I guess we're on an upswing in personal content here. This is my blog and I'll write whatever I want I suppose, but I thought I was transitioning out of putting a lot of deep inner monologues on the internet. Wouldn't be the first time I was wrong about myself... certainly won't be the last. It's two in the morning, I'm sober in Syracuse and I want to move on from the alienation post... so here goes.

I think I'm finally coming around to realizing something about myself. It's something I've heard myself say a thousand times, and if one were to scroll through this blog I'm sure the same declaration has worked its way into my self-examinations. I am essentially a solitary person. I live most of my life in my head, even when I'm surrounded by people... I'm embarrassed to say that I'm usually in my head somewhere even when there's only one person talking to me. I'm a pro at "active listening", at picking up the breaks in the conversation and saying something innocuous and vague that lets the other person "know" that I'm being attentive. I'm usually not being attentive, usually I'm not listening because something is rattling around in my head making too much noise and taking up the space usually reserved for real-time interlocutors. I'm always overwhelmed in some way or another, and I guess lately I've started burning out.

I was always looking for something. That was my excuse before. I wasn't popular in the early years, being awkward and pretentious, always reading books that were way over my head and hanging out with people that were way older than me. I was always reaching for something that I wasn't quite ready for because wherever I was supposed to be wasn't working out. I've always taken such a proactive approach to everything. I think I can fix things that are going wrong just by making it all so much harder, because -- I suppose -- if something is difficult then I'll learn something even if the end result doesn't meet my expectations. The problem at this point presents itself: I'm old enough and competent enough to be able to do pretty much anything I want. All those books didn't go entirely over my head, and now the challenge is hanging out with people who are so much younger than I am. But the results are still not meeting my expectations.

What are my expectations? This is the sticky part. Undoubtedly they are wholly unrealistic. Undoubtedly whatever it is that would unwind this knot in my chest is not something I can just go out and grab. If it were, I would have grabbed or at least grasped it by now. So... *deep breath* ... I have to own the knot in my chest. I have to stop pushing myself out into the world, trying to talk to every person that crosses my path. I have to stop looking for the riveting conversation, the surprising sense of humor, the beautiful turn of phrase. I *have* all these things, I know all these beautiful people who literally make my world turn on its eccentric axis and who pick me up when I fall into that self-deepening, imaginary hole of nobody loves me. It's unconscionable that with all the love that I have in my life, with all the people who listen to my ridiculous stories and put up with my manias, that I should still be looking over their shoulders for something else.

Kierkegaard, somewhere, talked about "dissipating oneself in conversation." I think of that phrase over and over again. I don't remember which book it's from or how long ago I read it, but it's stuck like an orange traffic cone in my wheel well, thump thump thump thump thump. I don't know anything else, what else is there for me but conversation? But I can feel myself being dissipated as the years go by, and all these millions of conversations don't bring me that thing that I want. In the moment I am elated, I can't stop thanking the powers that be for giving me such an interesting life. But there's a part of me that still wishes desperately that I were invisible, so I could just enjoy my friends' faces around a bonfire, so that I could tune in and out, attending to the images and threads their insights fill my head with. There are so many times when I wish I could only express myself like this, to an empty page, to some ideal person who could... I don't know, understand it all? Make it all seem worth it? It's the problem of my expectations, I don't know what I want, just that when I come home I'm both relieved and devastated, because it wasn't tonight, I didn't find it, and I'll have to try again tomorrow.

I'm tired of trying. I have everything I ever said I wanted. So, my ideal interlocutor doesn't exist yet, I can't describe them, I don't know that I'd know them if they spoke to me, so in the meantime I'm just dissipating myself in conversation. I'm neglecting my true friends in the pursuit of imaginary soulmates, and it's making me miserable. What's the plan of action? I'm going to become a homebody. Obviously I'm not going to stop going out or meeting new people, but that's not the mission anymore. I'm going to make a little home in my body that I can take with me, where I can peer out the windows and only invite in the people who I know won't muddy up my carpets or pocket my knick-knacks. There's been far too much of the open door policy lately, as though I had no boundaries or personal possessions. As though I couldn't lock my door or even pull down the blinds. I prefer the comfort of a wingback chair in my own living room to the stark naked trust of full disclosure. This is new and old at the same time. I've always wanted a comfortable wingback chair, with an ottoman to put my feet up and wings wide (and low) enough that I could just doze off in the middle of a chapter. I've just always thought I was too young to retire. Maybe now is the perfect time, since I couldn't have gotten here without everything else I've put myself through. Maybe all this alienation is just the tide I never allowed myself to feel before, because I hadn't done enough or felt enough to step back from the high-water mark. It was always just another challenge, another difficult thing that I'd gain in defying. I don't feel so defiant anymore, it hasn't made me happy. I'm going to try to be happy, and leave all the amorphous tortures for the page, for characters that are not me. Maybe I'll write those books instead of living them, and maybe that will be better.

