coldplay, etc

I've just left a Coldplay concert. How I'm feeling: a bit sad. Because the music stopped? No, the concert ended perfectly. In fact, the concert as a whole was well played. Even the staged encore pleased. It may have been the most entertaining part, actually. And an accoustic-style set in the middle, dedicated to Johnny Cash, was great. So why so sad? After thinking about it on my drive home, alone, I decided it was just that: loneliness. I sat on a hill side with 20,000 people, interacted with maybe ten and connected with: zero. There was a grab-bag of interesting people all around me and I didn't talk, joke, laugh, fight, anything, with them. My three somewhat meaningful interactions involved a guy, Mike, who wanted to smoke a bowl and believed I was hiding pot from him; then there was a girl who couldn't light a lighter, so I lit it for her, handed it to her and watched it go out; then there was that girls' chaperone, who was wearing earplugs and studying Spanish. We spoke politely for a few seconds. Hurrah. I don't blame anyone else for my lack of interactions. Rather, I think I'm emotionally broken. As in I don't feel much at all. It's been months since I've laughed. Snickered, chuckled, politely shook my head bemusedly, yes; but not laughed. Or hardly even smiled, except to deflect the question marks in pitying eyes; pityful people are frightened away any sign of teeth.
I guess I've never had much tact. I'll look a passer-by in the eye, unblinking, until they look away. And often I see them ponder me, even though they don't know me. They wonder, perhaps, how I can look for so long and give no reaction at all. I don't smile, or flinch, or glare, or search. I just look. And when they are gone, I look at the next person. I never connect. I'll never let anyone see me. My walls are not steel, screaming "Stay out!" Instead, they are white paper: vanilla, blank, nothing. They'll break easy enough, if ever anyone tries. They're like a curtain between an artist's premiere and an expectant audience. People are asking questions with their eyes, and the walls will soon fall to reveal a(n) -- masterpiece? essay? wall? nothing? fiasco?

Until this summer, I've been really laid back. I'm generally a pretty laisse faire person: don't worry, let it happen. But this summer, I've gone nuts. I've turned OCD, ADD, control freak, worry-wart. It's really frustrating to be the annoying one sweating the details and freaking out. I don't know what my rush is, but I do rush, everywhere I go. I miss telling people "Don't worry; it's all going to work out." I think I don't anymore because I've stopped believing it will all work out. I think I give myself too much credit. Can one kid like me really stop God? Can I really mess up his plans? Is this something to be insecure about? No. What he wants to happen, will happen, regardless of what I do. I really do want to "be still and know he is God." I've just lost all faith in his good will. Thankfully, he's willing to be faithful on my behalf. Even when I can't believe it, he's still making my feet like hind's feet, and is enabling me to follow him to the high places. He is a God of hesed: unfailing love; and when we lack, he overflows.

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Here's some observations I jotted at the concert (what else is there to do?):
"Twenty thousand electric stars, eatingHuggingDancingLaughingTalkingSingingScreaming, blinking to the music. Twenty thousand beating hearts set to drums; the chords strike a message home. Twenty thousand syncopated forty-dollar-ticket-buyers unite in one rythym -- for a beat. All eyes, set in rows, in a greengrass smile, lift the rythym, lift the spirit, wrap themselves around a man."

"Electricgreen river, murmur through the blades -- of people, of chairs, blankets, laughs, smoke, grass. Hope plastered on a TV screen, echos of a stage; a man reflected in a river, electric and... alive."

"It's the small things, which no one sees, that make me feel special, as if God created them (that moment) just for me."

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And now for something completely different. I want to remind you, the reader, that this is blog is a diablog, not a monoblog. That means you get to respond. See the comment link? Click it. Say hello. Interact. I know it's digital and virtual, but you're still human.

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And finally, a quote from Shall We Dance: "I think we get married so that we'll have a witness to our lives." Personally, I don't want to get married yet, but I'm tired of being unknown. I'd like a witness, in the form of a friend. Hmm... I really miss having a roommate.

Goodnight dear void.