I could be an average girl of 21. I very easily could.
This is my lingering thought. I have pursued affection, but it doesn’t find me compatible. So I play with fish in my bedroom. But that would be a given any way you look at my life. It’s a near constant. In the equation of Heather, F is the constant “fish”…..
Okay, silliness aside, I’m getting at something here. I see the merit in being an average girl. Doing…girl things. I find myself at a crossroads as of late. My unconventional situation has made a lot of other things inconvenient. Friendships, love…..
What cannot be grasped of a girl who loves to keep fish? Compared to one who loves to ….
Well, what is the comparison? Truly, every girl is different. But a lot of things get lumped into the “girl” category. This includes everything from obsession with looks to disgust with bugs or an unusual adoration for babies. I could care less about my looks most days. I love bugs! And human babies…well, not my cup of tea, but all right.
So I don’t find myself distinctly “girly”…and neither do a lot of others, evidently. And the more aware I become of this contrast, the more I silently abandon people. But I need them! I need people. At least every once in a good while.
Should I cry out, I find people do not always feel as harshly towards me as I perceive. In fact, people enjoy my unique qualities. 9 times out of 10. That still does little to soothe my countless evenings alone. When I read of people who are just the best of friends. but how? When will that be me and another human? I hope soon. Then I recall. The best thing to love is yourself. I love me. I have real things to focus on. And the positivity I’m dumping down the drain with a frown! So….sad. I feel at once aware of too much. Too much or not enough?
What does it take to function, I wonder. When the irrational fear of death plagues every waking hour. The only thing of searing certainty is that I’m drawn to keeping aquariums and animals. Quite possibly because their inner workings are not hard to follow. From this perspective, I do not see myself bringing much upon the world. Fish keeping is such a silly thing to devote to, when the hobby itself serves little to human advancement. It doesn’t nourish us. It doesn’t house us.
I see benefits, when I’m not clouded. It keeps me well, and maybe that’s enough. But purpose is not something I feel deeply. Maybe fleetingly. Maybe the trick of perspective is that tomorrow I will be a new me.