it is way too late for me to be awake, especially considering the lack of sleep i've had recently. but i'm inspired...
lots of good things happen amongst annoyances at work and with family. i'm back in south jersey tonight and things are better. i won't be at the office tomorrow and this makes me smile. i miss my girl, but i know the next two days will fly. friday = my cousin damon's wedding. saturday = whatever/time with the fam.
my writing is a little stalled, but i'm getting some stuff down which is good. i'm concentrating on form and structure, particularly the value of repetition/some kind of refrain. it's something i worked on a while back and it's cool to return to it.
i went to see an awesome show (technically rock opera) that trisha is stage managing. it's called "greendale," after the neil young concept album. it's pretty rad. it may not be "tommy," but it makes me want to buy the album (despite me hating neil young's voice).
next weekend abby and lex move to JC, literally down the street, and it's almost enough to make me stay...but new york, man, it's been calling me for years. i got to go. and i love it too much not to. helene and i will be seeing a few places shortly. good prospects. i have faith.
some ridiculous crap has also been occurring, not so much to me, but to those i love. can we just be done with this cursed month already? (i have a theory that sometime between july-august is historically chock full of bad events. either that or it's a huge freaking coincidence.) these days, i'm feeling pretty strong and capable that i can manage just fine...but sometimes even the new & improved me gets down...
and then i remember the blue october concert in texas or random good times with my roommate or pride or eating indian on a thursday afternoon or cross-country or state phone calls with friends or writing on late nights in the subway or waking up with her -- and i smile. i'm happy. i'm on the right track...
In the Post Secret book, I found a secret that could be hers. Of course, you all know know who her is. If you still read this, you know who you are.
It said: I was a bitch to you. I knew you loved me. I'm so sorry.
There was a picture behind it that resembled my face so much I did a double-take. I'm fairly certain I'm imagining it, though because she would never do something like that.
I would do something like that.
I started writing so many things down here, but all of my words are either overstating or diminishing. I will probably never get it exactly right. And I'm okay with that.
I thought I had a secret to share, but I guess I don't. I don't really keep secrets. You know that. The only secrets I've kept were yours. Yes, really. (And anyone else who told me something I had to swear never to repeat.) I respected you when I should have been questioning you. I trusted you when I should have been wary of you. I loved you when I should have been loving myself first. I didn't. I loved you first. Those are just some of the lessons I learned. But I've lost all the anger. I let it go.
It has taken me two and a half years, but I am finally learning how to let you go. I will think of you always and wish you well.
You can rewrite anything you like, but I know who I am now & what that time meant to me. I will remember. I will get stronger. Everyday.
I had no true resolve or peace - it was the stuff I created for myself that got me through it. I guess you are the only person you can rely on to get yourself through anything. And for me, writing has saved me. No matter how many times I put it down, a new revelation always comes to me. So maybe this is all obvious, but I needed to say it.
This is public because I actually believe that this little post will provide some kind of solace to the masses. At least those masses in their post-collegiate early 20s.
See, the last few weeks I've been feeling like a massive failure. I'm not in grad school, I haven't been published, I like my job but I don't love it, I'm worried about my creativity being drained away, I'm poor, I'm a big ball of confusion, worry, spazing, and generally tortured by my own hand. Sometimes my inner monologue isn't pretty.
But slowly, ever so slowly (after a minor meltdown), I started coming in contact with friends I had recently lost touch with and found out about their lives. And the generally consensus?
None of us know what the hell we're doing. We're all struggling, we're all worried, we're definitely all poor, and we're constantly fighting our inner demons to get to the next best thing.
Sometimes we fake our happiness for everyone around us because we believe our friend next to us has it so much better. They've really got their shit together.
But they don't.
And that is comforting. Cuz...we're all going through this...
almost out of no where, a sigh of peace & relief filled me to the brim and i was terribly grateful because i no longer had hesitations and reservations or feelings of anger, bitterness, or loss about the past. about them. about you. about a time i can't ever get back, but i know its purpose more now than i did then and i'm feeling much more at ease about it all...
I'm listening to "Pictures of You" after a long hiatus. I don't care right now.
For some reason, I'm content to be sad again.
I think I'm letting a certain conflict take over and convince me I'm either a selfish friend or inadequate girlfriend. I'm just really depressed about it and I don't feel like cheering myself up and then I find other things to pick apart.
And you throw Cure music on top of that and I'm just bound to be an emotional train wreck.
But like I said, I'm happy that way...
This is the girl you've always known, you say you love, you wish would change...
the sentence "i am happy" actually rolls off my tongue without slight hesitation. of course there are always things to make & do (homage to an old U2 song), but yes, happiness. i found some.
there are parts of me, though, that will always fixate beyond that. i continue to re-wound myself, over and over - about everything. is it because there's nothing better to do? is it to have something to write with? (past tragedies make such great tools...) is it because i am a true masochist?
or maybe i just don't like letting go...of anything.
i both love and despise change.
and it's true: i am. changing.
i don't want to forget. i don't want to forget how i got here. what i lost & what i gained.
i don't want to ever become truly jaded...and i don't want to lose that one last spark of naivete.
i guess i'll spend the rest of my life balancing between the two...