Day 17 – Cluelessness!
I’m not exactly sure if it’s annoying or what, but being clueless is certainly not a good feeling, like my daily cluelessness when I begin writing these posts. I take comfort in the fact that I’m supposed to write, just write, anything. But, still, would’ve been nice to have something purposeful to write about. I can’t share what I write on Facebook. There’s a certain insecurity, a fear of being judged and misunderstood. I don’t really care about those things, and I’m pretty positive that, out of the 100 or so friends that I have there, only one might actually read. Still, I end up thinking about each person and what they’ll perceive and how they’ll blow things out of proportion, because that’s what people do. It’s a fact already established that people tend to not be understanding. When reading, they just read without taking into account why the write said what he said, or wrote what he wrote. There are times when sarcasm, jokes, and irony are mistaken for facts. Not the fault of the writer but who else will they blame? Criticising is always fun; being criticised, not so. But then all, or most, writers do feel insecure about whatever they write. When openly writing about my struggle with depression, I’m okay with it, because to most of my readers, I’m just a blogger. But those on Facebook have a face to attach to these things. If they read it, it might be too much info for them. Too much of a glimpse into my life. Do I want that? Am I afraid or what?
No, I don’t really care and it doesn’t really matter, but not caring doesn’t mean I should do it. I’d rather keep things simple than to have to explain stuff to people as a result of not caring. Is that tact? I think so. Also, writing on a blog is kind of like talking to yourself in front of a mirror, except that you don’t see your reflection or feel stupid, lol. I wonder if my own gaze can crash me, pretty positive it can, given I don’t have a soft one.
I can hear the ceiling fan. It sounds like waves crashing on a bed of rocks. The continuous ticking of the clock. My own rather wheezy breathing. Fingers striking the keyboard. There are times when I can hear and feel my heart beat; that’s the worst noise because it disturbs both internal and external silence.
I love winter because of its silence, a season when the sun becomes indifferent. The cold heat of the sun is pleasant, something I’d rather have all year long. The sun is welcome after a cold night. My sentences are too broken. I need to think and focus more. I got up with the intention to work, but everyone is asleep. Usually I enjoy the nights when everyone is sleeping, but not during winter. I’d rather hibernate all winter long if I could. I wonder what would happen if an animal that has to hibernate gets insomnia.