ms

Today has sucked to no end. I woke up groggy and was unaware that it was Saturday because I had to work. All I know is that I have the next three days off and I couldn't be more fucking happy. I was thinking a lot today and when I think it's normally a bad thing because I know that is when the numbing grip of stagnation has started to set in. I have been on an ethereal high for the past week because of the record label and spending so much time on something I enjoy and live for has sustained my emotional needs. Then I began the thought process. Of course I start with my first worry, money. It's not that I don't make a decent living or that I'm starving. I just have a bad habit of blowing it and then not having anything to show for it. I don't view money as a sacred object or anything of that nature. I know it's just a means of trade but I would love to have the opportunity to trade more. ha. Of course the proverbial tip of the iceberg has only been touched. Delving into the further recesses of my mind only leads to more sorrow. Not an overwhelming feeling of grief or helplessness, just a twinge of pain that pulses like a stubbed toe. It hurts but not enough to make me cry. Just enough to know that it is there and that sooner or later I should pay attention to that area of my life. Of course the area normally sealed off is the Love area. I go through stages of want and need for affection that sometimes only to have those followed by the glossy sheen and calculated callousness of a broken heart. I miss Jessica. She hurt me but I still miss her more than I would care to admit or have anyone. Of course I play it cool when the subject is brought. the normal question of "Have you talked to her lately?" is followed by the rehearsed response of "No, I have not and I really don't care." But I do. And that's what grates at my still beating heart. I give all of my love and attention to one person. I think that it is being returned and I feel peaceful and content. All the signs were there and I missed them, or maybe I just refused to witness them. Not returning calls. Breaking dates to hang out and be together. A hug that missed the warmth I longed for. And when I would start to recognize these not-so-subtle hints of dismissal she would follow up with a smile to break any barriers I would erect. Her hug would brighten my eyes like a candle can illuminate a room void of light. Her touch would erode away any feelings of doubt regarding us. For Christmas I painted her a picture. I know she enjoys art so i decided to pour myself on canvas and the results were spectacular. I could pick out a brushstroke and tell you what I was feeling at that moment. She enjoys Coldplay so I bought us tickets to see them play as well. Needless to say I was looking forward to seeing them with her by my side. I don't think she felt the same way. My calls were unreturned. My messages unanswered. A knock at her door was met with silence. I even held hope that she would call up until the last day. As the hours passed i realized that I had once again been used as a surrogate boyfriend. An emotional pillow that was to be replaced once a more suitable pillow could have been found. I gave all I had and now that I think about it, I recieved nothing in return. I can't believe in karma because I have done nothing to deserve this pain that has come around more often I like. So I pull away from my thoughts of butterflies and puppy dogs and true love. Instead I put a brick down. And another. Another follows. I wish I would run out of bricks and when I think I finally have set the last piece of fired clay in mortar I come up with another reason to tell myself "Just a few more bricks for added strength. Just a few more." I hate when people say "You have your whole life ahead of you." I cringe at thought of it. I always perceive my best times to be behind me and I fold when I realize that the good times I remember are far outnumbered by the times I still feel. I'm not suicidal. I could never hurt my family or friends that way. Ending my life would close the chapters of pain I have been writing about for 24 years. But it would also start a new chapter of hurt in everyone I keep close to me. And it's of no matter if that chapter ends up only being a footnote, a passage, or an entire novelette, I caused that pain and could never feel right about it. Even at my last breath I wouldn't feel any relief, only remorse at the thought of hurting the people I consider dear to me. It feels good to write again. I'm a Journalism major and have not written anything for four months now. No songs. No essays. Nothing on a napkin. Just small random thoughts of pseudo-happiness at the prospect of a new business. Just blank thoughts. Writer's Block is normally an obstacle of inconvenience but in my case it was more than an inconvenience. It was a burden. Damn it feels good to write again.