Brooding at the Salty Dog

Surrounded by elated, no, bloviated faces, the sky darkens and so does my mood. I begin to brood, wondering why I cannot be happy like these people are, why I cannot communicate like these people do, why I cannot just be in the moment....but see. That is half of the problem. I am always in the moment. Always worrying about how I am being thought of, perceived, stereotyped, pidgeon-holed. It's always about me. I am in the moment, but I am never out of me. I hate me. That hate simultaneously hides in horror at my reflection, yet cannot help but continue to look. I have to admit it to get better. I hate who I am. I cannot love anybody until I love me. How simple. How trite. How true.