rant is where the heart is

diaryland: sirilyan.diaryland.com: entry for 2002-12-12 (19:22)
In which our plucky young hero stee-rikes out.

Either zero for three, or one for three.

No, let me correct that. I'm zero for three. Silence is also a form of response.

I don't feel particularly bitter, which is somewhat unsettling. Not being bitter, you see, takes yet another of my personality traits away from me.

Call it the Happiness^tm approach to personal growth: when I stop having bitterness and angst and jealousy, I start wondering what I have left to fall back on. In the dark recesses of my heart I fear that happiness is a default state, and it's what happens when we're miserable that defines us. (In the slightly-less-dark recesses of my memory, I know I sound contradictory; well, suck it up. Get your own coping mechanism if you want a well-mapped mental landscape.)

When I lost the nervous tic in my left eyelid, I was worried about it. The end of stress meant the end of something that was uniquely mine. There was one less unique landmark in my mental landscape. Now I'm losing my bitterness, and I wonder if my map is becoming even more barren.

And if that map became completely blank, where would I be?

So I'm trying to make myself think bad thoughts, and write things like "Attn: all women who complain there are no good men left: go to hell", the way I would have only [insert ridiculously small positive integer] years ago. But I can't do it. I can't even force myself to go through the motions.

This placidity disturbs me.

If it weren't for feeling lonely right now, I wouldn't even know who I was anymore.

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