I haven’t been feeling great lately, and that results in me not writing much. It might be from posting so much in such a short time over two blogs. It might be that I’ve been busy on weekends with social stuff, which wears me out. It might be from knowing my mom is getting a kidney transplant next Wednesday from my aunt. It might be all chemical, as some doctors believe. It might just be that you can’t feel great all the time.
Whatever it is, I feel like a beach ball at a concert that gets batted around. Not when I’m feeling down, just normally. I like being swatted around aimlessly, an amusing whimsy bouncing around through a breathtaking performance shared by many, not the center of attention, but with everyone wanting to simultaneously come near me and strike me.
But lately I’ve felt deflated. I no longer rebound when I take an impact. I just absorb the blow with a thud, fall to the ground, get trampled on until everyone goes home, and I finally get cleaned up by minimum wage custodians the next morning.
I wanted to post this days ago, but frankly… I hate well wishes. I think people who pray for others or try to “send good vibes” are counter-productive. You can’t go around doing nothing and then pretend (even just to yourself) that you helped.
That’s all wishing someone well is: a meaningless gesture, an empty ritual. You don’t deserve to feel better just by repeating meaningless clichés at someone with a frown. I don’t feel lonely, nor do I feel unappreciated; if anything, I am perplexed at why so many people care about me, despite my best efforts to be a curmudgeon.
I guess I fail at that, like I fail at finding a job. Add it to the list…
So if you feel bad about the fact that I’m deflated, save the sentiment for someone else. If you really feel you have to do something… blow me.