I feel that way when I have seizures, don’t get enough sleep or spend too much time alone. It’s easy to not connect to the world, it takes work to stay connected.

Atmosphere for me. This past semester I had to take classes from 9am to 9pm every Monday. Until around 4 or 5pm the campus is rather booming with activity. People chatting here and there, crowds going to different classes, the sun beaming down, very lively. I feel like one of the collective.

During the later hours though, relatively few people, rarely anyone talking, and the darkness of night or gloom of afternoon. I feel more singled out, more alone.

Disassociated? Hmmmmnnnn. Maybe you should try a different antiperspirant.

@Sir Goofy LOL

I certainly do. It’s hard to tell just how much I’m away from it all until I’m having a conversation with someone. I usually miss 1 in 2 sentences.

@daemonelson…. Do you find this unsettling? For me the moments of clarity are the more troubling.

Sometimes I feel that way.

Usually it is a result of an overdose of the feeling that I belong to another place in time where common sense was common.

Reality t.v. and vapid celebrity interviews seem to be a trigger.

@TheJoker There are very few social situations in which I feel content. Actually there are very few situations in which I feel content in general.
Moments of clarity are rather unsettling, though. They tend to occur near-constantly when I’m sleep-deprived. Which is about 90% of the time.

I often feel that I must have come from another dimension. People here are so different from my world. I have zero interest in fashion/celebrities and sports. I laugh at things that few people find funny, and I don’t laugh at most things that are supposedly funny.

When I have an issue with the government I don’t like, I get involved and try to get it changed, peacefully, rather than waste time complaining and doing nothing else.

The list of differences could go on and on, but suffice to say, I am glad I can hang out on Fluther, because I am more comfortable here than most other online sites.

@daemonelson… Insomnia is a great one for making you feel ‘out-there’. At my worst it’s like there’s something wrong with the world, like having an itch beneath your skin so it cant be scratched.
Contentment is definitely a rare commodity!

@YARNLADY… Hehehe, might you have accidently slipped into….. The Twilight Zone ;)

@TheJoker Oh, yes. However I find this same sleep-deprivation to be most useful in completing tasks. The natural ‘HOLY SHIT I NEED TO DO LOTS OF THINGS VERY QUICKLY’ I seem to get after about 24 hours of no sleep does that.
Speaking of completely unrelated topics. Were you just asking the question out of curiosity or to see the opinions of others like you?

@daemonelson…. mostly to see if there are many others like me, & to see what their story is.

@TheJoker Ah, jolly good. I’d expect there are a fair few of us here. Such conditions tend to be surprisingly prevalent.

@YARNLADY – I can relate to your answer.

this is a blog i wrote recently. seems apt.

I am finding it increasingly difficult to speak to people. Just to share ideas and socialise with previous strangers because they happen to be in the same place at the same time and probably know such and such through someone else’s cousin.

It seems to me like dickheadism has fervently permeated my generation to the extent that I can’t seem to cope with the inevitable idiocy that arises from even the most basic conversation. Not that you could really call those exchanges of observations about the weather and such ‘conversations’.

I am unfortunately far too male to get along with most women (getting ready together, doing our makeup and hair and taking photos of ourselves in front of the mirror aint my thing), and far too man-like to really appreciate what dudes can offer. All of this is great right now, but not ever liking a dude enough to bother with more than friendship doesn’t do much for the old ‘faith in love’ truism. I just get far too bored with dudes and their persistent folly. Talk about rock and a hard place.

I do rather enjoy ignoring emotions and not talking about feelings and glazing over when someone brings up rom-com or chick-lit or some other moronic hyphenated cultural milieu. Plus all the other messy details and boring bullshit that masculinity thankfully disposes of. Just say fuck it. It’s much better.

A primitive and trivial example is my ability to binge drink (ladette to lady anyone?). While something I’m sure all the bourgeoisie and fun Nazis would say not to venerate, I can for the most part throw back beer quicker and in greater quantities than most men can manage. This is admired by all on the premise that it is man-like, and thus commendable. You can see where I’m going with this. Drinking like a dude should really not be something I wear as a badge of honour, and yet I find myself a slave to the reverence it engenders – for being manly and doing things like men is fucking great.

