Boxiness
Oooooooooooh.
Me.
It's been a little while since I've popped off the top of my own head and done some serious digging around. Months, really. Which is actually quite a deviation from ... a year ago.
I'm badly in need of some "deep, dark, unencumbered introspection".
I feel as though I've kind of come to terms, once again, with the routine of brushing away terribly salient self-discoveries in the stead of writing random, pretentious, overwrought prose-ish stuff. Part of this was because I had a personal oath to complete. Part was because every time I started to think about it-- really think about it-- I would become a little uncomfortable.
Like right now, actually. I'm experiencing a more-than-vague sensation sort of spreading through my body. An unnatural and unpleasant warmth.
I'm familiar with this feeling. It's dissonance. And I'm staring it in the face while preparing to grapple it with my bare hands.
I need to get back in the habit of making detailed notes to myself, in regards to these things that occur to me about myself, that needs analysis. Because, conveniently, I forget them quickly. The tiny little shimmers of black epiphanies. Little implications made by my mind, to myself, that I only partially grasp.
Katie is gone. Far, far gone. And even if she had not removed herself from my equation, she's no longer the woman over which I still pine.
I only cherish a shadow of a person, now.
And so now, I should reel myself back in, and try to focus on me.
Tonight there is no surgery. But more like, prepping the examination room for extraction. Decontamination. Physiological review. Discussion of expectations with myself. And so on.
I've managed to accumulate a pretty ugly series of cancerous traits in the past few months, see. And it simply won't do.
Here's the thing, though.
As much as I want Katie back. Desperately desire a rekindling and restored sharing of the incomparable things we shared.... I can't just.... drown myself with it. Y'know?
I've made fun, in the past, of those football players who relive their glory years for the rest of their lives. The teenagers who were so strongly defined by their adolescent and early-adulthood successes, that it stunted them forever.
And I can't let myself by that guy. Y'know? Even if Katie is the sum-total of perfection for a number of things in my life.... that I had. I can't just keep going on, and pretending that any amount of sheer pining will bring her back. Right? I have to fucking gather my shit together, and move on. And work toward something else. Even if it turns out to be strictly inferior.
Stagnation isn't perfection. It's still stagnation.
Nonetheless, I'm not too happy about it. It's just.... it just makes me unhappy. There's no flowery or eloquent way to put it. It simply makes me kind of sad, trying to come to terms with this idea. The "moving past" part.
And even though the door will always be open to her to come back and knock, and for us to talk again.... I don't think I can ever really expect to hear from her again.
Even though the last thing I heard from her was that she "needed time to decide", and I told her to take all the time she wanted... I don't really think she's ever going to come back to me and tell me that she has made her decision.
I think her silence speaks clearly, this time. In fact, she has iterated just that, many times prior.
So.
That's.... that, I suppose.
Anyway.
I had a sad and not-so-tiny realization today. About my mediocrity.
.... even typing this out right now, I feel an unpleasant warmth sort of bleed through my extremities. Admitting that to myself.
Bleh.
Well. You know.
It's important for a man to know his limitations.
And currently, I have no worked all that hard to breach mine.
I'm old. My back aches about once a month, to every other month. I can see the weathering in my face, these days, when I really stare in a mirror.
I can't sleep the way I used to. Not as deep, nor as long.
My body hurts when I exercise, sometimes. And though I don't fail to make myself go and do it, I'm wondering if I'll ever really see the results I want.
Maybe a few more weeks of super-clean diet and targeted tonal density workouts will get me closer.
.... I chuckle re-reading that paragraph. I'm not sure why.
One of the entries I'll have to explore soon is my vanity.... versus my health.
Which is it really? Do I want to be healthy? Or just attractive?
I feel like I've set up so many tiny goals for myself, and I can't seem to really achieve any of them. I just sort of.... get close, at most of them.
Not "the best" at anything-- just really good at a lot of things.
Never making it to the stars-- I always miss and land on the moon. Which is well and good, but ultimately still missing that which I had set out to achieve.
You know?
Oh well.
I think I'll try and fleshcraft some ideas for nerve-drilling tomorrow.
I feel my eyes getting heavy, now.
....
...... I wonder if revisiting my entries from a year ago would be worth it.
Insight? Closure?
"Adaptive preference formation"
11:58 p.m. - 2014-07-14
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