Midweek Blurb

Where do I begin? I'm ready now.
Glad I was fit in.
Running round my head - what did I do wrong?
Tell me it's my fault,
You didn't lead me on....

So what I wanna know: why's it hurt so bad?
I'd say it's like a drug but I don't feel the high.
My heart's about to break for the final time.
All I do is ache, and I can't find some piece of mind.
Break it off - God, he knows I'm trying;
Shake it off - no more crying.
I'm done
I'm done
I'm done
You won't win this time.

Set my pride to the side,
Tear me open, look inside
just to see how many times you really made these eyes cry....


Insomnia strikes at the oddest times, and frankly, I wouldn't be putting this down if not for a promise to someone very close to me. Journal entries you want: journal entries you get, though limited by the form of oblique blurbs pasted onto my corner of the world wide web. I hope you enjoy them.

He Is We has shifted to Evanescence in my playlist, moving from "A Mess It Grows" and "Fall" to "My Heart Is Broken". I will wander till the end of time, torn away from you.... It might be brooding; I don't know. There's something about the music that allows weeping with never a tear shed, and I prefer that and a headache to sobbing and a headache, especially when tears are not there to be shed. Because really, I'm not crying. I'm not.

Despite his cynicism, or perhaps because of it, Patrick Jane is a worthy companion for the night, and I shall resume his company when I am finished scribbling. (My heart is broken... Release me - I can't hold on...) If nothing else, at least I can relate to his sense of guilt. It's a hell of a feeling, literally, this knowing that you've wrecked what you've been given of life; sometimes it seems like the greatest mercy that God could offer is to obliterate us before we destroy the people we love.

But if Jane could pick up the pieces and move on, cold and pragmatic, so can I. Sorry, Mother o' mine: I know full well that's not what you were asking to hear; now that I'm done with my little 'the-world-hates-me-and-I-hate-the-world' spiel we can move on to other things. Like dinner tonight, which was my first meal of the day and consisted of avocado, lettuce, and cream cheese inside of a high-fiber multigrain wrap thingy. The cream cheese was put in as a replacement for the blue cheese, which, for the record, retains a noticeably moldy flavour that possesses an appeal scoring on the negative side of the spectrum. Don't make a habit of eating it. It has an ill effect on the breath.

There are so many things I appreciate about the west coast. Waking up to the evergreens swaying in my window is one of them, and the mountains (real mountains!) are another. Last week Ryl and I walked through a quaint little coastal town, popping our heads into numerous shops. First it was a skinny little room inhabited by hundreds of curious little ends and odds - buttons, beads, a decorated electric guitar, and a horrendous number of Mexican-style skulls and skeletons, which looked quite ghoulish. (There. That is the fourth time I've whacked my head against the window frame in the course of this post, and if I do it once more Carol is going to come marching in to demand what on earth merits thumping her awake at this hour of the night.)

We stepped into a tri-store shop, which contained a jewelry-making store, a yarn shop, and a second-floor artisan clothing shop. I poked around the racks for a bit, then gave up shopping entirely due to the extraordinary price range; I even restrained myself from obtaining that string of vibrant green beads from the jewelry shop, though I went back to them multiple times just to bask in the depth of the colour.

It is late, my fingers are running out of energy, and I have a mentalist to rejoin. Signing off....