"Still I always feel this strange estrangement; nothing here is real, nothing here is right."

Today's Title: Once More With Feeling

Back blogging again. Dunno what triggered it. Just sorta happened. Was rereading some other things I have previously written here. Strange combination of misplaced optimism, moments of extreme whiny angst, and pointless musings. Oddly, I like the pointless musings the most. Perhaps because I can still seem to relate. Imagine that, consistent thought.

And so the world goes on. A year passes and I am still unemployed and completely inept with the opposite sex. So it goes. People return from their sojourns to the unknown lands of four-year university. As soon as they do, life goes back to its norm (aka. feeling slightly left out). So it goes.

In discussions with people lately, I've been told I'm not confident enough. This doesn't seem to compute for some reason. I guess it never occurred to me that I wasn't confident or, at least, didn't portray myself as such. I mean, I'm not claiming to be completely comfortable in my skin. No one is at my age so I feel that's quite fair. Yet, apparently people think I lack confidence. I suppose it explains more than it doesn't, namely my issues with people. All the same, I don't really know how to react to that news. How do you fix a problem you don't know you have? I don't know how else to carry/present myself because this is how I have always been. I don't feel as if I lack confidence. Quite to the contrary. I guess it has to do with the fact that a great deal of the things I feel are never said. Seriously, my internal monologue is smarmy as all hell. It all goes back to my musings on whether or not any one of my friends really knows me all that well. I'd like to think they do, but then at the same time I think of all the things I never say. And now anyone who reads this, if in fact there is anyone left who does read this, is thinking "Oh, so are you finally going to say something then?" To which I reply "No, are you kidding? I'm a bloody coward." And then I realize that maybe I do lack confidence in myself. If hanging out more with Sara has taught me anything, it's the fact that I never actually say what I mean. When she has a thought, she expresses. I have the what-if-I-sound-stupid syndrome that Sara obviously lacks. I wish I could say things that easily. There seems to be some sort of detour between my brain and my mouth that reroutes such things so rapidly that I don't even think about it anymore. And therein lies the reason why I type whenever I am contemplative.

It doesn't help that no one really talks to me about much. Is that just me again? I dunno. I like to be in the loop on stuff, yet no one likes to come to me for just the random. Serious or just for kicks. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but there is a considerable amount of data in defense of my claim that I am often forgotten about if it is not a large group activity or in some way instigated by me. Perhaps that's just me being slightly sullen at being, evidently, the only person home alone tonight on the internet. Am I not fun? I guess that's a question that nags on my mind, so I'm throwing it out there. Look at that, I'm growing already. At the moment, I blame it on group dynamics. Let's face it, the Circle is about as much a unified group as the E.U. We share a common title and currency. We think we're better than all those other nonsense nation. Yet, when it comes right down to it there are alliances that underscore the whole. Queue my common analogy of me being Switzerland. No allegiances. (Note: Don't jump on me if my analogy isn't exactly perfect. To be quite honest, I'm not sure how the E.U. works, but I make assumptions in the name of creative license. I'm creating a simile here people, work with me.)

Anywho, now I've really lost my train of thought so I'm going to stop before I get people telling me to shut up and stop being so self-centered. That seems to happen quite a bit when I get on rants of this nature. Sorry folks, I can only see life from one lens and I calls 'em as I sees 'em.

"I don't want to be
Going through the motions,
Losing all my drive.
I can't even see
If this is really me
And I just want to be alive."

Tonight, tonight... it all began tonight. I saw you and the world went away.

My room is the epitome of me. I'm trying to remember if it has always been so. I suppose at different times in my life "me" meant different things.

The earliest I can remember of my room, it was pink in essence: the bunk bed with matching quilt patterned comforters of pink and purple with hearts, childrens' toys in bright colors (a doll house, a fake kitchen and washing machine, etc.), tens of one-time diaper wipe boxes labeled with names and filled with collections of toys sorted by theme. There was even a rug at one time, if I remember correctly, that matched the comforters and the valence above the window. I have no idea what happened to that rug. Later, we added a boat-shaped book shelf bought at an unfinished furniture store. Toys littered the top shelf, the lower ones were occupied by Nancy Drew, Harry Potter, and Disney movies retold in book form. It was a good room for a child, but I don't think it was me per se... probably because I didn't decorated and shared it with my sister.

