Lets try to be more coherent

And i sit here, staring at the blank blog space in front of me and I don't know what to say. I'm listening to music in an attempt to get past the hangover and the sadness.
It's one twenty PM, and i don't know what I'm doing between now and work (at four). I feel like i should eat, but i have no desire to at all. I feel like I need to get out of the house, but this damn computer is my lifeline right now -- it's keeping me sane, something concrete that's anchoring me to this hole.

I think I only ever blog about my melodrama because it's like crying out for help, you know? it's a passive-agressive way of asking to be loved, helped, saved. The good stuff is only interesting when it's quirky and amusing, and I just...I often don't have that in me.

I am fighting this war with who i am, and who i want to be. I want to be proud of my personality, of my life...but I'm not. I always feel like i'm too *not*. I'm not pretty enough, not happy enough, not doing anything worth noting. I'm failing myself and everyone else. People tell me they have faith in me, but WHY? They tell me I'm far too hard on myself. They may be right. But I just feel wrong all over.

This isn't where I wanted to be. This isn't what i wanted, this isn't what I thought would happen. And i feel trapped. And I feel lost. This reminds me of how little control I actually have over my life.

It's so EASY to be a mess. It's so easy to have everything and nothing all at once.

I shouldn't have kissed you. It should have just stayed a possibility-- should have stayed an unanswered question. Kinda like why did you text me at six am? Where were you until six am? And at the same time...oh, how little i care.

What i hate is that when i get over you -- when everything passes and fades away and we can be friends -- something else happens and I'm sucked back in. Maybe we can't be friends. Maybe what I need is to be away from you, forever.

And I haven't cried about it. Not yet, not now, not ever.

And it makes me painfully aware of what I want that I don't have. And now, I feel like it needs to be over, and i need to go home.

I guess...

I miss you.

Hey, muffin tops!

I'm in Charleston! Haven't checked in here in almost a month....sorry. : P

K-diggity, i have post cards for you my dear...they just haven't been sent.

Oh, and have i mentioned that i managed to lose my cards in NYC? Yeah, thats not fun. But I'm alive and well. Looking forward to getting home, too. : )


s

It's not a silly little moment

Ah, john. Lyrically, he's brilliant and i love him. As a person...I bet he's a prick. : P teasing, lisa. don't kill me.

I've been insane with work lately, and so exhausted that all the moments that i tried to pretend never happened, all the things that i had swept under my emotional rug have been turning up over and over again. And so I talk to those I've always talked to, and i have been writing more.

And what i have come up with is this: a strange desire to appear like i have it all together to some, while allowing some weakness to show to others. I don't understand it, really. I've come away from this slowly being able to accept my own responsibility in the few bad things that have happened, and enjoy the multitude of good things. But i wonder: why do I always pretend?
I think that i see any sadness as a failure to adapt to my life outside of "home" -- that if i am sad, I fail. If something falls apart -- if I work too much and can't maintain a shiny, happy veneer, i am a failure at my life and a failure at my mask. And what do I have if I don't have my mask?

"Everyday she sits at her kitchen table, on her couch, in her chair, every day - a cup of coffee(or tea) in her hand and the ever present journal on her lap. She sits, hunched and completely disengaged from the outside world -- she's broken against her routine, smashed in to little pievces against the little things -- against the coffee table, the cutlery drawer, the napkin rings. Every day she sinks a little deeper, shatters a little more completely into this veil of shadows and dust. Every day she reaches out to those around her...and every day they ignore her. She feels like she is screaming underwater -- she feels liks she is losing breath pointlessly. Her air is limited-- no sense in wasting it. So every day she sits in her chair, at her table, on her couch as the signs of her death fall on blind eyes and deaf ears. She needs help, she knows. She fears it won't come."

by the time i reconise this moment...this moment will be gone.
I bought a notebook the other day -- a really pretty one -- and i couldn't decide what to do with it. so it sat in my bag, waiting for something - waiting for inspiration. Well, the day after i bought it i had a HORRIBLE day. Jake and i fought, work sucked and i think it rained all day. the rain was the best part of my day, in fact. So I decided to use my new book to enhance the forces of good.
I call it my book of beautiful moments. Every single day, before i go to bed I write about one beautiful moment I had that day. It could be anything as simple as a song taht made my heart happy wheni was walking home from work, a good table i had, a conversation with someone or a moment that i was lost in a happy memory. It's amazing because it puts your heart at ease before you go to sleep and it forces you to reflect on the beautiful moments you have instead of the sorrow and worry. There will always be things that make you sad. There will always be stress and anxiety. So why not focus instead on the things that bring your heart peace and joy?

I think you need a book of beautiful moments.