I read the previous two posts with a slight smile on my face. It's been five-ish months. I haven't been writing. Maybe this is part of the problem. Remember when in middle school you listened to music and you thought, "This is so deep," but really you only thought that because you knew it was, but weren't quite sure why. You'd listen to love songs and think, "This is cute", "I wish I had someone I could sing this to, or give this to." Or you would listen to sad music, fully aware that it came from somewhere deep in a person, but not quite sure how it got there. You'd try to write songs yourself, poetry, that would match in feeling these songs you somehow related to. And you never quite could. And then suddenly love songs had meaning! "Yes!" you thought, "This song was written to be played for me, or by me because it says everything I or the person who at this very moment is in love with me, needs to say." Suddenly all love songs are about you, and about how happy you are, and assured you feel, and confident that you're going to get married, and have a job, and maybe one day have some kids to feel like you've failed until they come running back to you. And then when things look bleak, and things change, and you can't help but for the first time in your life live in the past because you cannot believe what's happening to it all ... you understand where those dark, seductive, sad songs came from. They grin at you like an old friend that you never quite new the eye color of, and help you remember what it felt like before.
Excuse, if you will, any unclear metaphors above.
Right now, I'm on autopilot. Right now, melancholy is apparent, and as I try and scramble away from it I cannot help but think my way back.
Waa waa waa. Life is so hard.
Some day I'll write a book.
There are no synonyms for right now.
