every little meaning

i feel bad.

and by bad i mean . . . arrogant. and sneaky. and smothered.

let me explain myself a little better: i am the first, but i'm quiet about it; therefore, i feel that i am sometimes judged to be the second and, because of that, i feel the third.

tonight was the last night of bible study. and i led, so i lied. because while we were singing i was trying to relate to the words and i realized that i just don't want to. it's not some deep philosophical block, it's not a complicated collection of feelings that's clogging my spiritual connection, i just don't want to love something that i truly don't have any control over. i don't want to trust. i don't want to give my heart to anything unless i have at least some creative control over where it will go. although i'm very quick to throw it at ideas.

but then, ideas are defined, and dreams are finite.

i know that it's true. i know that he is true. and i'll never be able to believe otherwise, but that does not mean that i want to give it up. it means that i want to look at him when i get sad, like looking at a true painting or listening to a true song, and then move on with my life.

key word being my life.

if i really wanted to change i would've by now. if i really wanted to love i could. i have a source, i have a spiritual keg to tap into (i like beer and i like god and i think god likes beer, so just humor me on this one).

but i want to be the victim, and i can feel myself pulling that card as often as i can. for awhile it was the ex-girlfriend victim card, and now it's the hard-internship victim card. and it's so easy. because everyone wants to know how work is, you know? it's a perfect opportunity for me to whine. not to say that it's not a hard internship, but it's not unbearable and it is nothing when compared to others' struggles. nothing. i have never witnessed death, i have never been abused, i have never been told that what i say doesn't matter because i'm crazy anyway, i have never lost my physical independence.

so, then, how dare i sigh wearily when someone asks me how work is going? how dare i say, "it's hard, you know?"

i feel very much like daisy right now. you know her, from the great gatsby. she's awful. completely satisfied with being caught up in herself, and it is so familiar that every time i think of her i cringe.

that's enough, i think. i'm starting to type just for the sake of typing.

mmph.