Lame Sometimes

"Feelings... nothing more than feelings... "
What a stupid song to get into my head when starting to write! Always making light of things. In actual fact I'm listening to Lou Rhodes, which I love and suits my mood perfectly.

I'm feeling a bit stupid. A bit lame, actually. And ungrateful, foot in mouth kind of inadequate. Not that this is a foreign sensation, but still, it just so happens that I decided to write about it today. You see, I got a lovely lovely email from a person called Kerry from Sydney. The very same person who bought my 'wait' and 'grow' pieces referred to in my last post about the Green Bean exhibition.

While she told me the story of her purchase, which I LOVE knowing, she threw in an apology for messing up my exhibition so soon after it was set up. So I have replied, of course, and highlighted that I wasn't really being serious about being annoyed, in fact it was more irony if anything, with the intention of paying myself out. You know, Jane Austen style. Based in truth but with the purpose of poking fun. At myself. And no, I didn't ramble this much. And Kerry sounds pretty smart so she may have already gotten that idea. And I apologised and reassured her of how thrilled I am about it. That's not really the point. The point is that it was a real head-slapping moment.

I realised I haven't really thought that anyone cares much about what I write here. Not in a 'woe is me' kind of way. Just in an 'it doesn't really matter' kind of way. Like words don't have an effect, or why bother with words at all. Or something. Anyway, I feel a bit lame about it. I think I will write more. And try and assume less. I think I have an ironic way of expressing myself sometimes, and can also be quite cynical at times, and then there is the private side of things - actually I'm very emotional but I try not to channel that too much. So not much gushing goes on, at least not enough to be true. And I don't want to assume that everyone understands the way I express myself. Or what I might be distracting you from.

I found something the other day that I wrote over a year ago in one of my sort of outbursts on paper, and it said, among other things, "I long to say I Love You more and without fear in my throat".

 
You know I am not confident and self-assured, peaceful, mature, calm or even remotely zen-like. At least not on the inside. I've got bravado down pat though. To be real, I'm all chaos and to-ing and fro-ing, internal dialogues and manic emotions, with a constant analysis running through my head, trying to keep everything in place and make sense of it all, trying to keep control of my life. Trying to measure and govern the things that I say. But I write like I think, rather more than how I speak. So it can all come out. Ten minutes of circling around, pulling back to gain perspective and reasonableness. And then go and make lunch.