Burning

I feel the need to write.  I don't know what I want to say or why I want to say it, but I just want to put down words.  I'm sitting here when I'd much rather be asleep in bed, waiting for some files to upload so I can finish up for the night and go sleep, and suddenly I'm restless.  Not really restless, but I need to write.  I need to put something here that's meaningful and important.  And I have no idea what.

This week is almost halfway over, even though it either feels like it's just started or like it's ending right now.  I'm so, so tired because I haven't been sleeping enough or well.  My brain won't function properly.  Everything is hazy and all I can focus on right now, even more than the words, is the reflection of my fingers moving as I type on the screen.  But that's not significant at all.

They say we don't appreciate what we have until it's gone.  I believe it, having lost some things and almost lost many more.  I wonder what I have now that I'm not properly appreciating.  There certainly are things, but I can't pin them down.  Warning: jump in thought process.

My social anxiety has gotten worse.  I have trouble ordering food at cafeterias.  I try as hard as I can to avoid having to order something and tend to go for things that are self-serve.  It really wasn't a problem until fairly recently.  I don't know why it became one.  And maybe it's just a circumstantial thing, but it doesn't feel like one.

To be fair, at least I'm still capable of interacting with people at all.  I've made friends lately, I can hold conversations in various situations.  I worry about impressing people a lot, even though I know it doesn't matter.  I feel like I have to make good impressions or something.  Even if I'll never see them again.

I guess I had traces of this sort of anxiety throughout my life, but I think it might have gotten worse.  Maybe my mother is right and I'm being too much of a hermit, working too much.  I don't like the thought of that, but I guess it makes more and more sense the more I think about it.  The thing is, I don't want to get out.  I like my work.  It's engaging and challenging.  I don't like many people.  So work is largely just more rewarding.

Now I'm being defensive.  Again, with this constant need to impress.  I don't even know.  This isn't satisfying.  If anything, it's the opposite.  It makes me want to put more words onto the page to make up for these.  I want to say something meaningful.  And it seems like I'm just so, so bad at it.