Why does one require the wee hours of the morning to wonder about what one’s place in life is about? Or should be?
I find that most of my feelings are of the aggressive sort, and while being completely in empathy of whatever sentiment I was spouting during the mouthing-off of it, the aftermath always makes me…not regretful, but certainly more than a bit nauseous. I usually end up no longer understanding what it’s all about by then, and why I was so vehement about it.
I doubt that I have that much emotion in me. Maybe it’s the result of distancing myself from any kind of involvement that would have broken me during my growing up years, the result of feeling like the unwanted child in a sea of siblings. Maybe I’m just being lazy, since feeling anything at all towards someone, or even something, usually is a precursor for one to be reactive towards it, as taught to me by my self-embracing elders. Or maybe, I do have a lot of feelings, and I choose to be in denial about them because that is how I roll.
And maybe one day I will actually sit up and take notice of the inner workings of my heart, slot them into their proper places, and be at peace with myself.
One can dream.