Cat Lady

I am at the point right now when I haven't a clue what to write--I have no direction. I have started on a few posts this month and then abandoned them because they bored the hell out of me. I have written in my head a pretty pathetic history of my Valentine's Days (it would take about a sentence to sum it all up and is only interesting to someone in the psychology field). To be honest at the moment I don't give a damn how I feel, think, act, react, etc. and I can't see how anyone else would either. I don't feel an impulse or drive to express myself, I don't feel social and I could probably slip away from the world and hibernate for a few months without much of an issue (I have done this in a sense many times in my life). The problem is when I do finally come out of my chosen exile I have to adjust once again--reestablish relationships, make new ones and each year I get older this becomes significantly harder.

It is probably best I don't live on my own or I think I would just lose touch with everyone...I know enough about myself to realize I could very easily end up as that odd loony cat lady. At times I fantasize that I die entirely alone and people think "what a waste of space" or "good riddance" if they think of me at all. There's the truth of it, dear reader: I sometimes feel a queer sense of pride in my isolation, my very oddness or by not following the usual human instincts. I am a little too attracted to destruction, tragedy, ugliness, waste and decay...there is something compelling in both Miss Havisham of Great Expectations and Emily in A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner. What I have always found is that it so much easier to visualize and imagine myself alone than with others.

So, I am trying to make life difficult for myself and stay in the game. Push myself when all I want to do is to sequester. Talk when I want to remain silent. Express myself when I want to close down.