It’s pretty strong right now, isn’t it? That tug, that inexplicable pull. Not where your heart is, but more to the middle. And deeper in. That jerk of the rope that makes it…divinely unbearable. Almost like you want to stick your hand through your chest and press down to see if that will make it stop. And one minute you revel in it, and the next minute it brings you to tears.
Average has always been like a curse word to me. It’s a word that I almost always use in disdain, if not at the very least boredom. I’ve never wanted to be average, or have an average job or an average life. I didn’t even want an average funeral, whenever the time came for me to part with this world. At the ripe old age of 8 I decided that I wanted to be mummified like the Ancient Egyptians, and laid to rest in a stone mausoleum with walls covered in paintings depicting the journey to the afterlife.
Not so average.
See, I’ve always striven to be more than average. Maybe sometimes to my own detriment.
It’s always been really difficult for me to think that others think of me. And I don’t mean family, I mean friends, acquaintances, etc. Lovers, even. It always surprises me when I hear that they do. I’ve always wondered what my therapist thought of that. LMFAO!
The truth is, right now I don’t think I can stand to be loved. Or to love. Too much in it. Too much waiting and second-guessing and…throwing your all in. My therapist said that when I love, worlds move. The problem with that is upheaval of any kind always creates problems; collisions, disorientation, etc.