Ohhhh, I've been here before. Sitting on my bed, Ben Folds playing on my iTunes, thinking about holding things in but then realizing that spreading my words to the entire world is muuuuch healthier...right? My glasses fall slightly forward on my angular Jewish nose (inherited thanks to my mother) and every once in a while I find myself gently pushing them back up either at the corner of the frame or right to the bridge of nose. I’m contemplating eating or urinating, but my bed is too warm and I’m getting too into this whole idea of writing, so I stay. And every once in a while, my mind tends to divagate in a different direction, but is then redirected once again to the laptop where my thoughts become mere text on a screen.
Wait, what was I talking about?
Oh yes. I was talking about…talking. Well, typing. I think. I was talking about—well, I was getting to—this whole idea of blogging, or keeping some document of my thoughts. I don’t really know why, but for some reason it is unbelievably rare for me to be able to commit to something as simple as that. It’s not that it’s difficult or anything…I just, forget. I wander away and get distracted and eventually forget all about it. And then at some point, I stumble across my writings and then I reminisce. I try to start over, but either I lack the motivation or the vicious cycle starts all over again.
So…what am I supposed to do now?
I guess I could talk about anything, really…I mean, that’s what blogging is about, right? Expressing your thoughts? But I don’t know what to say…
I had cereal for breakfast today. Which was a nice little change, since I usually have a muffin instead. I don’t really think about caloric intake or my weight very often. I just think about weather or not I can squeeze my ass into my jeans one morning. If not, then I go for the ever popular and sometimes life saving yet hideous excuse for clothing: leggings.
Being presentable is very important to me. Unfortunately, I do have a habit of sometimes judging one on how they appear. This is one of those qualities I do not like about myself, because I have been in a situation of being judged for how I look. But it’s not exactly about attractiveness or size or clothing or make-up: it’s about the way one carries him or herself.
I’m a people reader/watcher. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve gone to public settings just to observe and analyze people based on their walk or posture or facial expression. I learned how to read palms from an old friend’s mother. She was eccentric, and we didn’t really keep in touch after I moved away from the city, but I liked her a lot. She was accepting of me, and I accepted her.
I analyze people based on the way they walk, mostly. I have a variety of friends whom I tend to observe as “those with purpose or pride.” These are the ones who walk tall, straight, head up and chin out. These are the ones who walk as if they have a place to go, and they know how to get there. I have the friends who walk with a bounce in their step, expressing exuberance and life. They may not know where they’re going or walk with purpose, but when they walk towards me, I’m inspired to smile or wave. And then I have the friends who walk hunched and with little determination. They walk as if they’re struggling, or maybe hiding something? But I want to know what that something is. I want to see where they would go if told to go wander. But I never know.
How do I see myself when it comes to my walk? Well, I have this fear. I’m not sure if it’s irrational or not, but it’s definitely something that bothers me. And that fear is that there are people just like me out there—the over-thinkers, the people readers, and the walk-watchers—who are keeping record of me at all times. Paranoia? Absolutely. More like mental disorder if you ask me.
This fear has caused me carry myself in a way where I try to walk with purpose and strength. But often, I’ll catch myself forgetting and in the heat of the moment, I walk the way I usually do…the only problem is, I don’t know what that is.
But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s better to not suppress little things about myself, even if they’re as simple as the way I walk. Maybe it’s meant to be…or something…
But I don’t really know.
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