Recently I began to question my sanity. I had been led to believe that things were a certain way, when they weren't. I was told I led myself to believe that.
But this time I had proof. This time I had a copy of what I had been told. It wasn't my fault.
It wasn't my fault.
Of course, having said proof didn't make things better, it only made the person I had it on mad.
So. Here I am, with proof of my sanity, but other things slipping away.
Nevermind that in the middle of said altercation, I get blindsided by my mother, out of bloody nowwhere.
It's almost as if a unilateral feminine war was declared on me, heh. Okay, that's melodramatic, and not entirely appropriate.
I don't want anything that's unreasonable, out of me, or anyone. I just want a shot, a chance, a legitimate chance at happiness. One Fighting Chance, thats all. That's all I need. I have within me greatness, as all people do. Some let it pass them by. Some deny it, and settle for mediocrity.
I desperately need to acknowledge, accept, and act on mine. It wants out, it desperately wants out. I want to share. Colloborate. Create with someone. But I do not know how.
I used to scoff at the idea of the biological clock. I did. I'd hear about it from people and laugh, saying "Hah, I do what I want, when I want, how I want."
Now...I'm reminded of it constantly. I have this interminable dreadful feeling that the Clock Is Ticking, and it's the fourth quarter, and a hundred other sports euphemisms to make it more manly.
Patience is necessary. But it's a necessary evil that may drive me insane mere moments after having proof that I am not.
The irony is not lost on me.