oddments of all things

The inability to know or even have a really good sense for your importance to others, your value. The feeling that knowing this would be really worthwhile and the sort of tentative examination of that followed by the complete knowledge that such examinations are tedious and dull and prove nothing if not your own total lack of importance and worth to anyone ever. Your desire to escape that knowledge. The plunge into activity, into myriad activities, into hobbies and into the lives of others, the submersion meant to remove or at least alleviate the amount of time spent on tedious self doubt. The moment of gazing, enraptured, at an object or objects of affection, the stretches of time you spend watching someone as if they were a film laid out for your observation. The pure delight of stepping past that watching and into seeing. How it feels to know someone with that intensity. The moment of wondering if anyone sees or has ever seen you with such completeness and such pleasure. The inability to know or even have a really good sense for your importance to others. The days you can spend looping this. The days you could spend doing something else.