Jun 29, 2011
I listen to music no one else here wants to hear. It's a sanctuary in a sad way; a buffer, so to speak. Reading is the only sure fire way to drown out thoughts, emotions pushing to the surface but it's only a diversion. The art, a controlled echo of feelings past. The music sweeps up the thoughts, gives them form and a melody and I don't have to work for it. When the kids are at dads I've been painting, alot, alone in my room.
I hate feeling like I must censor myself here but if you look at my comments, irl people want their say here and this is my place, and I don't want to argue. There are also people who come here only to steal a glance into my life (when I've managed to write here at all) and satisfy themselves that I'm fine and never call or leave a comment. This blog isn't an accurate way to judge my well being. It's like the weather here unfortunately, it can change any minute.
I've been meaning to do Angie's Where I Am Now project, I just feel so exposed here. I don't want to go private, so I just have to get over it. I'll give it a shot next week maybe.
I've felt very lonely lately (expect this when you've been isolating yourself) . I don't know what to say here, or in any other area of my life. I've never felt quite this apathetic without at least knowing why. Rufus Wainwright and Jeff Buckley are saying it all for me this morning, but I have to leave my room and outside of here, no one likes my music....
Posted by Lindsay at 8:11 AM