I know it's what I do. I distance myself. I keep myself in my protective, slimy bubble so I don't have to really feel what it is I feel. I just stop interacting. I stop calling. I stop talking because, really, what is the point? Keep your head down ... Keep your nose to the grindstone ... blah-blah-blah-blah ... There's a level of disconnect that I have felt probably from the time I had recognition that I existed. I didn't blend. I didn't fit the mold, and I most certainly have a lot of difficulty relating to 99.5% of the human population.
I can fantasize about what it would be like to have girlfriends; what it would be like to do anything closely related to the societal definition of a woman; what it would be like to be remembered, even. But in the end, it's all fantasy because reality tells another tale. I am alien. I am alienated. I'm a stranger in a strange land.
It's been a darkish week. Up and down and all the fuck the way around.
All things are lining up. The (let's call it) uneventful event of quitting will be taking place soon. I'll report back.
I have a hard time finding anything positive to note at the moment.
Tales from the dark side ... Postcards from the edge ... Blah-blah-blah ...
But to know the me that's going to emerge, you have to have context, right?
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