I'm feeling incredibly empty and spiteful right now. Haven't felt this way since high school. This might mean that I will start writing plays again, to deal, but that would be a stretch. I can't believe that I'm single. Single. 1. Not two. Not me and the Shannon bear, nope, just me, alone, with nothing else to do. Great. My balance is thrown and I fall. It's like a shoulder throw. Once they grab your arm, you know what's going to happen. All you can do is break the fall and try to work from there, try to roll out of any holds and take the blows, but it's futile. They have your arm. They control you. It's like that. I am so attatched to her that I'm just here, flopping around and flailing, trying to break free, but I cannot. She's still got a hold of me, even if she doesn't realize it. I didn't realize it until it was gone. It's like I need to break my arm to get away, gnaw it off to the stump and yank hard to sever it. This is going to hurt a lot. It does. It's that pain of neccesity, of learning what everyone else was going through when you were giving them advice, of recognizing where you are in the sequence, and wanting it to go faster, but it's not going any faster. It's a slow thing. Like slugs. You want the salt to burn it away, but that would be too easy. It's just another day, another way to play, so to say, but why anyway? What does it matter to be there, alone, in place with people, laughing and singing, when you are alone in spite of your best intentions, your wishes and dreams, and yet you can't save her, you can't save us, the we, all you can do is see it go, down the drain, never to be seen again. That fire from below blows your mind. You see it all coming back to you again, the good the bad and the better, the worst is left out in hindsight, where everything is golden and gleaming, perfect in your eyes, but you see the flaws, the diamond is not worth what you think it thought it costs, and you look away again, never looking it in the eyes, for that might be too much, too soon, to do. You're done, for a while, and you need to get going and get gone. See ya, saw ya, have a nice day. Tschuss.


Hate this shit.

Happier tomorrow, during the day. Right now is the unhappy hour. Train tomorrow at 10 to the city for walking and singing. Wonder if they card? Bah, doesn't matter anyway. I just want to have a little fun, with my friends, with the joss and blythe, with chaz's crew. I want to have fun with her, as she facilitated most of my fun, but fuck it, i'm screwed, and there are so many better people that she will be with, eventually. I've lost my shine. I got comfortable, and thus stagnated, thus became worthless. The novelty wore off. People don't think i write anymore, and while i don't write like i used to, I still write. It still sucks, but it's something.