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2002-10-15 - 11:11 p.m.
Sometimes I pretend that I don't need things. I have done this for a long time: been content with my own dissatisfaction. Discontent is something, it is power, sometimes. It's not a big deal, really, pretending to be aloof. Perhaps that's it, perhaps I think I'm better than everything. Better than failure, immune to mishaps of emotion. I think I am better than allowing myself to be affected.
It's only a big deal sometimes, this pretending, in fact it is an excellent business tactic. In the past I have allowed myself to attract the most sociopathic, disjointed assholes on the planet and befriend them and make out with them and let them burrow so far under my thick layers that exorcising them has been nightmarish and exhausting. It has left me closed off or, more accurately, unwilling to move. Why should I?
But what I am really trying to say is that now is different. Who I know, who I choose to be, and who I choose to be with are the most wonderful people I have known. And I am almost unwilling to believe it.
Almost.
I wonder why I ever tried to convince myself that pretending was unimportant. It was vital protection. In some ways I still expect it to be. But now. Now I don't need it anymore.
And here's the thing that is connected but lacks a transition: does wanting something better mean i'm needy? does dreaming mean that too? what about high hopes? i have all of these things...and i don't think i'm asking too much. and i'm going to get it. it is all here in front of me.