I quite like writing about myself. Have you noticed?

The fitz will fix the fit, if a quick fix suffices.

There is this thing like touching, except you don't touch.
That's from a Dresden Dolls song. I think I've been doing something similar for most of my life. I'm down again, so I'm blogging. This is never a fantastic idea, but it beats the alternative. I mean, theoretically, if I wasn't blogging, I'd be sitting in the dark listening to depressive music and letting the words buzz around in my head like a swarm of angry bees, buzzing and buzzing and buzzing and you know eventually that if they don't get out they're going to get really mad and when bees get mad they don't limit themselves to buzzing, they break out the stingers.
So basically, I am blogging because I do not want to be stung by the head-bees.
Boy, and I wonder why the strangers that read my blog often say I'm a bit hard to understand. I'm so clear on everything.
I've done that thing I do from time to time where I draw up walls around my life and insulate it. It isn't what I wanted to do a long time back, which was turn off my emotions and desires. It also isn't social reclusion - not exactly. It's sort of a going through the motions. It's leaving the house to talk with people for a few hours, laugh in the right places, smile in the right places, and hug at the right moment, and then going home and shrugging your shoulders as if a chore had been completed to satisfaction and nothing of consequence had been accomplished. It's accepting strangers who add you on msn or message you through Facebook and casually flirting, questioning and teasing, for no real purpose beyond the ability to do so, and no real interest beyond leading them to conclusions you've already drawn just from their opening statements. It's a life that is completely untouchable from anything on the outside of it, and completely defeatable by anything on the inside of it. I'm not sure exactly why I've been doing it - probably because my self-esteem has come back in a rush and I'm under the impression I need nothing and nobody for anything beyond the people I already have. Over the past few days I've been fighting with one of those people who is on the inside, and this is making me miserable. Also over the past few days there has been a veritable rush of people on the outside who seem to be making a godawful noise to get in. Funny, that I complain about having no friends in Melbourne, and yet there is a practical tide of boys and girls who want a piece of my time. Now, the cynic in me knows that most of the boys just want to get me out of my pants, but the realist knows some of them would just want to be my friend - and where's the harm in that?
But I'm persisting in this wall. I need no boyfriend; in fact, a boyfriend would be an unfortunate drain I would sooner avoid. I need no sex; any minor sexual gratification I could gain with my face buried in someone else's loins has lost appeal when the cost is self-respect and even at times common dignity. I need no friends; I have my housemates. At least, that was how things were before a few days ago. And now I'm sitting back and going 'Well, shit. You're fighting with one of them. Now what, bitch? Maybe you should spend some time with a friend and talk it out until both of you cool down. Oh, that's right, you refuse to make any. Well done!'
And I'm not really all that depressed or anything, don't get me wrong, this isn't a hack-my-wrists-and-pay-attention-to-me post. This is more of a oh-look-at-my-folly-how-interesting-in-hindsight post. I feel better for it already.
There is this thing like touching, except you don't touch.
Now if only there was a thing like blogging, except you don't blog.

Take that, word bees.