(no subject)

in the half light of an evening that should have found me sleeping hours ago, nothing comes clear. why do i think if i see, read, hear the right thing, the pieces will fall in place?
the world feels like too-small shoes right now. tight, painful, foreign. a constant feeling of rainy gray sky, never knowing if it's dusk or dawn, the beginning or the end, time to stop or go. so i push forward and plod through, trying to inflict and sustain minimal damage, resisting the urge to cut and run, to hide myself completely, to laugh when people say they love me. i'm too aware of how i must/may/might appear to others: physically, emotionally, intellectually.
the reviews are in and they are not good.
so the tension of the i don't know what grips the base of my skull and forces me not to cry - except over a tv show, or a friend's sadness. none of this is mine. my self is not present, not accounted for, not paying attention, not playing along.