Zorba the Hutt (zorbathut) wrote,
Zorba the Hutt

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So here I am, sitting at a friend's house with maybe sixteen feet of finished coil (yes, that's right, sixteen feet long of 5/16" i.d. 16gu rings side-to-side). And I should be doing something . . . trying to get the rest of the wire into a suitcase, trying to find the pieces of chainmail I brought here which seem to have vanished somehow . . . but, sigh. I just don't want to. And I don't want to try to go to sleep - aside from the obvious problem of "where", there's the "why" and the "how". Because I know if I really let myself think about it, instead of just creating a direct brain-to-hands-to-keyboard-to-LJ connection, I'll start wishing I had someone to be with - just someone to hug and cry and have them tell me it's all right. I don't know what I need to be told is all right. Just in general, I think.

I'm two months from the end of my first year of college. And what have I done? I've learned a little in subjects that interest me somewhat. I've realized that structured creation plain doesn't work for me, except in some certain situations. This is why I'm not going into art or creative writing as a major anymore. I'm not going into compsci because, well, geez, why bother?

. . . so what's left? Physics, I guess. I need more math. Well. Maybe. I'll get there. I'll try.

I just could use someone to lean on while I get there.

And I feel bad about writing that, actually - because there *are* people I can lean on (and do, if necessary), people who've volunteered for this who I think of in terms that I cannot express very well in English. The sort of people who deserve happiness forever, and by the very fact that they're willing to help someone like me, stand a very good chance of never achieving it.

And, yeah. There's it right there. Willing to help someone like me - I need someone, because I need support. But I need someone who'll support me for me, not because I ask it or because they feel obliged. And in order to become me again, I need someone, someone who can love me and support me. It's a nice tight vicious circle, and the only way I broke it last time was sheer luck, because I was so shattered and devestated and nonfunctioning that I didn't care where support came from, I just flailed out in all directions hoping that someone would hear me and catch me. And someone did. But now that I function passably well with the friends I have . . . I don't need that spark of desperation, I guess. Yeah. That makes sense, I think.

So what do I do?

What everyone else does, I guess . . . ask people out and hope for that spark that I had once and might never touch again.

What did I say, 18 feet of coil? 16 feet. A lot of coil. And there's a lot of wire left. It's amazing . . . how little wire goes into a coil. There's a lot more coil where these came from - perhaps 45 more pounds. Minus scraps.

That's enough for a lot of mindless tasks, so I don't have to think.

I should try to get some sleep.
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