Sigh

How easy it is to splatter words into this little white box here, knowing that people are going to be reading it, and write for the wrong reasons. Writing not because there is something bubbling in me to share, whether good, bad or indifferent, negative or positive, black or white, but because I am trying to prove something. Trying to say, in some shape or other, "Love me, love me!" Writing out of my lack instead of out of something real.

I think people can spot the resulting difference from 20 paces away. I know I can. And yet I still do it. Writing out of loneliness, it just doesn't work.

As I waited for my mediterranean vegetables with feta on focaccia to be toasted today, I leant on the counter and chatted to the woman serving me. I speak to her at least twice a week every week and I don't know her name. And she was feeling monumentally underwhelmed by the boredom of everyday monotony. And I know past ages were as drugerous in other ways, but I said to her that at least other cultures have had built into them festivals and get-togethers where they are forced to come together and actually - concept - have fun and mingle and be with each other, instead of just being the dude in front of you on the road who has jumped out ahead only to bung his indicator on to turn right.

Ya knoh?

I am going to a poetry workshop next week. Going to a Christian meditation this Thursday night. Going to any bloody place that will get me out amongst some fellow earthlings for if not a general cultural festival, then a bit of a word festival, a silence festival.

I find it excessively difficult to admit to feeling lonely, even though it is probalby obvious to you, dear blogger, that I am. It is something that I drag out of myself, this admission. Because admitting I am lonely feels like I am admitting that I am somehow a failure, that it is because of the big "something wrong with me" part of me that am lonely, rather than because of circumstances that in some respects have been beyond my control.

And yet the world is full of lonely people. How difficult it is to identify long enough with the poor parts of yourself to be able to sit with them out in the world, instead of trying to project this "I am shiny shiny shiny love me have my babies look at me living an exciting life no flies on me jack" exterior. How deep that propensity runs.

So yeah, memo to self: blogging because you're feeling lonely just really produces turd-like posts that are dull and dreary. Sort of like this one :) And the 2 million other ones that lonely people are writing round the world right this second :)

*Sigh*. Looks like I'm just as much a turd as everybody else :)