Today, I have been paranoid.
Paranoid. Obsessive. Neurotic. Pathetic.
So, I saw them all today. Tall Guy; Blonde Guy; Arrogant Guy; Bearded Guy; Geeky Guy. They have names, but I never knew their names at first. It's a bit of a weird situation. They're only there to help out, it's not like we need to be on first name terms. They knew my name. Everybody knows my name.
So, I saw him today. Passing on the stairs. Not daring to look, not daring to make eye contact. I feel like I'm constantly on edge; wary of any possible encounter. Paranoid about what people know. These buildings have ears, and people talk. I'm pretty sure most of the people have an inkling, I'm pretty sure particular people have caught the wrong side of not-so-whispered statements. But I'm also pretty sure a lot of this pretty sureity is all in my head. Paranoid.
It's screwed up my mind, completely. I did not anticipate this kind of head-fuck when I started out, it was just a bit of fun; a compliment and an ego boost. It still is fun, which makes the messed-up brain part ever more confusing. I know when the technician tells me in her jokey fashion to stop talking to the boys, you're not allowed to have fun, you know! that it's just part of our ongoing witty repartee, but I can't help but wonder if she knows something more. Obsessive.
It's a big problem. I can't stop over-analysing everything and in some strange way hoping I am the focus of the attention, but more so, of the affection. Every sideward glance, every exchange, I wonder, do you know? Have you talked? What do you say? Did you see her today? Neurotic.
It's annoying. I kind of would like to not get my hopes up unnecessarily; I kind of would like not to be completely obsessive and paranoid. I kind of would like people to keep their voices down and not tell everyone about extra-curricular activities. But at the same time, I kind of would like to be seen as more exciting than I actually am. Pathetic.
Paranoid. Obsessive. Neurotic. Pathetic.
So, I saw them all today. Tall Guy; Blonde Guy; Arrogant Guy; Bearded Guy; Geeky Guy. They have names, but I never knew their names at first. It's a bit of a weird situation. They're only there to help out, it's not like we need to be on first name terms. They knew my name. Everybody knows my name.
So, I saw him today. Passing on the stairs. Not daring to look, not daring to make eye contact. I feel like I'm constantly on edge; wary of any possible encounter. Paranoid about what people know. These buildings have ears, and people talk. I'm pretty sure most of the people have an inkling, I'm pretty sure particular people have caught the wrong side of not-so-whispered statements. But I'm also pretty sure a lot of this pretty sureity is all in my head. Paranoid.
It's screwed up my mind, completely. I did not anticipate this kind of head-fuck when I started out, it was just a bit of fun; a compliment and an ego boost. It still is fun, which makes the messed-up brain part ever more confusing. I know when the technician tells me in her jokey fashion to stop talking to the boys, you're not allowed to have fun, you know! that it's just part of our ongoing witty repartee, but I can't help but wonder if she knows something more. Obsessive.
It's a big problem. I can't stop over-analysing everything and in some strange way hoping I am the focus of the attention, but more so, of the affection. Every sideward glance, every exchange, I wonder, do you know? Have you talked? What do you say? Did you see her today? Neurotic.
It's annoying. I kind of would like to not get my hopes up unnecessarily; I kind of would like not to be completely obsessive and paranoid. I kind of would like people to keep their voices down and not tell everyone about extra-curricular activities. But at the same time, I kind of would like to be seen as more exciting than I actually am. Pathetic.
It's probably best not to mix work and pleasure. Sure, it makes the day go a little faster. But is it really worth the worry, the constant consideration of possibility, the complications? Wouldn't it just be easier to be able to write it all off, not even allow for the option? The mixture of relief and disappointment at the thought of the prospect is more weighted to one direction than I'd like to admit.
I think I'm paranoid.
And complicated.
I think I'm paranoid.
Manipulate it.
I think I'm paranoid.
And complicated.
I think I'm paranoid.
Manipulate it.
On the jukebox: Garbage ~ Temptation Waits
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