Slow writing today, a lot going through my head. Read between the lines.
I understand that sometimes people need another person to fill some kind of lack.
Well it isn't always fun when you are the space filler,
who is only needed, wanted in
I usually know when this is happening, and I let it happen because I like being around people who need a lean-to. But it's always with this
wholly benevolent, ultimately melancholy
that I am just what is needed rather than one who's needed.
Yesterday I posted a comment on facebook that I wished I was fifty.
I don't wish I were fifty.
But sometimes I get frustrated with all of the politics of figuring shit out when you're young. Tedious.
Or being the casualty of somebody else's process of figuring things out for themselves. Brutal.
I am happy to be young, eating peeps for breakfast, going out at night, wearing mini-skirts and sneakers, complaining about things like leg hair. And the newness of everything; the endless possibility.
But, you know, I've never felt like I fit in much with people my age. Either that or I have a natural propensity to feel lonely, even when there're people around me who are present, who care, whose insight I trust, need.
Despite this, how lucky I must be. I'm the girl at the other end of the lunch table, eating alone, thinking, doodling, daydreaming. Wondering if or when home will be.