Author's note: Many of the posts contained within this blog are personal memoirs. They are mine. They are real. I wrote them as I experienced them. If any story is at all fictional or needs to be attributed to someone else, I will state that firmly in the first paragraph.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

It's Always Me; the Malefactor

I often wonder if other people are anything like me.

Occasionally I find myself missing an old friend, and I think, "Maybe we should hang out soon."
Then, when we finally do get around to hanging out, I realize, "Wow, we don't think anything alike anymore.  Maybe it would be better if I just left."

One year I'll avidly follow my favorite sport, keeping track of wins, losses, trades, and of course, scores.
Another year I'm shocked to learn that the season is already half over.

Every now and then I see a couple walking together holding hands, and I tell myself, "That looks nice.  Maybe I should start looking around for a girlfriend again."
One or two days after a date, she'll call or text me about something.  Then I find myself asking, "Why is she bothering me with this?  We just saw each other."

Before I travel somewhere new, I think about how different it will be there.  How new, how exotic, how thrilling.
And then, after only one or two days, I completely forget that I'm somewhere new, exotic, and thrilling, and go about life just as if I were at home.

Now and then I find myself sitting too close to two single people.  I hear him talking about himself nonchalantly, telling her about why he is unique.  I cringe, hoping that I never sound that ridiculous.
Then, a day later, I meet a new girl, and I tell her about the best of my unique self in a nonchalant way.  After she has left, I cringe thinking about everything I've just said.

Sometimes I catch people lingering when they walk by windows or mirrors.  I shake my head, wondering why people care so much about how they look.
Then, as they walk away, I glance in the same mirror before forcing myself to walk away.

I sit at home on Sunday mornings, telling myself, "This is the perfect time for a run."  But I don't go.
The next week I guiltily force myself out the door.  Not long after I've left, I find myself enjoying the run, sincerely thinking about how there's nothing I'd rather be doing.

It's hard to be dependable when I keep changing.  Sometimes I don't know whether it's against or according to my will.  But I keep getting by.