I’m just going to keep writing until something meaningful comes out

Do I have anything worthwhile to write about? I’m not sure. Today I had this man I’m seeing ask me if I wanted to spend the night — which I did not. It’s too soon and although I like him I’m definitely not convinced I should. There are a million red flags. I know this but I can’t help that there is something inside me that’s interested. And that is such a rare occurrence that a part of me that just wants to fling myself into it. But I’m also stuck in this little window right before I become completely infatuated with someone’s flaws where I avoid it because I know better and it’s terrifying.

So that’s where I’m at.

What’s interesting about him asking me to spend the night is that he caveated my no by telling me that he understands. He’s just really lonely and has been getting scared at night. I won’t elaborate on this because it’s just not mine to elaborate on but then he goes on to tell me that he’s going to have another girl spend the night, platonically. When I got quiet about this he asked if I was upset.

But the thing is I’m not upset. And I am upset. I’m not upset because there is a rational side of me that said to him, “I just don’t live in that world … where men and women have platonic sleepovers.” And I don’t. Do I think that’s possible? I think I do. But also I’m not upset. I’m just completely turned off that this question would even arise. Bam, put a brick down.

I am upset however that I felt my sun-melted face turn to stone on the phone with him. I hadn’t realized this person already had an influence on my emotions. Which is not something I want. But it’s also not something I don’t want. I don’t want someone’s actions and ways of existing to impact me, but I don’t want to be some isolated island either. I feel so split in two by perspectives. I wish I could be more extreme about things and yet those extreme types of people are the ones who consistently get on my nerves.

*

I’ve been pretty interested in this youtuber recently named Caroline Winkler. She actually said something in a video that perfectly summed up how I’ve been feeling. It kinda makes me want to cry just thinking about it but she said,

“So your dream died? Congratulations, You’re free.”

I’ve only ever had one dream if I’m being honest. And it sounds pathetic but it was a DUDE. I feel like what makes a dream a dream though is that it’s unattainable. Like I do believe that whatever you want to do you can. And yeah, that’s definitely my privilege talking, plus the fact that my dreams are pretty intrinsic. But the point is that my dream recently died completely. Like no manipulative little maybes left. No inconsiderate subconscious control tactics bred out of fear. I don’t know if I have ever been so happy and in my own frame. It’s funny because in order for that dream to die I had to lose my shit. And while I was desperately unhappy doing so I realize now that it was actually just a way of surviving.

The weird thing is looking back — I think I knew what I was doing. It reminds me of this meme I saw that said, “You think you got me, but really I’m just returning until I hate you.” I know that isn’t the most mature way to frame all of this, but honestly it was too critically important for me to be mature about. It was too important to live in the gray. So I gave it up. I’m completely indifferent, detached, and calmly pensive about what’s happening in my own life. I feel like for the first time in three years I can focus.

Which brings me to another thing I’ve been thinking about recently. Wow, the ability to focus. Is there any better feeling? No. To have sustained control over your own attention is like a superpower.

Let me quote it again—

“So your dream died? Congratulations, You’re free.”

*

I had a dream recently about an ex that I never think about. The details aren’t clear of course but when we were departing each other he goes, “Bye, I love you.” I just looked at him and said, “Well I hate you, but honestly it’s kinda the same thing.” And then I woke up.

*

One thing that does bum me out lately is that I can’t seem to write a poem. I used to be able to just spill words into my notes app and it felt so fulfilling. Whether it was happy or sad or nothing, it just felt so right. Now I just have writers block. Nothing seems sacred. I guess that’s what indifference does to a person though, huh?