I wanted to say hi
And I kinda want to talk
But I don’t have anything to say
There’s nothing new with me
Just plain old boring old me
But I kinda want to talk
I want to ask what’s up with you
But I don’t want to bother you
You’ve probably got stuff going on
You know… stuff
I wish I had something to say
Some reason to talk
But there’s nothing new
Just plain me
I’m so very, very glad that I’m not in charge of anything important right now.
The past several months I have watched as people get frantic, frustrated, and furious over the planning and execution of various events. My conclusion as an outside observer? None for me, thanks. Whole lotta nope.
It’s more than little hiccups. It’s more than speed bumps along the way. It’s a full-on train wreck. Sometimes it’s just that life has different plans, but sometimes it’s…”operator error.” In other words, the cluster stems from human nature. Whether it’s disorganization, miscommunication, or just plain laziness, the humanity factor can really jack even the best laid plans.
I will admit that I don’t know the whole story for all of these things. Like I said, I’m viewing as an outsider. There are behind-the-scenes happenings that I’m not privy to. Still, the little that I do know is enough to turn me off to the notion of taking part in any of this type of responsibility in the future. What kind of nut job voluntarily takes this crap on?
Not this nut job. No siree. Until I see one of these things going smoothly without drama or chaos, I’m going to stay at the sidelines and dodge the cannon fire.
I’m a wallflower. Not gonna lie. I enjoy my own company more than just about anyone else. So what’s so wrong with that?
Apparently it’s some kind of condition. Like, one where you need to check on the person constantly to make sure they’re ok.
Let me rewind a bit. Tonight there was a birthday party for a friend at a club. No big deal, right? Well, if you’re not a wallflower I’m sure it’s no big deal. Us petal people, however, sometimes have to make big adjustments to tolerate–or even survive–parties like the one tonight. My go-to coping mechanism is to find a semi-quiet corner and bury my nose in my phone.
I guess some people don’t like seeing that. There appears to be some kind of protective instinct that takes over and makes the non-flowers want to comfort the flowers, who are actually perfectly comfortable sitting alone. Not only did people come to me and ask if I was “okay,” they apparently asked my husband if I was okay as well.
I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with wanting people to have a good time. I’m just saying maybe those people with their noses buried in phones or books or laptops are having a better time than they would be inside the crowd. Maybe those people in the booth corners are having the time of their lives off on their own.
Wallflowerism isn’t contagious, but it’s also not a disease.
I wonder where the dragons went
The spirits & sprites & things
I wonder exactly when they left
These magical, mystical things
I wonder if it was just my mind
Concocting them for me
I wonder if I’ll find again
A spirit I can see
I wonder if they were ever there
Or if I was merely ill
Because I lost touch with all magical things
As soon as I took the pills
It’s another full weekend as I head off to “war” tomorrow, but I have surprisingly little to do. There’s a guard shift and marshaling, but other than that my schedule is pretty much wide open. I might take a look at some of the other activities available at the event. Usually I stick to my comfort zone and hang out with the rapier crowd, maybe go shopping if there are vendors. This time, though, I may not want to stand around the battlefield all weekend, and I doubt I’ll do any shopping. So I might actually get a chance to check out some arts and crafts that might interest me.
Not having a period craft that I want to focus on seems weird to me. I normally jump head first into crafts, but nothing I’ve seen so far really grabs me in the way that modern crafts do. Illumination: I just don’t have enough confidence in my drawing/painting skills. Maybe the painting… maybe… but not the drawing. Beadwork? Meh. Weaving? That’s my husband’s gig, and he’s plenty good at it. Sewing? Yeah, I love to sew, but period clothing can be tough. Viking clothes are easy enough, but the later period stuff is more complex. I’m not sure I want to focus on that.
Embroidery interests me somewhat, but I’m wondering how much of a time-suck that will be… Not to mention the potential for arthritis flare-ups in my hands. Of course, any craft has that potential. I’m just not 100% committed to embroidery yet. But who knows? Maybe this weekend there will be a class that gets me hooked.
I’ve been on Pinterest a little too much lately, I think. After spending a few days cranking out baby shower gifts on the sewing machine, I now have the crazy notion in my head that I can look at a thing and determine how it was constructed and make it on my own. And who knows? Maybe I can…for some simpler things, I mean. It might take some brainstorming and visualizing, but I’ve already got a few things in mind to make for myself, and I’m thinking of making gifts for some of my friends and family this year.
On one hand, it’s a good thing; I can utilize fabric scraps (that I don’t quite know what to do with) in a useful way. On the other hand, this could potentially be the early stages of a manic episode, so I had better be aware of my emotions and keep my impulses in check.
Sometimes I wonder if I can harness this manic energy that comes to me and use it to be productive…but then I remember how out of control I can get if I’m not careful, and it’s very, very hard to be careful when you’re in a manic state. Part of that mania involves a lack of…how can I put this? A lack of concern over consequences. I know that impulsive action A can potentially cause bad consequence B, but I really don’t give a rat’s ass whether B happens or not.
Then again, I might not be manic. Not every burst of creative energy is caused by an episode. It could just be that I’m in the mood to make stuff. But going off of past experiences and probability factors and all that science-y stuff, the scales are tipping heavily in the manic direction.
It’s frustrating as hell, that’s for sure. Not knowing if you’re slowly losing control or just in an unusually good mood. It sucks.
I’m probably still going to make the stuff though, if I can find the time. Whether it’s an episode or not, I’ve gotten it in my head that I can do this thing, and now I have to take on my own challenge.
It’s night. It’s almost pitch black despite the moon being on the full side. Things are quieting down here at Great Western War, and things have gotten philosophical.
Jobs. Economy. Life. Too deep of a concept string for my drunk ass to follow.
Yeah. I am drunk. I had an entire bottle of Bailey’s this afternoon. I ate, but I’m still buzzed. The alcohol still prevails over the food… and common sense.
I also feel outside my conversational comfort zone here. I am smart, but I’m not street smart. I don’t get the common sense stuff that most people just…get. I do my job, I pay my bills, and I don’t comprehend the status that most people live at. Working. Struggling. Striving.
I’m doing okay. I get by. I don’t make inordinate amounts of money. I don’t skate through life. But I get by.
Darkness brings all kinds of thoughts that wouldn’t come in the daytime. Is it the stars? Is it the lack of light that blinds us to reality? Am I still drunk? Maybe.
Who knows what I’m talking about. I sure as hell don’t. I’m just babbling.
I think I need a shower. Or a nap. Or bedtime.
Mundane life beckons, and I don’t wanna.