Expectations

MSN bugged out on me, so now, hours later and realizing that anyone who was still awake at 1:30am is most certainly asleep, I've decided once more to blog.

I'm a little concerned about the whole idea of keeping a sort of journal online. I know that it doesn't really matter, I certainly don't mind who reads it, it's really more the fact that I'm definitely the sort of diarist who writes inconsistently and generally while in the thralls of some sort of maudlin--worse is that said maudlin worms its way, coil by repulsive coil into my brain, shape-shifting beyond my control into nostalgic sentimentalities and cliches beyond even my extremely low level of tolerance as far as 'annoying' goes. If anyone reads this...know that you've been warned..I fear, for the most part that this journal is going to then end up a sort of compilation of late night ramblings soaked in self-pity and reeking of exhaustion, if of course it smelled (see, unclever wordplay about how my blog stinks). Whatever, I guess I just feel the bruising pressure of expectation staring to creep in on me and am currently engaged in a sort of mad scramble to "Fix it!", make things a bit easier, more organized, before I realize to my horror, that I've simply run out of time, that there are no more available hours and that the 78 minutes I spent staring at a hangnail (or something equally inane) is non-refundable.

It is not really a wish of mine to merely do nothing. That would seem pointless. I know people who've achieved their goals, and seem alright, satisfied. A job that pays the rent, food, pot, beer, cable. 'Nicegreattvisfunnyohnonotanotherrealityshowhahaahah'....I get almost manic, have a drink and cut my visits short, fearing what come to pass if I don't sober up and return to my apartment and read my textbooks from midnight to 6 in the morning...like a sort of gasping sprint to make up for time lost in blatant procrastination...

I used to be much more diligent, "A conscientious student." I organized everything by date, handed things in weeks early, suffered crippling send-me-home headaches if I failed to be the best...I really didn't have a lot else. So it seemed to make sense at the time. I have no idea when indifference fogged my perfectionist vision. Somewhere between CEGEP and University? I can't remember the last time I worked more than 2 days on an essay due in (precisely) 2 days. Not to say that I haven't done well, but even comments from profs exclaiming in block letters and bad writing that I've clearly put a lot of time into something, does not send me into a fit of self-satisfied and yet, so, so sneakily self contained glee in my ability to bullshit my way through school...I feel lately like I am being deceptive, but people see me as some sort of thing or another and who am I to ruin their fucking expectations...? I wouldn't want to say something out of character...Perhaps I've gotten myself in too far. Any alteration from the expected would result in me, having to explain myself to people I don't want to talk to in the first place, but being easily embarrassed and inarticulate in stressful social situations, I usually mutter something about being tired, clutch my scribbled on cardboard coffee cup liner a bit tighter and skip outside for a breath of smoggy air and nicotine...This is, essentially, so Aletha...so much Aletha all at once, I've overloaded their pathetic little linear thinking minds and they become confused as to why they ever thought I was acting out of the norm-- garrulous, optimistic, wistful, flirty even. A trick the mind plays. A full moon (lunatics can't resist). Something in the water. 'Buy bottled. Not Dasani.'

And so, repulsed with myself for being influenced by others, but consoled by the fact that 'they' appreciate and wish for a static me, I often end up in ironic situations where I contemplate self-love and self-hate, and wonder which would be preferable, or if they're even that, that different in the first place. And so, with a little annoyance, I remain myself (because though it's far too tiring, I don't tend to find a lot of other options--unless of course I start developing personae, speaking in tongues, and hushing up when the mental health officials pay me a house call)...Yes, I remain myself, it's true...But to what end?!

Yes, people expect too much. People expect you to smile when you work, which seems strange, very strange to me..People at work tell me all the time I look miserable, a little unwell. Can't I smile a bit..? This makes me uncomfortable. I hardly regard the disturbingly frequent amounts of ice cream people consume year round human and when one of the said purchasers of 21oz of cheesecake flavored dairy sludge ($4.82) tells me I look ill and yet, still wants me to bare my teeth in a show of compliance, acceptance of society's obsession with gratification by any means, I feel incredibly digusted by said request. A circus side show expected to perform. My lower lip quivers out of sync with the twitch in my left eyeball. It's the best I can offer. I generally remain stony-faced, tell them I've had a 7 hour shift and haven't yet managed to take my 15 minute break and would they like a bag or a second spoon? If they leave a tip I feel like a charity case beggar with her legs lopped off (scooting around on a plank with rollerskate wheels, rusty, no less) by some freak occurence or injustice...I hate my job and I hate working with people who want. I wrote my letter of resignation a couple of days ago, after (not really) trying for 2 full years to imitate the chipper intonations ("HIiiiiii therrrrre....Can I help youuuu?) of my pony-tail wearing coworkers...My last day is October 6th...

I hope that with all the free-time, this feeling, the void, willl be filled, that I can write, draw, socialize on my own time, not rush. I want to feel conscientious again. Creative. I miss the feeling of (and this sounds incredibly dorky, but it's true) textbooks at school that are simply too hard to put down until they are read, complete with immaculate handwritten notes. Maybe this is an avoidance of some other more pertinent issues, regression at a certain level, but it seems like a highly compelling if a little obsessive place to be right now.

I expect the sky to stay the same, a constant in an uncertain world, which is sort of strange considering its lack of order, its polar flare-ups, its manic depressiveness. I felt sick today because I had a headache and didn't want to go to work. As I was walking to the bus stop, I felt like I might pass out from the pressure on my temples and the edges of my vison kept changing--shrinking, growing--as I looked upward. It was tilted and far too wide, the rain didn't help. It seemed unpredictable as hell and my doubts made me open my book on the bus and try not to be carsick.