Arg. It is days like these when I really succeed to doubt my ability to deal with other human beings at all. And doubt a hell of a lot of other things as well. And just generally stare down that all-too-familiar abyss of doubting and fearing and wondering and feeling so totally alone.
I, of course, try to hide in taking things in, watching TV or movies, reading books or webpages, listening to random music, taking part in silly random games, because it's easier than actively spitting things out (writing, coding, composing, interacting with people in a way that actually creates or builds worthwhile relationships) even though I know it's always the latter sort of things that I associate with being content, satisfied, happy in any lasting way.
But god, it's such an understatement to say that it's easier to consume than produce! I love being creative; it's about the only thing I feel is both a stable part of my personality and a part which I'm unhesitatingly happy (or even proud) about --- but so often the next idea, the next line in the proof, the next sentence, the next chord, the next question to ask her just doesn't come. And that I can even get used to. I don't set out to intentionally have ridiculously high expectations of myself. I know these are not necessarily easy things for anyone, but what really frustrates me is when I lose (though I really want to say maltrovas-"unfind", not perdas-lose) the motivation that carries me forward, that pushes me to find the next step in each case.
I feel without it that I am drifting, clumsily stumbling vaguely forward into the rest of my life, annoyed but too tired to fix anything, and so I simply whine in self-pity.
I wish I found it easier to make female friends for whom I had absolutely no pretensions of er, preteramikecaj feelings. (parenteze, dammit, I have become far too addicted to gross abuse of regular morphology, and a wonderfully rich set of productive morphemes) I suppose I have a couple such friends, but none of them incredibly close friends, or are else no longer geographically close.
Mi nun simpatiegas ŝin, kaj ŝian korsubiron, kiam mi ne vidis la simplan belecon de la ventsono! Kia bedaŭro, kia lamentindaĵo, kiam via amiko, via amato ne vidas tiun belon kiun vi vidas! Kia tristega distanco kreas ĝi... Mi nur volas iuinon, kun kiu mi povas kunhavi ian belecon...