Morning

When I left my parents house last night I drove down to what is called "the island". Technically it isn't an island, more like an "extension". But nevertheless, it is called the island. I sat in the car, looking out over the sea. The island is not very far from a fairly new development (is that the correct terminology? "new development"?) called "the west harbour". It used to be a park, or not really a park, more like a big grassy area by the sea, but for some reason it was refered to as a park and we used to hang out there when I was sixteen.
Soon it will be filled with people strutting up and down the promenade, looking like they are carrying a fridge. Last sumer I even saw a man oiling his pecs before prancing like a circushorse past a group of hysterically giggling teenage girls.

Not quite yet though, last night was still fairly quiet and empty, I sat there for what felt like hours, thoughts running through my mind and pretty soon there it was. That feeling that started out in the pit of my stomach and soon moved up to my heart and then my head. And carried on down to my feet.
The feeling of restlessness, entrappment and itchy feet.
I dont know if it is because in two weeks time, it will be a year since I came home that I am feeling like this, did I have too high expectations?
Or is it the travelbug that I never satisfied that is showing its ugly head again?

I read in a blog that I follow about some advice that had been given to the author "Love is joy, dont try to convince yourself that suffer is a part of it" is it the same about life? Isnt life joyful? Why am I trying to convince myself that sufferring has to be a big part of my life?
I know that you cant be happy all the time, if you were always happy there would be no dept in you as a person, but why do I think that without a very dark side people wont take me seriously?
If the darkside gets too overpowering, nobody can muster being around me for too long. I will become "too much" and people will need to "breath" after having socialised with me.
So what is it that is missing from my life?
Because I know there is something that is missing, I dont feel "complete". For so long now I have thought that it is the love from a man that would make me whole again. But after a few dates and endless hours sitting on cafés watching the world (and various man) go by, I am not convinced.
I can truly say that I have not seen or met a man that I would like to meet up with again. Not even for a coffee. I am just not intrested.
So what does that mean?
Am I turning into a nun?
Or a spinster?
Am I becoming bitter? Oh god I hope not, the worst thing that could happen would be for me to become bitter.
I think what i really need, and what I feel makes me the happiest at the moment, is spending quality time with my friends.

But I guess that I did infact have too high expectations, in the way that on some level, in my subconcious, there was a small part of me that thought, or maybe I just hoped and longed for, people and friends to call me everyday, invite me to gatherings or just for coffee. There is only so many times you can invite yourself before you start to look like a scavenger (have I spelled that correctly?) or totally desperate. I am desperate. But I dont need to show that side to the whole world.
And I realise that for the biggest part of my life I have been battling with the feeling of not being included, of being the odd one, an outsider and a misfit, when maybe it is time to just accept myself for who and what I am.
I am not like everyone else, I love "dumb" people who thinks that the paper goes through the wire when you send a fax..but I dont like shallow people who will judge and look down at us who are not like themselves. I wonder how you measure intellegence, is it by how much you know? Or how you use your knowledge?
I guess the answer to that depends on who you ask..

I am curous to what the future holds for me, will it be studies? Or work?
Or maybe a bit of both?
Hopefully travel, maybe work whilst travelling?

Happy easter everyone, hope you get many eggs.