For the record, today sucked.

And I say this, hoping that maybe one day I can look back at it and think, “wow, that day was crap, but it actually wasn’t -that- bad, and really, look at everything you learned despite feeling like a wrecking ball took pieces out of you.”

I doubt those exact words would be spoken, maybe something (in hopes) along the same lines.

I often look back at the interactions I’ve had with others and wonder if they see them the same way I see them. It’s impossible to tell unless I actually ask that person, and there are times when I’ve been curious enough to do so; others when I’m content to just muse to myself about things that did in fact happen verses things that might have been.

Occasionally I get mail from the underworld. S.O.S in a sense, from a past I see sometimes as mine, and sometimes as someone I hardly know or understand at all. The underworld could be politely referred to as my past, and the people that have registered themselves in it through our various misadventures. Unlike a lot of other people I know, I’m very introspective about my past; I still, to this day, go back and try to process in different ways, things that happened years ago. Some times I come up with ideas and perspectives on people and relationships that are refreshing to me, to “our” situations, to life.

One of my biggest fears, if I can call it that, is going through this life misunderstood and misrepresented. I fumble with aspects of myself, in ways of how to present who I am to those around me, but in other areas of my life, I spill everything I am into trying to express to those in my life, just how intricate a being I am. I am more than words, and strokes of color. When I have the chance to “catch up” with someone from a different part of my life, and compare notes so to speak, sometimes the pictures we see individually of our selves, is so drastic in difference it leaves us devastated on the inside.

All these tools we have; these ways to communicate in which we pour every part of our self into and yet we still as people and individuals can’t speak to one another on the simplest of levels.

Our attempts are missed connections at something once familiar and meaningful.