Plucked Strings

It's amazing to me how dramatically better my life has become in just the past 5 or 6 days. I really can't believe I'm this lucky.

In retrospect, it's astounding just how magical the entire weekend is. While it is true that life is really just a series of coin-flips and coincidences, the sheer number of things that had to happen exactly the way they did for something this perfect to happen blows my mind.

But I'm happy--so, so happy--to be with you. I meant it when I told you that you were the best thing to ever happen to me. I meant it when I said you made me want to be better than I am.

I may be away from my new home right now, but I know I'll return soon enough.

Words: 762
Lyrics: "I understand I wasn't part of the plan / a dollar short, a minute early / but I am your man"

The Tick Tock of the Clock is Painful

You block the clock with gummy bears.
You block the clock with a pillow.
You block the clock with your hair.

But still it ticks. Inexorably forward. The alarm goes off, no matter whether or not we can see the time.

Now, I stare at it and dare it to move forward. Urge it. Rush it. Implore it. Tick away the time that separates you and me.

Whooooops.

Falling behind on blogs again. So much shit to get done before Thursday morning so that I'm not a disappointment. =p

Too excited for words. Well, other than these:

Yesterday's Words: 760
Today's Words: 755

And here I thought this earth had been salted. I guess not.

Secret Secret

I don't think it's any secret to any one reading this blog that despite my public bravado and ego, I am privately very hard on myself and not exactly big on self-belief.

What is probably a secret, however, is just how deep that runs. It really feels like no matter what or how much I do, I will never amount to anything. My modesty isn't a virtue. It emanates from my core belief that I really am not that good.

I don't have trouble accepting compliments and praise because I'm being modest; I have trouble accepting them because I just cannot hear any veracity in them. And yet, I still crave them, perhaps more than most. I suspect this is due to 99.9% of them ringing hollow because of my twisted self-image.

Many times, particularly when I'm very down, I believe that there is some fundamental flaw deep within my very essence. As a result, I believe everything I do or touch will turn sour and be destroyed. I don't think it's any stretch to assume this is why I'm often so detached, distant, and guarded, because ultimately, I just don't want to fuck shit up for people I care about.

This creates a very strange dilemma. If I care very much about someone, I find myself with the urge to fly away from them, lest I wreck things for them. I'm getting better at choking that off, but the underlying concern is still there: Everything I touch seems to turn to ash. I am trying to hope that it won't happen and not flee for the hills. I'd never flee anyway, since I know that would just hurt people all the more.

Sheesh, I am messed up.

Words: 1662
Lyrics: "When reactions turn into hurricanes  And the middle course seems a little tame / Whether full or empty it's all the same"

"Nice Guys"

"Nice guys always finish last."

I remember that saying

time and time again as

I watch myself get passed

The only meaning: my inferences

from the subtext and context of

this tapestry we've woven—

too much god damn interference—

too much S%T@A░T*I^C.

I can't think straight any more.

How did I get here?

What did I do wrong?

Upon deaf ears I do implore.

Now I find myself outside,

scratching

                      clawing

begging

                      pleading

—ragged fingers on the door

I was never in this race;

I am a modern Hermes,

carrying grim portents

for that which they chase.

Only I return not to Divine Mount

Olympus with my caduceus,

but to my hovel while you

lose no sleep on my account.

I Should Have Bought Insurance

Damnit, Shatner, I knew I should have listened to you.

I now have a phobia of shovels. That is all. I'm still excited, but I might be looking over my shoulder 95% of the time.

Words: 762
Lyrics: ANYTHING THAT IS NOT MUDSHOVEL OH GOD.

Oops

Skipped a day. Oh well, exhaustion is a hell of a drug.

Managed to snag ten extra hours before leaving town next week. Yay.

Found out I won't get the money for it until the paycheck after that week's, rendering it mostly moot. Boo.

So it goes. I can't believe I've been working there for a year and didn't realize that. Whoops. That was going to put me in a bind, but I found another job that will pay me a ton before I go, meaning I'm actually getting close to the amount I hoped to have to allow an appropriate amount of spoiling. I'm not quite there, but I'm close. I expect to receive a comment about my impossible standards for myself at any moment now.

I hate my mind, sometimes. Since I'm not the only person excited about the trip, the irrational fear of it suddenly getting canceled has finally been fended off, however, in it's place is the fear of all that excitement rendering me ultimately disappointing.

Fuck you, brain.

Yesterday's Words: 754
Today's Words: 788
Lyrics: "I'll say it straight and plain / I know I've made mistakes / I've always been afraid"