At This Precious Moment, I Fear of Sleep

"I can't eat, I can't sleep
I can't sleep, I can't dream
An aversion to light
Got a fear of the ocean."
                  -Bloc Party

I acquired Bloc Party's Silent Alarm  the other day, mostly because of their one song "Banquet," because amongst other things I'm going to bring up I was bored with my current music selection and I wanted something new. Enter the first song that plays when I start playing the album, "Like Eating Grass." Typically, I don't pay attention to song titles when I play a new album--I just view them as track 1, track 2, etc.--but when a song really hits me like this one did from its the catchy guitar riffs, amazing drum beats, and the chilling emerging lyrics, "It's so cold in this house," I took note of the song title and looked up the lyrics. It was then when I came across the lines that outline my epigraph. From the moment I read them, they hit me hard; I found them haunting. This new song I discovered, practically from boredom, described so perfectly how I was feeling for quite awhile, and it make me courageous enough to try to speak about it.

Actually, I'm finding it hard to put into words what's going on in my head at this moment, or any other moment. I suppose I can begin with my not eating; yet, I AM eating--overeating, actually, which my belt has been cruel to remind me--but I feel so isolated from and doing it only out of boredom. It feels like it has become a chore, except I'm probably avoiding chores by eating. Seriously. This is my logic: "Well, I could vacuum my room...OR I could just go downstairs and find something to eat. I don't want to eat, but fuck why not eat." I wish I could explain this but I'm not sure I can, so we'll just move on.

I can't sleep. It's hard to fall asleep, but when I try to do something that I want to do or finally push myself to do, I instantly get tired. I try to sleep to get the energy to finish the earlier said activity but I lose the drive to do it after tormenting myself in trying to rest for a few hours. "Stop fucking with me, Sleep!" When I finally do sleep, I don't sleep well. Since I've been taking Benadryl for allergy reasons, I've been having the weirdest dreams, and I can't control them. It's almost at the point that I'm afraid to sleep...because I'm afraid of dreaming. It's becoming tiring and depressing to wake up and having to sort out what I dreamed what was the dream and what is reality. Many times I've woke still believing what I dreamed to still be reality, and it's only hours later that I finally snap out of it, depressed, longing, and disappointed. "Fuck you, Reality, I was a fucking Rockstar for the briefest of moments! And your chilling reminder of my loneliness, insecurity, and resignation are hardly welcomed. However, they are more welcomed than the days I wake up and her smile is still burned in my head."

I can't decide whether I feel sorry for myself or I'm just too hang up on trivial situations (somewhat) beyond my control to do something about it, counteract, or do an activity to keep my mind off it. Whatever it is, I wake up and spend my first few--sometimes many--hours of my day, lying in my bed, doing nothing. Sure there is the occasional day that I'll watch a film but it's rare. I hardly have the motivation, and it saddens me that for someone who loves film as much as I do can't even make himself watch a movie. Instead I just lie in bed lifelessly, staring at my computer screen, while NHL highlights play on my TV as background noise. For now, we'll just say it's what's helping the Leafs get to the playoffs; if they don't make it, then we'll just be honest and say I'm a lazy-ass loser. At least it's nice outside, or so I'm told.

And as for the ocean....Well, I've live most of my life within 6 miles from the Gulf of Mexico., I've swam in oceans, rivers, lakes, ponds, pools, potholes, I've cruised on an ocean-view highway along the Mississippi Gulf Coast many of times, and I can't stand any of it. And what I mean by "it," I mean water, and my current state of "living" proudly displays it. Showering has become a chore. I'm trying to think if I had a shower today, but my showering has been bizarrely inconsistent that it's difficult to know if the shower I'm thinking of was from today or a couple of days ago. If all else fails, running my hand through my hair to check the amount and thickness of grease is always a great indicator, but before you get grossed out know that overly-hair-greased JT hardly ever leaves the house in said state and does force himself to shower. My consideration for other people is (unfortunately) still an activity I practice, so please put the shower brushes, soap, cologne, and febreze away for now. There is, however, one exception to my dislike of water: driving in the rain. I know it sounds like an obscure thing to name as an exception but hear me out. I love driving in the rain. It's one of the few times I feel confident in myself and I feel I have in control over something in my life. It's a thrill; it's exciting; and the beat and patter of the rain on the metal exterior of the car adds a relaxing flair to the whole experience. Perhaps what I'm feeling about myself is what most people feel whenever they see those first few droplets hit their windshield. Am I becoming one of those people that pulls over on the side of the road whenever it starts to rain, avoiding the rough patches, never advancing and afraid of moving forward? I like to think I'm not one of them and that I'm still out there driving through the rain and straightening out those rare fishtails that happen (though it's really the tires fault for that happening, but that's another story). Yet when I ask myself this, I hesitate. One shouldn't stop to think long and hard when they ask this question to themselves, but I did and it makes me feel numb. Could I already be on the side of the road, afraid to truly drive in the rain?

