Lost and Found

The other night I lost my Grandmother's antique pendant off from my necklace. I had been so many places I figured it was a lost cause to even look for it. Yesterday at Liz's apt she handed it to me and said Dan had found it after I left. A bit later I found my car window smashed and my things stolen. I felt violated, not to mention super pissed that they stole my favorite bikini and beach bag. My solution was to spend 3 hours on the internet trying to replace them both. How I found the one bag of its kind left on the planet I will never know, and the luck of finding that although the swimsuit I found online is a different color it is now on sale for $10. Did I mention I also lost my job earlier this week? So many things I have lost, and so few that I have found. I'm feeling a complete loss of control in my life. Experiencing a bit of joy only because I was first violated and devastated really puts a painful spin on things. How bitter sweet...

Monotone Me. Where did the psycho go?

I've recently found that I have seriously mellowed out. I have my own speculations as to why. But a new attitude has come along with this more mellow me. And I'm not sure it suits me so well...

This new 'monotone me' has meant that most of the time I find emotion to be overrated and feelings to be frivolous. I figure if I can't purge what I'm experiencing into something creative then why bother feeling it all. I'll let myself feel something long enough to write a few bars of music, but once the song is done or I'm tired of playing, I'm done dealing with it. I tell myself: "Pretending the bad things never happened is my way of forgiving. And ignoring the better and the great things makes the bad things seem less abusive." But come on. Since when?

Something's up here- or rather, down. Who am I and what did I do with the beautiful psycho (or the typically emotional female) who occupied this heart before? Lame. I used to think I should have a heart tattooed on my arm, considering how I "wore it on my sleeve" for the last 20 years. Maybe getting my heart broken not so long ago made me react more like the owner of a wild tempered dog then a young girl with an open, eager, and badly wounded heart. Maybe I have unknowingly leashed and muzzled it instead of iced and bandaged it.

Whatever the reason for the change, I am not so much a fan of this new monotone. I leave the ones I love more lost than understanding. I am constantly miss understood because I can't even begin to form a sentence when I don't even know how I feel. I've been told that talking to me these days is like pulling teeth. This is funny considering it used to be getting me to stop talking was like trying to damn a river with toothpicks.

And not even my senses put much merit in what they experience- not the food I taste or the things I touch mean much anymore. And though I am far from unhappy, I miss finding the delight and even the grief in my world. I miss squealing when I have a burst of joy over finding the episode of Mythbusters I missed is on re-run on my night off, and crying when I feel fat or having a tantrum when my boyfriend is a butt face. But more than that, I miss the conversations that all of these emotions led to. I miss talking. I miss people knowing who I am. And I hate that people have to ask me what I'm thinking. Because since when have I not already told you?

In fact, this is the most I've talked about feelings since I can remember...

[The day I wrote this I ended up reaching the point at which I was completely and passionately tired of this particular mood. So I shook it off and moved on. Bring on the toothpicks baby.]