(no subject)

I wonder sometimes if I'm more superficial than I would like to admit. I respond a certain way to beauty ("painfully pretty" is a state that comes to mind), I work towards making external changes in myself, I worry at a slight gain in weight (though surely, that was to be expected?); does this mean I'm more focused on the external markers than the (implicit) internal meaning? It makes me wonder at the communicative meaning of visual cues; surely, they're meant to transmit some meaning? Or has meaning been so long assigned to them that it has become understood? Language, it appears, is my metaphor for just about everything involving more than one person, but who agrees upon meaning?

I am also beginning to doubt my abilities at communication in general. I soliloquize fairly well, fancy myself a crafter of epistles, wax philosophical at the drop of a hat, poetic substantially less often, but is it really communicative? Dialogue seems to me the purest form of communication (probably because it is the sphere in which I feel least skilled and adept), and yet I engage in it haltingly, rarely, and with great trepidation. There are days when I feel positively the village idiot when it comes to dialogue; indulged by others as some sort of idiot savant, but not really someone with whom you wish to associate too much, lest the taint of ineffability wear off (for madness is surely contagious).

Not being gloomy or necessarily self-deprecating, just suddenly aware of my limitations.