Dec. 14 -Maybe try a different wine

I feel it a difficult concept to grasp when beginning to understand that I am not the same person I was two weeks ago, a month ago, 5 minutes ago. I also find this a difficult conversation to have, and a very trying subject to describe. Or maybe I’m just absolutely terrible at articulating my thoughts. It’s probably a mixture of both, but this, too, I find changes continuously. Time is measurable but the way we use our time, I feel, is not. This changes. Nothing stays the same, as much as I’d like it to. We feed off of change, survive on it. But we despise a change that we haven’t yet agreed to. We envy or fill with hatred for a change we cannot control. 

I feel very changed, and I think it’s what is encouraging me to write tonight. I’ve been thinking a lot about writing, having a daily journal entry, keeping a jot of my thoughts at random times of the day. This, I find, is good for the soul. Well, it feels good, anyway. I feel lighter upon doing it. And I’ve been thinking a lot about change, too. I feel quite different now than I did two weeks ago. I mean, there are a few things in my life that have changed in this time, too. Everything affects my thought, my opinion and perspective, and my reflection of days, situations, circumstance, this changes constantly, too. My thought process is so jumbled and messy, I’m constantly changing subjects or jumping from one topic to another, sometimes within the same sentence. People don’t understand this. Someday’s I don’t. I think the idea that you have to understand yourself before others can begin to understand you is completely flawed. Perspective. It’s hard to gain perspective on yourself when you’re constantly in your own head. Sometimes we need an outside perspective to tell us the things we ourselves can’t see.

Get out of your head, Charlene. 

This is the thing, though: I am. I’ve been so out of my own head the last couple of weeks, almost to the point where I feel weightless. I feel like a drifter. Not in the sense that I can zone out like I’m in a soundproof room, but more so I can tune out what’s around me in such a way that everything else is inside the soundproof room. This doesn’t make sense to me, but I feel comfortable with it. I feel comfortable in it – silence.

Maybe this is the result of spending so much time alone. But I feel like this is the understanding of a comfort zone that I’m slowly detaching from. I haven’t yet decided if this is good or not, but it’s progressive, and I’m okay.

Embrace human connection, but detach yourself emotionally.
This I need to work on.
This I need to change.
And I will.

I’m beginning to.

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