A Little Background

So I went to school in the liberal arts but play cubicle monkey all day, just trying to make ends meet and support a family. Some days I hate it; some days I don't. I'd rather be talking about fragments and pronouns than crunching numbers, but hey, it's a living, and they're not paying writers very much these days.

I try keeping up with the news, but it's too depressing to indulge too much. But it's like some care wreck, one you just have to watch because if you don't, the government might really screw you.

Love politics, even though I hate how the system works. Last two elections: voted against Bush, voted for Bush. I won't tell you what order that's in. But needless to say, I am looking forward to 2008, even though I think the President gets a bum rap most of the time. Sure, I get sick of NCLB and I'd rather not have my buddies come home in body bags, but I would hope that GWB would not do something that he knew was obviously evil. Maybe I'm naive, as naive as I am to be writing this anyway. (Okay, okay. I'll stop the apologetic rants.)

Probably won't vote for Thompson. I like Obama, but he won't win. It looks like Clinton and Guiliani. Can I vote 'other'?

What Drove Me Here

It's pathetic, really. I'm not sure why I'm even doing this because normally I would make fun of people who place their random thoughts out there for all to see. Perhaps it's just my own I'm-too-cheap version of therapy. Perhaps I'm romanticizing my life to the point where I would think that someone would really want to read about my frustrations, my sentimentality, my want for someone to want to read it.

This is not depression. It's sad, yes, but it's not depression. Lonely? Yes, I suppose you can say I'm lonely. But it's not because I don't have friends. It's not because I am not happy. It's like I'm stuck in the middle of something, someone and I can't tell those who are closest to me. Afraid? No, just wise. I am wise enough to know that if a male were to express things this way, he would be labeled many things, things I do not want to be labeled, or things I wish not to be labeled again.

I'm okay with being emotional. I've come to grips with that. I've come to grips that I am a walking contradiction. I write poetry and love basketball. I want my thoughts to be private but yet I publish them on a blog. I say I don't want people to read them, but how I wish someone would. I say that I don't care what people think, toss about my own brash language about every topic from politics to how Brittney Spears drives me nuts, and yet, I care what people think. I care very much.

I'm like you. (Or who would be "you" if someone were actually reading this.) I want to be loved. I want to be needed. And I know I am those things.

But the other day, I finally hit the nail on the head. While I have good friends, a good family, I want someone to sit me down, slow me down, and ask me about me. I want someone to take interest in my life besides those who have to.

Maybe that's why I'm here. I'm filling a void with you, dear reader. (Great, now I'm Walt Whitman.) Maybe I can fool myself into thinking that you're sitting me down on your computer and listening. You want to read these words because something about them rings true with you. You understand them.

And maybe, just maybe, I won't feel quite so foolish for feeling this way. And someone will read it, thought they may never know my name.