Maximillian Amadeus Banzai (banzai) wrote,
Maximillian Amadeus Banzai

  • Mood:


Finishing my first cup of coffee, or my second if I count the cup e-mailed to me this morning by sophisticatrash. Since I'm not quite sure how to drink the e-mailed one, I'm not sure I can count it, but the thought counts, too.

sominfun asked how I'm doing with God. I answered that I'm doing about the same with Him as with everyone else: we really don't understand each other or connect very well. I'm the temporary part of that equation; I'm also the tired part.

No sense dwelling on it, part of me chides. The day is beautiful, my life is blessed, people care as they can, whether they're able to understand or not. Self-pity is a tar pit. Besides, dwelling invites conversation and expression of concern; for the most part, that just makes me feel more separate. And really, what else can anyone do? Give me the safety of faking it, of wearing a brave face. Then I won't have to explain the things I can't, won't hurt when I'm not understood. Then I'm isolated by choice, even noble somehow. I know how to live with that.

So the party line is this: I'm not doing well. It's not something I can explain well. I'm sure I'll be fine—I'm a survivor. Reality is more than what I feel.

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