At this precious moment, I think I am. At this precious moment, it's NOT so cold in this house; it is rather hot actually, and I'm finally accepting the sweaty brow and beading sweat outlining my neck. At this precious moment, I feel unusually tired, but I am afraid to sleep; I am afraid to dream; I'm afraid of what will come. At this precious moment, I wish it was raining so it could help soothe me. At this precious moment, my vision is blurring, making me stutter that the enviable is coming. At this precious moment, the last song just ended. At this precious moment, the last moments of the night are about to close. At this precious moment, my moment has passed.

Missing You

It doesn't matter what I say, or do. I keep missing you.

Where My Mind Wonders to During Sleepless Nights

What is it about sleepy nights that makes my mind go back to you? Perhaps it is from weakness and fatigue, or maybe I'm not just fully over you like I thought I was. As much as I like to think, or whenever I get to a point, that I am really over you, and that I have moved on, my fucked up self always seems to bring back a memory about you.

Do I still think about you? Yes, of course. I wonder if you still think of me or if maybe you reminisce about the times that were great for us, when we were and had everything and when we thought there would never be anyone else. Or maybe that was only me who thought that and I just bought into everything you ever told me (like your engagement ring you wore on your neck but you told me was a ring from your Grandmother). What you did was really fucked up, but why am I still considered the enemy from this? Moreover, why do I blame myself?

You might think that I want nothing but total misery for you, but to be honest I don't. I hope you are happy, and in some way I know that you are. Besides the fact that we had sex a week before your wedding, I think the reason why I'm still so hurt by what happened is because I'm not the guy that is making you happy now. After knowing you as long as I have, I know why you married him and I can't fault you for it, but how you did it, and especially the reason WHY you did it, really shows your full character. You took the easy way out and, no matter how much I'll keep loving you, I don't think I could ever respect you again.

There was a time while trying to console my pitiful self, while I'm sure beyond a reasonable doubt you were having the time of your life (and yes, love, that was sarcasm), that I thought how lucky he was to have you. However in retrospect, maybe I am the one who is lucky, because I avoided being with the biggest coward I know. Speaking of cowards, you know, you truly are more like your dad than I gave credit to. Why? Because you both are liars, you both are full of shit, you both are perhaps the biggest hypocrites I have ever met, you are both huge cowards, and last but not least you both are extremely self-absorbed. You are truly all of those things and more. And when I mean by more, I mean, to be frank, you are a stupid bitch and a whore (if I am being too harsh, I apologize but you were never so forgive yourself). Why do I call you a whore? Because only a true whore would gossip how shameful and unmoral it to to sleep around while she, herself, was doing the same thing (which reminds me, what excuse did you come up with when your husband found out you were with me a week before you said your "I dos"? I always wanted to ask because you had an endless stream of them when I found out you messed around, a lot). The reasons of why you are a stupid bitch does not have to be explained.

As easy as it may be for you not to think of me, it's not so easy for me. I truly did care about you, and I don't think you will ever fathom how much I really did love and care for you. Your mom told me that you didn't tell me about your marriage because you loved and cared about me too much to tell me. What bullshit from both you and your mom. When you finally decided to tell me yourself after being a month too late, after finding out about it from 3 different people, leading me to confront you about it, you told me that "our story" was like that of The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. As creative of a comparison that was, you couldn't be further from the truth. Unlike you, Geneviève had the nerve to tell Guy that she was going to marry Roland; you didn't didn't have the decency nor the guts to do that. Nevertheless, there are some similarities to both stories. 1) Geneviève mostly married Roland because her mother advised her to. Wait... didn't your parents do the same thing? 2) Geneviève took the easy way out of her situation. Huh, that's funny, you did the same thing, too. And 3) after watching The Umbrellas of Cherbourg together you looked down upon Geneviève for doing what she did, but after thinking about it you said that you probably would have done the same thing. Gee, how ironic.

Though I said that I did love you, the truth is that I'm still in love with you and I probably never will stop loving you. I want to believe the cliché that "you never forget your first love" applies to you, but I know it doesn't. I want to believe that you still think about me and find yourself checking on me, like reading this blog, but I know you don't (nor will you ever make an effort to read this blog again). I don't think you'll ever really know how much I miss you, or how hard things have been for me the last year. But that's the point I'm trying to get to: you had me so convinced at thinking that you really cared about me that even though I know now that you never really did I still think that you still do care about me. So go ahead and call me bitter and ignorant, even harsh, I don't mind. While you live the life someone else wanted you to live, I'm still busy picking up the pieces that are left of me, while I'm still wondering, waiting to see, if I will ever hear from you or see you again. This is my purgatory, and it is surrounded by images and memories of you. It is inescapable and I will never try to leave, because I will always be waiting for someone who will never come.

The Women of My Life

The women of my life are--well--why even go there? Why do I behave the way I do: It is for the sex, For kicks, Because I can, Or am I so lonely that I'm just taking on any person I can, being with one after the next--becoming the guy I swore I would never be--to be satisfied for a night and feel a little bit better about myself, while escaping the emotion for another day and eluding the pit of guilt and shame within my stomach to fall asleep and wake up with a fake, coated smile?

