Lilac Colored Glasses

Lately I’ve been feeling strange.
Misplaced, tentative, confused.
It’s a feeling that is vaguely familiar but rarely does it nag me to the degree that it has over the last several weeks. It’s a feeling of not being “me.” Or at least, not really knowing who “me” is.
I feel like a singer with no style, and author with no genre, a blogger with no unique voice.
When I read my posts I can find no consistant tone or style. When I think of who I am, I see a ghost standing in the shadows of the corners where people forget to dust. Or perhaps a chameleon, vaguely taking on the hue of whatever I’m touching at the moment, but then becoming dull and grey the instant I move on.
People love to classify themselves as the “smart” one or the “leader” or the “cute” one but when I try to think of one word, one overall word that describes me I draw a blank. And it’s the same with my writing. I can’t seem to find my voice.
I mean, I talk plenty on this blog, don’t get me wrong, but I find that how I say what I want to say is inconsistant. And a lot of the time I feel that way in life too. I stay out of the way as best I can, avoiding any sort of self definition via peer groups or social activities and the times when I am able to be myself, spread wide open like an oyster, soft and vulnerable and real are so fleeting that I can’t really remember how to summon that real me when I need or want it to come forward.
Sometimes I want to just spew everything out here onto my blog. I want to talk about sex and anger and pain. Occassionally I just want to explode and call the Belgian populace as a whole a stream of nasty names ( even though I don’t actually believe in the validity of sweeping generalizations) because sometimes I really need to do that.

I need to get down to the real and the nitty gritty and the ugly or pornographic bits and bobs that are floating around in my gut and my blood and my brain.
But then I do a mental head count of who exactly reads this blog.
And I slam that heavy metal door in my mind shut and swallow the key. All of the bright colors flaring underneath my skin subside and I return to my former shade of grey.

I’m not quite sure where all of this is leading. I don’t know if there is a solution to this issue or not. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to use this particular blog as the outlet that I sometimes wish it could be. But I do know that from this point on, I’m promising myself that I will truly think before each post a write. I promise to spend less time bitching about life and more time crafting the person who I am and who I want to be.
Maybe if I start paying more attention to how I say things to the world it’ll be easier for me to pry myself out of my oyster shell.