I got a room of my own sometime after my 8th birthday, I suppose. That time period is a bit fuzzy for me with obvious exceptions. Logically, I assume it was around that time anyhow, perhaps a bit later. For a while that room was fairly bare, but I was allowed to decorate it how I wanted. That's where the blue furniture and wall-shelves joined the picture. My room back then had fish pillows hanging from the ceiling from fishing wire and was, if I do say so myself, one of the coolest rooms I ever had. It transferred to our new house with the move, though I think that's when it began to lose its appeal.

After an older me began to take down the fish, my room was once again bare, once again resembling the majority of teenagers rooms, which is to say scattered with random fragments of a life filled with many interests. Truly enough, it's still like that now...yet, I feel a sort of cohesiveness to my design that cannot be explained with any other idea but the "me" essence that this rant is about.

From the planned Jackson Pollock wall to the randomly scattered school supplies on the ground, this room is a haven. In fact, I think it is damn near perfection in my eyes. My Doctor Who and Half-Blood Prince posters need to go up and the tarp needs to go, but then it will be complete. My long sought after treasure, Eowyn's sword, hangs in the corner near the blue shelf remnants of a former life, covered now more in books than knick-knacks (though the knick-knacks persist). Nearly five shelves out of six are filled with books, only one untouched by their presence for now. Arrayed in one corner are the awards I gathered in elementary and middle school. Dragon figurines and stuffed toys periodically appear. Half way down, my Lantern Corps rings are arranged strategically around my Spock and Clockwork Man action figures. I should really find room for all my Harry Potter action figures, or at least some. On the lowest shelf is a strange combination of my television, Wii, and a build-your-own Stonehenge kit arranged at the feet of Wendelyn, the largest of my stuffed dragons. Beneath all this lies the bed of a certain pig-dog who likes to take up residence in my room. Next to that, two storage bins: one of school papers, the other of old stuffed toys. Just in front of that, a dilapidated box of comic books and a stack of currently unused notebooks and my lab goggles. Looming above this, my desk, on which the blue tank of the ironically named Ophelia the fish, my small collection of computer games and TV shows on DVD, a speaker set, a model garden gnome, a big shell full of smaller shells and rocks, and my yearbook on which is perched a Lord of the Rings themed calendar and in which is cradled my coveted signed picture of Leonard Nemoy. Just above the desk, my windowsill houses my high school diploma, a lucky cat, and some candles which are never lit. On the other side of the desk, there is the jumbled corner for which there is no name, which is partway hidden by a large white/cork board which displays my to do list and ninja stars respectively. Above that, my dresser is home to my framed Sorcerer's Stone poster, the Circle's prom photo, a lava lamp, two piggy banks, and a teddy bear with other assorted items scattered in front. Then my bed, at the moment unmade and home to me, my laptop, and a big brown dog warming my toes. On my right, my bedside table has my long-time clock radio, three beanie babies of varying age, a drawer full of CDs (also varying in age), a stick of chapstick, my current book, my cell phone, and a glass of water. Adorning the walls are works of art (famous and non), a dragon tapestry that runs almost all the way down the wall, a Kingdom Hearts wall scroll, and a signed Spring Awakening poster.

I'm quite proud of it, if you couldn't tell. It's been a long time in the works. I think everyone should have a place like this...somewhere that completely creates the essence of home. Everything so familiar, yet so enthralling. Sometimes I wonder what someone who knew nothing about me could tell from my room and possessions. If they were to walk in now, would they look past the scattered items and memories and see who I am? Can we be so defined by the possessions we gather and choose to surround ourselves in? I think we can. This environment that surrounds me connects with something deep inside me. This is me in a way. It feels like me. Surely I'm not the only one who feels this way. I feel connected to a great many places that I've been or seen...or even just ones I remember.

I remember a long time ago, while hiking with my dad and Taylor, we found a little water fall deep in the woods. Only one other man was there, though he quickly left. I don't know what I connected so deeply with this place, but I did. I remember it so clearly that I could reach out and touch the small lake that formed at the base of the waterfall. I've wanted to go back since we left, but I never have. Next time I go to Yosemite, I want to go there, to that waterfall, and sit...and think...and see if I can find myself.

"Good night, good night,
Sleep well and when you dream,
Dream of me...
Tonight."