So I've had a rough couple days. There's a sense in which I have to talk about it, like taking a mental shower. Back at home I'm listening to my music, my dog is snoring quietly and I'm alone. When I'm in Ithaca I'm in my Mom's house, or I'm hanging out at Dom's, or I'm working, or I'm hanging out with a hundred million strangers in some crowded bar. The din of my life in Ithaca is deafening... all the more so for all its deadening silences.

I work a job that I love. I love all my jobs, but this one in particular. It's challenging, mentally and physically; it's hyper social; it pays well; my workmates kick ass. We fuck up all the time, every little thing can go wrong on any given shift. We work incredibly hard, and most situations we can handle. The problem is the impatience of the customers, and the way we're treated as Gimme! employees at the market. Somehow we've been implicated in some wrong-doing or incompetence, and people feel free to abuse us; to criticize what they don't understand and demonize us and our bosses. We worked so hard yesterday, and at the end of the day I made the mistake of checking a critical post on the traitorous interwebs. The outpouring of criticism and snide self-righteousness took the wind right out of my sails, and in addition to the fatigue and the hormonal reset of another wasted breeding cycle, I'm feeling utterly defeated.

What's wrong with people? This is exactly what I'm talking about when I mention the "ugly left". The shrill, reactionary "criticism" that takes an ideological position in relation to real people in real situations. Just because there's more than one Gimme! and the owner doesn't want to hang around 25% of the time doesn't mean that we aren't all good people trying to do our best. I'm trying *really hard* to make Gimme! a good experience at IFM and I fucking resent all this petty bullshit. As far as I'm concerned, Gimme! shouldn't continue at IFM after this year. It's just not worth it. Between the hassle and the expense (time, money, effort) there's little room for vitriolic ingratitude, and frankly the nay-sayers can kiss my ass. Don't come if you don't like it, we don't need your business and we sure as shit don't enjoy your attitude.

That all felt good to say, but there's a more general point in there. I'm tired of uncritical criticism. I'm tired of ideologues and their jerky knees. It started with the SU GSO, and the kerfuffle over the Drumlins country club funding. The leftly inclined hear the words "country club" and are suddenly transformed into petition-filing powerhouses of righteous indignation. "How dare the golf and tennis players of SU get free access through the GSO's support!! Aren't the golf and tennis players of SU all rich?! Make them PAY!!" It makes me sick to my stomach. I hated those meetings. It didn't matter how many times someone would try to slow their roll, telling them that a lot of country club regulars are international students who can't go home often (a vulnerable minority), and that many of them are NOT wealthy. Every time there was a new delegate from whatever department who heard about the GSO funding and objected to it, they would stand up and demand a reckoning, and an audit, and an outrage. Uncritical criticism. Infuriating, noisy puppets. Listening to them makes me so angry, sometimes it's hard to breathe.

But breathe I do. I'm not out of patience. I can smile even when I'm grinding my teeth. But it's like a cage, keeping up the appearance. I'm not relaxed, I'm vigilant. I have to keep all the cracks sealed, smile and remain open. People still surprise me sometimes. But I'm tired, and I'd rather be alone than pretend to understand where you're coming from, since you make it so difficult. Somehow I need a straw man, a "you" that the singer sings to. Of course I sigh to myself, and remember that we're all just human beings, ignorant, incompetent, impossible. But lately all that breath-taking and remembering just feels like another cage. Somehow the cages have proliferated, and I'm finding myself -- for the first time -- just wanting to be alone. I have such beautiful people in my life, I'm so fortunate that way. Somehow they all feel really far away right now, even when I'm lucky enough to be standing next to them. I don't know how I came to feel so alienated, I just want it to slow down, or stop.

Maybe it's all just hormones and sleep deprivation. I'm really, really tired. Maybe I'll go to sleep tonight and everything will seem different in the morning. Here's hoping.