analog blogging

Over the last few months I've taken to writing my thoughts down in a real journal again, when pouring out a river of personal thoughts is scandalously (hah!) inappropriate for the blog, or when a listening ear is hard to reach. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to depend on others for support, which is NOT to say I have crappy friends or acquaintances. I get that everyone's got their own thing going on (especially as most of the people I'm referring to are in their twenties), and it isn't that simple anymore to grab a close friend after lecture/studio/work and have a meaningful chat/heart-to-heart/venting session. And even in the face of others, sometimes I feel a little self-conscious about discussing certain issues, in fears of sounding like a whining, self-centered, immature adolescent. It's a little disconcerting when I can provide solace or advice to someone else when I feel like I could use more control over my own problems.

I may be being a little harsh on myself though. And I'm definitely being hypocritical/contradictory in talking about the trickiness of meeting up with others, when I've managed to meet up with J twice in the last several weeks. (I am very much being the unreliable narrator here, bear with me.) In our discussions J and I noticed that one trait we both share is being extremely critical of ourselves, and having high expectations for ourselves in every endeavor or task we're given/set on achieving. I don't mean to sound so lofty in that statement - I'm know a ton of people are like this. My point is, upon going back and forth in our conversation, she and I realized, from taking a few steps back and looking at ourselves, we are doing fine; but out of wanting more, faster - dissatisfaction quickly sets in, and all we can focus on is what can be improved upon.

Angsty thoughts aside, the act of slowing down and putting my rambling down to paper is really soothing. Sometimes when I feel like it I'll doodle a sketch alongside the writing. Some days it's a sketch and nothing else. I try to do one every day, but realistically it's more like every couple of days that I get something substantial down, when thoughts have been brewing and bubbling and are ready to boil over. Some days I know nobody really cares to know about a blooming bud of mine, or another tired criticism of L.A. culture, or that I think of and miss someone way more than I can bear to admit.

I'm alright though. These words reek of self-pity and despair, but I'm not as sad or bitter or negative as I seem. Maybe I'm taking myself a little too seriously, sure, but that pendulum of mine takes mighty swings between being utterly goofy and inane to almost Dostoevskian depths. I'm laughing at me too, now. Sometimes all it takes for me to snap out of this is to make fun of myself/let it all out. :)