an early morning call with confusion, hurt, and despair in her voice, cloaked with a blankness that reflected shock. and me wondering how it felt, to her; this, that I had known would come, had been inevitable, but that she had been denying, refusing to accept, still hoping for a revival, from a near-demise, metaphorically.

some messages, many messages, full of sadness, hurt, accusations, helplessness. and me wondering what this meant, why it happened over and over again, what she was missing in having the protagonist's view, what was haunting her, and how this would play out, when it would stop. and also of course, whether i was being harsh in my judgments, in judging at all, in trying to empathize by putting myself in there, and also in trying to show her an unseen perspective, from where I could see.

and here i am. at the end of this day, tired, with aching limbs, with a sense of dread and of disgust, with my own life. and neither of them would understand. just like i don't understand them.

and there goes, my subconscious proves me juvenile to think I revel in self-sufficiency. I had a dream last night, of being a new student (an oft-repeated experience) in a dorm in a boarding school/college, with some faces from my past, lots of new introductions, hanging out, reaching out..., confessing my sense of being lost, and in turn, being led around.

I woke up suddenly, with the alarm, with still the lingering euphoric  emotion of camaraderie .

I do really miss being a student.

students are needy. they are obliged to seek connections to fill their needs. and it's good, its mutual. grown up life, in becoming self sufficient, also becomes a world of nuclear islands - each with spouses/partners and babies..

I've been wondering lately if I'm a horrible person. whether I do really chastise people for their lack of precision or getting their facts right, especially when they come to me with their troubled hearts. whether my sense of being special and my perceived self-singularity is not naturally human but especially nauseatingly my singular characteristic. whether my life alone is not more than just circumstance and chance, and is in fact a judgment on my caustic-ity. i.e. I'm alone cos no one sticks with me.

but worse yet, my satisfaction in being alone, is worse than all above thoughts, more so, when accompanied by all those above; cos it proves them all to be more than conjectures.