I have all these lighters in my bag, and no use for them. Maybe I'll just start lighting things on fire. Then I'll feel better. I've cried three times today and counting, and I think about how many times I've written about sadness, for how many years now. It's been cheapened, and it's become hackneyed. There's some kid singing in the hallway, and I find that to be so pleasant. To be a kid again, and sing in the hallways. How I'd love to not care that much. It's not even the not caring, so much as the blissful ignorance. I'd like that. Sometimes. Yesterday this older gentleman walked past me in the hallway at school, and smiled what seemed to be a very sincere smile directed at me. I cried again. Then I stood outside in the courtyard for a while, absorbing something, I'm not sure what. The insignificant and beautiful things I encounter, maybe. Or just the strangeness of life and living it. I walked past a dozen people who just sat and sat and stared and looked blank, then I walked past that man, in his nice ironed shirt and a nice tie and his bag draped across his shoulder. A nice worn face.
Well, I do feel better. Despite how dramatic I feel I've made everything sound. It's just too strange. I've been sad before, but never like this, and I can't figure it out. Why why why? It's just too strange. I don't understand it. I think of myself, and the moments sadness has struck me, and I contemplate why I cried, or even why I cried the way that I did. It's weird, the dynamics of differing tearful sessions. I can't explain it.
I know some of the reasoning behind why I am in such a state. And I'm choosing to ignore them, and recognize them as pointless. I just have to remember to take those thoughts captive. I criticize myself too much. I'm so afraid of being simple and uninteresting. Why is that? Why does that overwhelm me to such an extent? It does, you know. It really takes a hold of me, and is almost impossible to shake sometimes. You are what you tell yourself you are. That taken from a woman who says "she knows nothing." The poor thing. Husband just left her from some co-worker. She has these boys, two of them. The thing is, I was just talking to her, about how fucked up her life was, how she's been on her own since she was sixteen. And at that time she moved in with the man she married three years later, at the ripe age of nineteen, and her husband of over thirty years, who she loves deeply, and who just decided to leave his family. And she is redefined. I just wish that someone that amazing didn't have to go through this.
There's this other woman in the office, she's older, maybe 38, and she is a newly-wed. Her hubby just called and she got all excited and sensual in the church office. They chatted for a while, he said something, then I very clearly heard her whisper twice, "There are other people in the office..." Me. And then she started saying things really faintly and flirty like, "no... later... later... no, because those were just you're parents... not now..." Really flirty like. It was weird. I didn't want to move. Like if I moved she would know that I was listening. Strange.

I was also thinking. About the raspberries. There mine to give. So if you want them, you can have them. If not, that's alright, too. Not everyone likes raspberries, or bananas or mangos. But whichever, just let me know. I could go to pick them myself. So they'd be fresh. And ripe.