"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.
