What's my problem? By Catherine on 3/02/2008 07:57:00 PM
Karma is a bitch. Between being sick for most of late autumn/early winter, having surgery, spending a mint to fix my car(six trips to the shop since August) only to have to buy a new one anyway, and having only two friends show up to my birthday dinner, I'm feeling like a karmatic loser. I know I'm not perfect. I'm far from it. In fact, on a day to day basis, I tell myself exactly how imperfect I am about twice as often as your average Joe. But I really thought I'd get a call, no matter how shitty my karma is. Not a text message, an IM, a voicemail-- contact. Real contact. Today I turned 24, the lamest birthday I've had in a long while, and the person who made me feel so bad for the last few days didn't phone and say hey, we're still friends. Hey, I know things have been tough for you. I understand you've had a hard winter, maybe I could have been more available, too. Maybe I'm being too harsh on you, because I haven't tried to find out where you're lost at, locked inside your head all the time. By the way, how is that novel coming? Is it done consuming your soul yet?Maybe I don't deserve it. Maybe she's right, and I care more about myself than I do about my friends. It's my fault I'm lonely and isolated, because I spend so much time living inside my head letting my words coagulate into stories that I don't remember to have any real stories of my own. When I was a kid, before high school came along, I used to think that my only real friends were books, because a book always says the same thing, doesn't waffle or have transient, lukewarm opinions. You don't have to worry about someone else's words betraying you, the way my own often do. Books are constant, and if you're lucky, the story is timeless and you learn something new every time. The only thing my book is teaching me is that I love it more than I love my life, and that's a problem, because I can't turn into Sarah and let my magic guide me. I thought my magic was my words, but now my words are killing me slowly-- first cutting me off, then sneaking up behind me to finally stab me in the back.
I'm thinking of giving up.
Labels: friends, signs, words, writing