Ironically, most dudes who like tattooed women are on a different level to me. I’m not saying this in a reductionist way at all, but I simply cannot relate to the kind of boys that like women with ink. Usually they are tattooists or piercists or tradesmen, or simply jobless, or far too often harbouring the belief that being in a mildly successful (and I use the term successful extremely loosely) band is all they really need in life. Not that these things do not have their own value; I could certainly not engage someone in a conversation about how to draw or the best bricks to use; but so too they cannot usually engage my attention in a conversation about Quantum Theory or Marquis De Sade or theories of the flâneur. I’m not trying to be parvenu about the whole thing, but this is the shit that interests me and generally people look at me strange when I attempt to wax lyrical about the latest installation by Maurizio Cattelan. It’s fucking frustrating yo.

I suppose what I am saying is that I don’t exactly feel at one with socially acceptable conventions in any subculture I dip into, and often feel my personality is far too abrasive and incongruous to ever really be acceptable to the imaginary sultans of cultural creed. Most dudes that listen to the music I like so pitifully succumb to the ridiculousness of the ‘hardcore’ subculture that I cant help but shake my head in disdain. Obviously the inherent contradiction that lies in rejecting society through heavy music while simultaneously dressing like lemmings creates the rather delicious oxymoron of subculture conformity. Theories on group cohesion and belonging have been over-analysed after the rise of Punks through the Sex Pistols era that I’m not going to waste my time by regurgitating someone else’s ideas. But you get the gist.

And then of course there are the scene sluts. I’m not really sure how dudes validate the notion in their heads that Rock & Roll Barbie is an apt choice of woman/manbag. Hardcore and metal is predicated on the ethos of Fuck You and is supposedly a rejection of social mores, while also being just so damn good at caressing your ears. Yet somehow, these anorexic fake-titted whores in customised Iron Maiden shirts with their breasts falling out and skirts so short I can see their front-bums are so popular with the paradoxical hardcore dudes that those of us with half a brain and some wit stand no chance. I sincerely doubt these whores could even recite half the lyrics to Raining Blood, and yet there they stand, in their Slayer shirts and swallow tattoos on their protruding hip bones looking for a cock that could propel them up the hardcore hierarchy while they’re not preoccupied pouting for self-portraits to saturate their facebooks with. I guess sluts are cool anywhere.

Does anyone else remember seeing 18 visions at Soundwave, circa 2008? The singer told all the fellas to grab a bitch and fuck her in the bushes, which was met with squeals of delight by all the little scene hoes. Is it just me or did something go seriously wrong in that dude’s brain?

The worst part is that dudes ignorantly encourage this plastic lady by revelling in the self-inflated egos that a patronising tête-à-tête with the pretty birdy can bring.

Despite all this preposterousness, I am glad to be smart, and educated, and career-orientated, and travelled, and interested in science and cultural theory, and into nerdy things like literature and history and zoos and museums, juxtaposed by my love for metal and tattoos and drinking too much whiskey and seeking out the goriest films and playing car racing video games, and losing money playing poker, and generally behaving like a twat. It usually sifts out the fuckheads from my life.

Guys that are into the first part of my personality are lawyers or architects or whatever else white-collar job – but my choice of music and penchant for body modification renders me inappropriate. On the other hand, I obviously find myself completely disgusted by hardcore/metal lads who can hold a great conversation about music and damn do they look good, but generally have nothing else to offer my insatiable appetite for learning and experiencing the things in life that don’t take place in a beauty shop or cosmetic surgery.

Third-wave feminism is churlish and eluded on the basis that it just sounds outdated and daft in light of the rise of crap like Sex and the City (I tend to think they’re all complete sluts, even the nice one) and the supposedly liberated women who think its great to lift their shirts and kiss other girls in front of dudes. Ladies I suggest you get a clue. And also read Female Chauvinist Pigs: Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture by Ariel Levy. That is if you deemed it necessary to learn to read amidst your belief that you are just a dolly.

If you’ve made it this far into my rant then congratulations. No doubt it is loaded with inductive reasoning and satirical she-devil tirades, so save your breath if you wish to slam this blog for I am my own best critic.