There was a disgusted microexpression on the face of the waitress when I told her I was just having a coffee. It's cheap of me, yes I know, to sit here and use up a table and just soak up without giving back. Honestly I'm afraid if I open my mouth I'll vomit (figuratively) all over everything.
Last night someone told me I was the creepiest person she's ever known. Told me not to look at her. Jesus.
It's negative energy, literally like a dark cloud that hangs about me. I'm not sure exactly what festered it/fostered it this time, but I have a rough idea. One: I haven't been meditating. A shaman-character told me this summer I need to clear my mind and my energy field every day in order to remain conscious of my mission. Two: I haven't had my notebook. What I was doing a week ago was re-writing my plan every day, searching for weaknesses and re-impressing upon my mind that which I am DOING.
This man, this "shaman-character" is a mystic man I met outside of a Starbucks this summer. He told me that the negativity comes when I lose sight of my mission, and wallow in stagnation. He seemed to imply it's not this way for everyone, but certain people are only "in the right" when they're striving to implement the will of "god".
In order to maintain awareness of that narrow path, I need to keep my head clear. Which is not what I've been doing. A good friend of mine met with me on Wednesday night, when I was celebrating the death of my car (see Defeating the Metro). It's been a long time since we saw one another, and while I was celebrating freedom he was lamenting it. While I'm struggling with a collapsing reputation he's carving a solid niche with the backing of a successful company. Doing good work, in a good industry, too. It was so good to see him. He's one of those few I can not see for years and then drop in and start conversing with, without the slightest sense of formality or game-playing.
That night, I smoked a few cigarettes with him. Then I did the same thing Thursday night, then Friday night too. It should not surprise me that my body and extended phenotype is in mutiny.
You see? That's why I write. Life is a very simple thing, and yet I make it so complicated in my mind. Ironically, creating the words to express the situation closes all the loops and allows the simple truth to shine through again.
There was another woman in my past, who also never came any closer than my peripheral network, who recoiled from me like I was a zombie. Demanded I never look at her, never be in the same room as her, never speak to her, never interact with her. What function are these women serving, what principle are the representing? My assumption is that I'm lucky to have such direct feedback that something I'm doing isn't right.
I need a room. A tiny, empty space. Or do I?
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