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face in the carpet

17 Dec

I’m typing this with my face in the carpet. Today was rainy, so rainy it could have been snow, looked like snow, grey, cold. There was wind too and traffic and lights and I don’t remember seeing the sun. And it was different and interesting, and I liked it. And I thought about people I knew, people who knew me, people who think I’m tame for good reason. Because I don’t like loud noises and crowds of people, I don’t like pretending that I feel on the outside and that all of it makes me happy. Can’t stand most people, and even the ones I like, I grow to detest. Eventually. Because they give me reason to. And I’m stressed about a silly competition, about a gingerbread house, nervous because of the little details that could make it great. Can’t deal with it, can’t deal with lunch with a friend I’ve loved because it’s been too long, because I’m tame and I think I need to be someone now, someone he’ll realize he should have missed more. And it worries me that I could be fine if I learned to accept that lying here watching Criminal Minds is a fine life, because it’s a fine life.

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