for two years. Everything would be different and I'd have a chance to prove that I could be too.

Let's say I stay here. I do exactly what I'm doing with minor adjustments each day. Maybe I finally apply to volunteer at Children's Hospital. Maybe I find that imperfect music group that tries to get together and jam for a few weeks. Maybe I try to do everything I can think of that makes me uncomfortable.

I don't like either of these scenarios. I like the one where I'm in a wonderful relationship and I don't have to deal with sad, lonely, and lost. I can peck at self improvement, not drown in it. I can filter with rose and buy someone flowers again. But I can't have this any more than the rust belt can give jobs to autoworkers. There's no way to match me up with what I need without the usual (1/10)^4 probability that I patiently wait to come up every year or so.

My coach suggested that I find passion in my career and not in seeking a relationship. I think it's a lot easier to be passionate about the latter and ease my way into career passion.

I don't know. I'm tired and slightly enrhumé (is there really no way to say "have a cold" in one word in English?) I'm going to close my eyes and think intently about this for one more minute, before I drift into the nonsense of my subconscious. At least I'm not stressed, but I can't figure out how to relax my mandibula. I blame the wisdom teeth.