August 22, 2013
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Well.
Oh well.
Things did not end up how I had hoped in my last post. But that's not to say most things aren't still looking hopeful. They are. They're fine. Except for, you know, our shared unease that we'll be disciplined for interacting socially. I don't think I've ever said anything about it, despite my paranoia, but she mentions it pretty regularly...we are hyperaware of each other at work now, specifically because we are trying to convey indifference. It's all perfectly ludicrous. Except I must acknowledge that we are more the same than I initially thought. If we weren't, we'd have had to have a conversation about what to do to deflect notice. No discussions necessary.
I am not even sure how they would go about disciplining someone for being friends. The idea of it makes me feel ill.
On the other hand, the idea that I have also become the sort of person who can only have friends in secret is sort of fitting. My life seems to encompass situations ever-increasing in their nonsensicality.Like the other day. I felt like I had achieved a new low.
For the life of me, I don't remember what I said...but I was joking with my mom and said something rude...and she got this look on her face. The look moms get when you've made them really mad...and I started backpedaling and trying to apologise because I really hadn't meant to offend her and I really do feel bad when people get offended by me when I don't mean it...
And it was alright. Except that later she tried to explain to me what made her think I'd meant what I said, and we came again to the whole issue of my inexpressiveness.Nothing makes you feel like a failed human being quite as much as your own mother telling you she can't read you. I mean, nobody else has spent as much time observing me. Nobody. And if she can't get me, how can I ever have any hope that other people will?
Too depressing to think about.
This is why I sit in graveyards now and paint pictures with someone whom I'm not allowed to be friends with and, through some miracle of telepathy, I also don't always need to look at or even speak with to establish understanding. Not that we sit in silence or that I'm imagining that this is happening...it's real in a way that is hard to explain.
I have gotten so used to describing my relationships in stories or metaphors--having to, really, to convey my perception of my interactions--that to have something occur so naturally is beyond me to describe.
I'll take it.
