I was told over and over and over, that too much is too much.

- too loud, too outspoken, too brash, too over-the-top, too big -

and so I gave up - put myself down down down down

but it was never enough.

And now I'm preparing

to feel for a living


and that I feel like it

is reason enough.

It feels like I'm in over my head.

Am I, though?

Less anxiety, less rules.

Less bad/annoying stuff.

 Gotta count for something good, right?


I can't figure it out, what's me, and what's the expectation talking, or self-imposed (?) barrier.

Do I? don't I? don't seemed "damned, if" just yet. But - wtf?


Seriously?!

Rita record music happy tears ensue.

note to self

note to self:

Dating a younger man is never actually worth it.

A man my age is actually younger.

Cool guys start at thirty.



***



I want to drink my own voice, feed on music. I'm just so terribly scared it will dry up. It alwas did, before.

how

how do i master my mind, running unchecked between options in blind panic?


how do i master my soul, perhaps, to take my mind in a firm though gentle hold?


how do i master my body? how do i let it master me?


i am alone. those who could help, won't - those who can't, want to, badly - and so they give me their own fear, instead.

She comprises a CV. A lengthy list of past events that are supposed to describe and comprise her self, her personality, mind and soul; utterly pointless and yet compelling retelling of factors, given as proof that after a long time, she finally is good enough, deserves it, she's served her years, paid her debts, given her due. She's done the boring part of life, she would like the fun, cool and interesting now, please - she's fucking earned it, proved her worth, made it this far, should be rewarded.

She comprises a CV, only to realize that it says everything and anything; that the interpretation is still unclear; that the jury is still out. She comprises is only to think that if she needs to comprise it in order to prove things, she is the one lacking faith, before others that might - and that's the only lack that truly counts, beyond the empty spots on the list, invisible too all and any, but her own unseeing eyes.

i wonder at myself. after subconcious hints, thoughts and hope-against-hopes

i still have the capacity to be shell-shocked.


i have nothing profound to say.



oh wait, i do:

you think love is all you need.

but love is only all you want.

and it is not enough.