Meme Dump

One Foot Dancing, One Foot Nailed To The Floor

I tell myself I’m alone, not lonely, but it doesn’t work. See, I usually say that to myself when I’m sitting all alone, at home, the television tuned to…something…anything…and the stereo playing dully in the background. I am not lonely. I am alone.

Right!

I get out among people. I go for walks, through a park, down a busy city street; I buy my groceries. I rent movies and I haunt the local bookstore. I am among people, but I don’t look at them and their eyes don’t meet mine.

Invisible is what I am. Not alone. Not lonely. Invisible. There are times when, if I walk quickly enough past a mirror or shop window, that I can’t even see myself.

Invisible.

And I work; with people, even. And these people would tell you that I’m funny and sarcastic and nice, quiet. That’s all they could tell you, though, because they don’t really know me. I cannot allow it and I don’t understand why. Still, they say they like me because I’m funny and sarcastic. Nice.

Invisible.

I go to the college near the park, but I don’t stay after class. Lunch is something from a vending machine eaten in my car, with my head down. I don’t go for coffee to discuss a lecture and I don’t join study groups. I plug along on my own, no matter how difficult the class, until it gets to be too much, and then I drop out. I imagine other students come into class and see that empty chair, my chair, near the front, off to one side. 

Didn’t someone used to sit there? Whose chair is that?

One Foot Nailed To The Floor

This is a story that floats in my head. It used to be me, but the story isn't over yet
_______________

I tell myself I’m alone, not lonely, but it doesn’t work. See, I usually say that to myself when I’m sitting all alone at home, the television tuned to…something…anything…and the stereo playing dully in the background. I am not lonely. I am alone.
Right!
I get out among people. I go for walks, I buy my groceries. I rent movies and I haunt the local bookstore. I am among people, but I don’t look at them and their eyes don’t meet mine.
Invisible is what I am. Not alone. Not lonely. Invisible. There are times when, if I walk quickly enough past a mirror or shop window, that I can’t even see myself.
And I work; with people, even. And these people would tell you that I’m funny and sarcastic and nice, quiet. That’s all they could tell you, though, because they don’t really know me. I cannot allow it, and I don’t understand why.

Still, they say they like me because I’m funny and sarcastic. Nice.
Invisible.
I go to the local junior college near the park, but I don’t stay after class. Lunch is something from a vending machine eaten in my car with my head down. I don’t go for coffee to discuss a lecture and I don’t join study groups. I plug along on my own, no matter how difficult the class, until it gets to be too much, and then I drop out. I imagine other students come into class and see that empty chair, my chair, near the front, off to one side. Didn’t someone used to sit there? Whose chair is that?
I was going along, alone, lonely, invisible, and then it all changed….