I feel like I am heading into a cloud — a cloud of shh and hum — where there’s less of a desire to create diverse artifacts of documentation, such as videos and vlogs, or tweeting, updating a status, even a blog where I share my struggles and enlightenments on the relationship with the self and others. All of these things I do to express and connect with people. I want to be “well off” with them or substantial enough, to where I’m not trying to connect as much, to a point where the connection is a given. People plug in and agree or disagree. Perhaps that doesn’t make sense in reality; maybe there’s no innocent way of going about that.
I go back and forth now, quite like a pendulum, I want to disconnect but I understand the need to connect. When connecting becomes banal, strained, and exasperated, I feel the lure of the banality and moroseness of being disconnected. I enjoy being alone sometimes and wanting to connect.
I think the desire to connect stemmed from a beginning life of not connecting with anyone, and basically existing on my own and wanting to be understood. I understand.
I miss that loner part of me, which is still there and exhibits itself daily. It’s the part of me still that wants to meet someone that just gets me or just simply doesn’t ask why: I do or say things. Who understands the reason why is that they are my language. The why is me. But the loner part would be okay without human connection, but now it’s a necessity. I’ve become less thinking, more feeling. And yet I still cannot connect on an emotional (feeling) level.
I suppose this is where I raise my hands and curse God or whomever created human life. “You should’ve created a designer and technical writer to create a manual to human behavior!”
I remember a story of a man, who lived in the woods, not connecting with anyone. His loved ones left him a crate of food in an open field every so often. Suffice to say, the reason he lived alone, away, was because he was heartbroken and couldn’t trust anyone but a hungry and protective grizzly bear.
I imagine myself lithe in a top floor apartment, bare skin. Flowers on the table, sun in the window brighten the room. I can feel the weight dissipate and float like the lint particles in the sun pouring through. Rising, going somewhere. Away.