Silence is not always golden. Sometimes it reeks. Simmers. Stews. Then it spills over. Into a puddle of words that is... messy, unstructured, wide-spreading and murky.
Four months into my self-imposed unemployment, I find myself occasionally drifting in pockets of silence. And thus, any direct human and social contact creates an overwhelming response of animation and self-expression. The need and want of connecting. Then inevitably I drift back into my pocket of silence... a pocket impenetrable even to the persistent Christmas music playing over the radio...
I'm comfortable with silence, most of the time. But lately the silence seems tinted with melancholy, which is unsettling. So once again I find myself questioning... am I reflecting? Sulking? Or is it just... estrogen?
Being ever so painfully conscious of my faculties and general state of being, the dramatic pendulum swing from for lack of a better description, "VERY happy and content" to "...pensively sighing..." is troublesome and frankly, irritating. To be irritated with one's irritation is to put oneself in a semi-vicious cycle of... constant irritation, which is precisely where I seem to have inconveniently placed myself by accident. I'm no martyr.
Segue quickly to "Control", and my propensity to want to be IN control. Perhaps it's just that, the fact that as of today, I don't appear to have control over huge chunks of my life. To start, I've not been able to sit myself down in front of a mirror and find out what I'm looking at, or where I want to see myself in 5 years as far as a career. Granted, I've never been able to vocalize with any conviction or been able to provide concrete details of any mid to long term plans, to anyone, be it employers, friends, or members of my family. I'm big on generalities and extremely vague on specifics and very much against committing myself to a job with fear that it won't ultimately be what I want to be doing. No, I wouldn't make a great politician...
Hum. To be continued. Need to lighten up for the time being...
