a few steps short of the Romantic Ideal, that's me!
��������� �����lucky you. you get two entries today. if you want to see something a bit more mundane, go back an entry.we were meant to live for so much more / have we lost ourselves switchfoot; meant to live.
i think that lyric, by a christian band, yes, aptly sums up the feeling of less-than i've had today, and yesterday, too. wondering, thinking about how things are and how they are unfolding. unable to keep from focusing on things that are painful, or things that shift.
and i used to think that things were meant to be / farewell to the old me dar williams; farewell.
again, focusing on the past, how far (?) i've come. how far i have yet to go. discovering, in the shower, an odd dark spot, a freckle. instantly consumed with the panic of cancer, i rubbed at my arm until it faded a bit. only then did my heartbeat start to slow back to a sluggish, waking-up pace. eyes wider, a little bit.
i'm so tired i don't even know what side of fighting i'm on / and if i wanted no part of it, you'd say i was doing something wrong matt nathanson; naked.
and that's how it feels. with this horrible hate for summer, this - how i told jason last night:
'i'm so sick of summer.' and i am, the indolence, the oppressiveness, the shifting temperatures and laziness. i need to be occupied. i want winter, classes, snow lined coats, the feeling of being alive when you step into a warm room out of the cold. when you can eat soup and feel warmer, not just oily. the idealized taste of campbell's chicken noodle soup. which is never quite the same when you eat it. only at home, with the right kind of tap water, and the right kind of stove, and pot. baked-in taste. the image in my head is stomping through snow. so much hate. too much acid inside of me as it is - hate's something that corrupts you from the inside. x-ray me, find a hollowed out cavity in my stomach. spiderwebs dangling from the sides. and above the gamma-rayed bones see my head like a sad moon hanging over the earth. sighsome.
i am colorblind / taffystuck and tonguetied / pull me out from inside counting crows; colorblind.
the sky is the light gray that you expect to darken. like watercolours, when dipped with the brush of uncareful childhood. the trees' leaves are inverting. the wind is hard and the levolor blinds are shuddering. thunderstorms are expected, the cute little anvil-headed icon with the small fork of yellow protruding from beneath it on the weather channel. but the map shows the thin band of green dissipating somewhere up by bangor. it'd be nice to have something cathartic. to have the weather mirror my tempestuous mood right now.
and i was wondering / could i just be you tonight matchbox twenty; could i be you.
i'm so proud of jason - proud's the wrong word - for figuring something out for himself, for being true to an ideal that seems right. why categorise. i've decided, long ago, hangdog style, that it's not worth it. this whole "COMING OUT" ridiculousness. i completely disagree with it. you're neither gay, nor straight. homosexual vs. heterosexual is ridiculous. it refers to sexual preference, i.e., who you've had sex with. not who you'd LIKE to have sex with, and not who you're ATTRACTED to. that's entirely different.
'when you have a crush on someone, it means you want to have sex with them.'
'no way!'
'no, i guess you're right.'
'that makes no sense - you ... oh. nevermind.'
'huh?'
'you agreed with me. um. i was - you know. trying to... muster a rebuttal, but you'd agreed with me.'
'wait, what?'
'i - was trying to argue about it, or something. but you'd -- yeah.'
'oh.'
odd conversations. splintered before goodnights. bad things happened yesterday afternoon that i'd prefer not to think about.
we get distracted by the dreams of our own / but nobody's happy while feeling alone / and knowing how hard it hurts when we fall / we lean another ladder against the wrong wall / and climb high to the highest rung / to shake fists at the sky / others have excuses / i have my reasons why / with so much deception it's hard not to wander away nickel creek; reasons why.
so yeah, sorry about the lyrics. but it's 330pm, i have no rehearsal tonight, and i feel like i have no reason to be waking up today, or tomorrow, even. maybe i'll go to borders and just sit in the towers of books. drown in the flittering pages. try to remember what it is to write. and try to get some of that back.
i think there's so much more than this / i guess i'll have to hold my breath and see / that i, i believe in fate / i believe in good things coming to those who wait jason mraz; one find.