It’s no secret that my days and nights have been at odds for months.
Perhaps this isn’t some new phenomenon, but it is for me. Night-me, who I’d like to refer to as the real me for the purposes of this post, innerly laughs all day at day-me, but remains dormant — patiently waiting for the tide to shift. I never expected the world at my door at 25. I’m not that naive, sheltered or pompous.
I did, however, expect production over monotony. Meaningful over pointless. Liveliness over gray. I thought I’d have growing roots. Instead, indecision and anxiety run the show.
Sometimes real (night) me wants to engage and attempt to form friendships with people who clearly want nothing to do with me, but quickly is reminded by day-me that it’s not worth it. That it’s temporary and hopefully soon, I’ll be back to being me. Unified.
Last night, I dreamt that someone who never acknowledges me despite long-lasting close proximity turned and said, “Kathleen. You always look so sad. Are you okay?”
I’m not sure that the person knows my name.