Astronaut

So tired. Having a hard time internally. Constantly screwing things up. Not doing things well enough. Trying too hard and succeeding at nothing. Offering help where none is needed nor wanted. Walking disaster time. I’m an addict! But not to wine (not anymore, at least).

It’s to connection. It’s to reaction. Instead of acting, I seek to react. Instead of turning in, I want to go exploring strange new worlds, seek out new civilizations. And then, for some damned reason, I seek to add my input. Which sometimes feels great. And sometimes not.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

My husband is the opposite. I got him set up on Instagram a while back, since his work buddies are on it. It never occurred to him to hit the “like” button on his friends’ posts. I would show him how to use it, watch him laugh at some funny picture, and scroll on.

Also, he can take it or leave it.

Not me. I will respond to everything. I will attempt to reciprocate everything as well. I was born and bred to reciprocate. Some things are wonderful and it all works out synergistically. Others I can’t handle and it starts to kill me inside. I try to respond anyway, since I viewed it. It’s my way of “not just lurking.” But it’s too much. It makes me want to give up and disappear; just stay offline.

The more I follow that hungry-ghost urge to “check in,” to see if things are finally all right, the less I’m truly connected. It’s like I’m floating in space, isolated, in an astronaut’s suit.

Actually, yes, I like that image. It brings comfort. I think I can sleep now, imagining myself that way.

All I have to do is close my eyes, enjoy the silence.