The Broken Light Bulb with a Quarter of a Squiggly

I broke a light bulb the last time I played Edwardfortyhands. I don't even know how it happened. It was like before I knew what was happening, I was falling steadily to the floor, grasping for anything that would catch me before I'd fall. In an instant, I was down...and then I caught a glimpse of the lamp and the light bulb moved in slow motion until it hit the object of which would be its doom. Your mind is an interesting place when almost black out drunk, ladies and gentlemen.

Now sober, I'm left to pick up the pieces, pun fully intended. When I walked into the room where it all went down, the light bulb which was of the squiggly variety laid shattered. There was only the base fragment left with a quarter of what once was a squiggle. As I looked at the broken light bulb, I immediately came to the realization that me and this light bulb aren't that different after all. We both want to be something beautiful that does a degree of service to the world, but we both are incapable to because of our imperfections.

Off to a good start...

You know sometimes I do feel like it would be easier to not be understood than to be understood. I put so much pressure on myself to be mysterious and elusive that to intentionally break down those walls seems highly vicarious and highly intrusive. And how fucked up is that?

I feel like being understood is the highest form of intrusion and shouldn't it be the other way around? I should be able to be myself with total disregard for what anyone thinks or feels about it. But, it's just not the case.

Maybe I'm just too much a product of my own generation. We seem to have prided ourselves (in high school and even parts of college...and maybe even when talking about our new world experiences during the short amount of time we have had outside of college) on being elusive to our own feelings. Driven by fear that if our true feelings were known on a particular subject or situation that we would be outcasts. Because isn't it true that whoever cared the least with your peers was the person who was liked the most?

And why is that? Is it that we are jealous of their lack of being effected by what was happening around them or even in their personal life? Maybe we all care a little too much. Maybe we all wanted to escape from the daily exhaustion of caring how we felt and how someone or something felt about us.

I think I'm finally coming to the mature point in my life where I do care about someone knowing who I truly am rather than the facade I place out in the world. I do want to break down those walls.