I hate this.
I hate how I’m sitting at a bar writing this while everyone around me is talking.
I hate that I’m writing now and not talking.
I hate that I’m writing…I wish I wasn’t. I wish I was participating in the conversation next to me. Its funny and I wish I could laugh along.
But I have limited days of leisure. If I’m not careful, I’ll spend all my time talking, because that’s naturally something I’d rather do. I’ll have numerous realizations about life and work and school. I’ll have conversations with my parents, friends, professors and coworkers in which I give them quick updates on my progress. I impress them with my words, they’re satisfied with my apparent sense of well-being, and they get off my back.
It’s a cycle. It keeps me from making the same mistake twice. But it also keeps me from fully learning my lesson.
By talking about situational thoughts and feelings rather than writing the lessons I’ve learned, I continue to hear differing opinions. They stick with me and I’ll consider them, even though I know they’re not true. And soon enough, these confusing, pressing matters of faith and reason infect my mind with the plague of overthinking that I thought I had gotten rid of.
I’m not over you like I thought I was…
…I thought I forgot you. I thought I hated you…
…And my mind begins to spin. Once-forgotten worries resurface and overcome my idle thoughts.
You become a cancer.
Or wait, am I the cancer?
Why do I make my life more difficult?
Why can’t I just do what’s right?
Why can’t I just write?
So here I am.
I’ve surrendered to my IPhone keyboard, allowing my thoughts to freely flow through my thumbs, until the river runs dry and the guy next to me asks if I want another beer.
I say yes.
We begin to talk.
And now I’m what’s funny in the conversation next to me.