no title.

Had the urge to write, like, write a book write, about my life write. I feel wired and exhilarated. Anyway, here is what I came up with so far, only took about 5 minutes, to be honest.... Just random thoughts, I suppose. I'm going to Florida for a week, leaving tomorrow, so I won't be on....

                People say that it is hard to be on the outside looking in, but I believe the opposite is true: Being on the inside and looking out, is what is hard. In my head, I’m normal. This is just me, and why no one can understand why I have to do things my way (eat this first, not that,) is a bewilderment. Knowing what is going on inside my head and not being able to transfer my thoughts on to other people, is one of the most frustrating things in my life.

            In retrospect, I would rather notice than to be noticed. I notice and observe the most infinitesimal details about each person I meet or talk to, and I, for whatever reason, hold onto that information forever. The way someone tilts their head while talking, the coffee stains on their work shirts, the manner in which they word their sentences, all of those combined, and much more, equals the person that has been in the making their whole lives; it is simply what makes them, them. I could not tell you why I notice these things, but after a few minutes talking to a given person, I feel like I know them, like I know what they are thinking, like I can see into their souls. For that reason, I feel for most people. I feel what it is like to be them and if I sense anything bad, I believe that it is within my power to make those feelings stop, and if not, take on those feelings as my own. My shoulders often ache from the amount of weight that I am carrying, but I would rather it be me than them; I am strong, impenetrable, and immortal. I can handle it. I am not sure if it is a hazard of the trade in which I aspire to work in, but in a way, I believe it should be comforting for people to know that someone is always watching out for them; I have their backs, in a sense, and I honestly care for each person that I meet. I almost hate that I am this observant, annoyingly so, that I can tell, with the slightest change in the wind, how someone’s mood has shifted and deteriorated. Because I know how intently I watch people, I wonder why, and if, anyone is watching me? And if so, why has no one jumped in to save me from myself?