Saturday night was spent in intense discussions on the topics of female power, sexuality, religion and people's preconceived notions based solely on what they understand (rightly or wrongly) about activities you engage in, mankind's ability to create and destroy and so on. It was one of those talks where you have to take a breath at the end of it. It was one of those talks that makes me feel human in a good way. It was one of those talks that is so rare that when you get it, you treasure it the same way serial killers save the pubic hair or earlobes of their victims. You make it a type of symbolic magic to be pulled out from time to time to regain power through the memories.
This was especially good since I haven't had my weekly Mirror fix, which is always good for thought-provoking conversation.
Usually I feel fairly isolated from humanity, and I'm very all right with that. I don't think humanity has always put its best face forth, and I believe it gets its power from the lies that are believed. Conversations remind me that I'm not alone in the eye of the hurricane.
I also went to bed that night realizing something pretty shocking: I am burned out, operating on fumes, and not sure how much longer that can go on. I've been so used to operating on anger that now that I am a place of apathy when it comes to that which irritates me, I'm not sure how to find the strength to keep giving. Those conversations give me that strength. Those connections found in the candlelight, over pizza, or via the telephone -- they have become the gasoline in the fire. They have provided what rage used to give. They have revitalized me when little else would.
Burned out. Burned up.
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