Been in a little bit of a rut for the last few days. I have some ideas for some good ramblings but the motivation just isn't there.
At times like this I really appreciate those readers that bother to message me.
Even the ones that keep asking that fucking question are welcomed during these lulls.
Today I spent some time having an IM conversation about risk. Specifically the fact that I don't seem to be willing to take risks. Specifically this one particular risk.
Specifically the one where I waited 39 years for something, and then did absolutely nothing about it but whine. And still I whine.
Some people read this 'blog and they expect something to happen. They expect that I'll eventually get tired of whining and actually do something. They hope that they'll come here one day and read all about some great dramatic event that, in the end, will provide some type of closure to this little story that's been dragging on.
I don't think they care what happens. It could be good. It could be bad. It could be anything as long as it's something. Something they can point to and say, "Right there. That's when everything finally came to a head. For better or worse, at least now I know what happened in the end."
I have no such expectations, and I gave up hoping some time ago. A little over a month ago.
But back to the risk.
People that think they know me, they keep telling me what a good person I am, how happy I could make someone, how lucky a girl would be to have me. The thing is, I know what I'm capable of. I know what I can and cannot put up with. Also, a risk needs a payoff, and there's just nothing there. The other end of this particular rainbow never reaches the ground.
People come here and they read about my pain and they think it can be fixed. They've seen too many movies.
I'll quote from today's conversation, with permission:
But you'll be so close! I don't see how you can just keep doing nothing. How can you be so afraid of being hurt when that's all you've been doing anyway? You'd think you'd be used to it by now. What's the risk of more pain when compared to the happiness you could gain?
People keep forgetting that this, my inaction, is not about me. I know it seems that way, and I know why it seems that way. I temper my words in my 'blog and I temper my actions in my life not to protect my own feelings, but to protect another's. I've already done enough harm.
I know how this all reads. It reads like one giant cop-out. One long drawn-out whimper from a little boy, telling tales of monsters in his closet so nobody knows that he's really just afraid to sleep alone in the dark.
I know that's what most of my readers think, and I don't blame them for thinking it.
Maybe some day, something will happen. Maybe someday this story will really end. Maybe then I'll be able to fill in the holes. Write the things that everyone already knows, and maybe some things that nobody even suspects.
Just don't hold your breath. I know I won't.
(But for now, just one thing. I did do something. I tried to open a door just a little. It got slammed in my face.)