It should go as no surprise that I'm afraid to be alone. Yet as most things are, the more I think about it the more it seems to come to fruition. I feel enabled to push everyone close to me away, then bitch and moan to myself that I'm not a good friend, saying that they deserve better. A quick fact about me: I've never kept a close friend for more than 3 years. How can that happen? How can I even explain that? Better yet, why do I keep doing it? Lots of reasons.

I know what you're thinking--and you're more than likely right--that this is another self-pity, guilt trip that I'm putting on for myself: another whine; another bitch and cry; another look-at-me-I'm-sad-give-me-sympathy-help-me plea. I'm not denying it. I've been doing it a lot and I haven't stopped. My confidence has been so low that it's pretty much nonexistent. It's hard to find anything positive anymore that I'm willing to jump to the first positive notion that comes (whether it really is or not) because I'm afraid another one won't come again anytime soon.

Does this make me desperate? I don't know how to answer that. I ask myself that question expecting to give a yes or no answer with maybe some explanation, but I keep getting nothing. All I can do is just stare at the question and wonder, "Maybe this is an example of how lost I really am." I'm a poor decision-maker. I'm so afraid to make another decision because I worry that it'll get me into a bigger mess than the one I'm already in. So, I came up with a pathetic way to try to get me out of it, by trying to find someone to make decisions for me. I've never felt so dependent before. I don't know how to react, or cope.

What's worse: someone who lies, or someone who lies to himself? Is there a difference? Is it too late being honest when everyone, including yourself, doesn't believe a single word I say anymore? I use so much ambiguity that my life seems to be stringed by one embellishment after another. Hell, for what it's worth, this whole post could be an embellishment. I promise to you it's not, but who am I to be a reliable source.

RANT RANT, ramble, ramble,
Life is just a gamble.

There's so many women I wish I could have--ones that really would have been good for me. Yet as the cliché goes, the ones you always want the most are the ones you can never have. In my case, they're the one who are either married, deeply committed to a relationship, or worse of all not even interested. This is one reason I dislike having crushes. It never goes well and it's very discouraging. It's pointless for me to even have a crush because I can never keep it secret. In fact, I'm very sure that my crush knows that I have a crush on her. What's more frustration is that thinking of her makes me wish that I had never left KC. The thought of "what-if" always comes to mind. But why dwell on the what could have been, especially when I am nowhere near her type, nor even a speckle of interest to her? No matter how much I swell whenever I see her, think of her, or have the rare occasion to talk to her, I have to push myself away and say that it will never be anything more. Even if there was anything between us, it'd just become the same as all my relationships become: an easy attraction that eventually leads me to having you, I think that I'm falling for you as I try to make you my everything, then I start wanting more, I become bored and move on.

There is the Truth,
And there are Excuses.

And with excuse after excuse, flashing a smile and a dimple, I stare cold into your eyes and lie without flinching to have you feel safe and comfortable, letting you think that everything will be OK--that I can be trusted--regardless of the countless times I've admitted how much of a bastard I am. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel guilty doing it, but apparently guilt doesn't stop me from doing it more and more. I could tell you why I do it but I'd just be making more excuses. You've already heard enough, as it is.

So, what can be said about the women of my life?

A Dialogue With My Bed: In the Doghouse

"Hey baby, I know it's been a while since I've last seen you. I've been busy--you know, school, work, homework, family. It's just much easier to do it downstairs instead of my room."

"Yea, I do have a desk in here, but I'm going to be tempted to cuddle with you if I'm close to you. It's just better for me if I just sorta distance myself from you. I really need to get good grades."

"What? The couch? No, baby, she has nothing to do with it. You know you're the one I like to lay on and spend my time with."

"I don't know why you're overreacting! Nothing's happen, love. I haven't been anywhere near the couch."

"Oh, baby, don't listen to everything you hear. It's all just talk--none of it's true. Everyone is just saying that to just hurt you. Don't let it get to you. Now come here and lets--"

"Why you acting this way? There's no reason for it. Ok, maybe, I've spent a few nights with the couch, but nothing happened--nothing. I was just really tired and I needed a place to crash, you know, after long nights of studying. No reason to be mad. I would have told you earlier but it was nothing and I didn't want to upset you."

"Come on, baby. I love you. You're my girl. So, let me just lay on your comfy pillow-top and lets catch up on some lost time."

"Why are you doing this? I thought we talked about this. Nothing happened, love! Don't worry to much about it, I'm here with you now. I'm not going anywhere."

"OK! Fine! I get the hint. I'll leave, but I'll be around. Once you're thinking rationally again, just give me a call."

Five minutes later after walking downstairs.

"Hey, couch, I just thought I come by. Yea, another late night. Been at the library all night studying. Oh, baby, you read my mind. Can't wait to stretch out my whole body on you."

"No, not you, too."

END