A place that I miss

Maybe what I do isn't enough.  
Maybe I'm too bitter, too angry at all of the people I feel fail me.  
Maybe that ruins me, the good parts of me for everyone and that is why everyone keeps their distance.  Maybe I hate people too quickly,
Maybe I resent their non-presence,
Maybe things for me aren't as easy as they seem to everyone
Maybe I don't take things easy
Maybe I take meaning from the things people do and say
Maybe I don't want to be otherwise
Maybe I think interpreting silences and words makes sense
Maybe I am too emotional
Maybe people should care more about their actions
Maybe people should care more about their inaction,
Maybe I should stop caring.

I don't think that this makes me a bad person - caring what my friends do, what my boyfriend says, when my parents aren't there.  Maybe I care too much about it all, I let it hurt me.  I need to become stronger.  Being attached to one person like that, I've let my guard down, I've let my fleshy bits drip into pirana-infested waters.  I'm not saying people are piranas, although they are, and that metaphor has been overused like an old prostitute.  Ah, well.  I just feel like all people do lately is let me down because maybe I set my expectations too high.  I guess it's easy to transfer your expectations onto one person when everyone else dips below the expected.  Maybe that makes it too difficult for him to be with me - I don't know.  Maybe I expect too much of him, maybe I expect too much of everyone.  But I feel awfully secluded.

I feel less lonely with books, with music.  I've even realized that I'm into an indie version of country music.  Check me out.  I'm growing all by myself, within myself.  Maybe that's the way I'm supposed to be: solitary.  If that's the way I work, then why not, I guess?  It just seems like such a lonely life.  Being a writer is glamourized but I think that it's anti-social.  I think it's voyeuristic and has nothing to do with your own experience.  I feel trapped inside my life sometimes, I don't have chances to be someone different, in a different setting, with different hobbies and friends.  Sometimes that's all I want to be: a vegetarian cooking vagabond in Southern France with marijuana smoking friends and several rotating lovers with no genital diseases - a few dogs and a horse and a vineyard.  Not a vulnerable university transfer student in a middle class suburb in Ontario, Canada with a passion for reading and writing but none for editing.  I want East.  I want sea.  I want nicer people and better friends.  Older friends.  I think I like working more than I like socializing with my so-called friends, simply because of the range of people I get to talk to and be around - even if they are all dirty bastards, at least sex is something new and vulgar.  At least it's something.

Down the street from temptation,
Another world might be closer than this.
Another world might be simpler than this -
this type of people that I don't understand.
Maybe it's ennui again,
Maybe it's me.


Ciao. Ak.