It’s disconcerting, really

Have you ever lost sleep over something said. It wasn’t said to you or anyone you know, it was just said. That happens to me. I’ll read something that’ll get under my skin. I stumble across a journal that’ll have an entry that really bothers me. It’s almost like watching someone dine alone and you know they’re hating every moment of it. If they’d look up from their plate you’d offer to buy them a slice of pie or a cup of coffee just to get the conversation started. Not out of pity, out of compassion. Because you’d want it done for you. Because you know they’d get some rest emotionally if they didn’t just say what was bothering them but if they knew that what they said was heard. That doesn’t make any fucking sense.

Let me come at this from a different angle. I have people in my world, friends, that will call me at 2am, say “I feel like everything/one shit on me today!” hang up the phone, go back to bed and walk through life the next day feeling a touch better. Some of these people have spouses or friends that are closer to them than me but those people aren’t called. I am. Why? Because A/ They know my stupid ass is up at 2am. Thinking. and B/ Sometimes you need a new set of ears to hear an old set of problems. You don’t need to be told anything, you just need to be heard. This angle isn’t working for me either.

Here’s the thing. I am in no shape, way or form a writer. I’m a listener and I’m a talker but I’m not a writer. That, right there is one of the reasons I started a blog, to be a better writer. I fucking hate writing but I love reading. There’s always a warm reassuring voice on the other end, or whatever I need it to be when I‘m reading. I find it damn near impossible to be that warm reassuring voice when I’m writing. It’s one thing to interpret it for yourself, it’s another to convey it to others.

Nope, this just isn’t happening for me. It’s not coming out the way I want it to. So I’ll leave it, like this. Confusing and random. Eh, to hell with it.