"You seem like you’re impossible now. You want love. You want me to show you how. It feels like it’s all possible now. You need love, and I’m gonna show you how. You say that I’m stupid, without you I’m useless. I’m bothered. You don’t even notice. So how 'bout you reach up. You realize. You see it. Come on, you really love this. You cry out loud when you’re reckless in the dark. You like the way it feels good. You love the way I make you forget. You turn me on whenever you’re around. You like the way you feel it. I love the way I make you forget."

     I'm restless, pacing back and forth around this apartment, full of emotions I can't let out, and the words are always on the tip of my tongue, threatening to pass by my lips and give me away. I know if I could see your face I wouldn't feel so aimless. I know my fingers would stop itching to touch you if I could just hear your voice. I've gotten used to you in the mornings, and I lie awake when the phone doesn't ring, staring at the ceiling and wondering if you're okay, if you made it through the night without tears on your cheeks or pain in your chest. I wonder how you feel when you wake up alone, if it's anything close to what I wake up feeling. I can only imagine the sunlight creeping through your window, bathing you in its ethereal glow as you roll over slowly, wiping the sleep from your eyes. I bet you're stunning with tousled hair and a wrinkled t-shirt as you roll out of bed, your long, supple legs reaching to the floor to start another day. What wouldn't I give to wake up beside you and be able to touch your face, run my hands over smooth skin, trace the curves of your body with my fingertips? What wouldn't I give to smell the scent of your shampoo wafting out from the bathroom as you rummage through drawers with a towel draped loosely across your chest? What wouldn't I give to make you happy?

     Later, my loves.

"What is my day going to look like? What will my tomorrow bring me? If I had x-ray eyes, I could see inside. I wouldn't’t have to predict the future. I wish that you would do with some talking. How else am I to know what you’re thinking? If only people would say what it really was, what it really was, what it really was that they wanted."

     So, I've concluded that I have an infestation of sorts of fruit flies. You know those nasty, little, red headed flies that chill on your fruit if you leave it out. They don't exclusively dine on fruit though. If it's food, they're there. Anyways, I believe that they have nested in the drains in my sink, as they have a tendency to do. It's damp, moist, dark, and perfect for breeding. Earlier today I decided I had had enough of the little shits, and with the help of the magnificent and all knowing internet, I got some really effective homemade fruit fly death traps and some tips on how to attack the source, effectively ending said infestation. Strangely, I'm excited to see if I can do this by myself. I feel like it's some turning point, as silly and insignificant as it may seem, but I feel if I can rid my apartment of the buggers, then I can take care of things. By myself. Just me. I don't need to call the landlord and have some guy tear up my drain pipes to tell me something I already know. I don't know. I have weird revelations and momentous happenings revolving around things that seem so petty in comparison to others. Whatever. I've always been different.

     I'm afraid it's been ruined. I can't even think about it too much, or I start to freak out. For those few brief moments, I felt totally and completely at ease. I wasn't nervous. I wasn't stricken with dry mouth or sweaty palms. I opened up, and she listened. She agreed with me, said she felt the same way, and I felt like we had reached a higher level, however small the increase. I was a little disappointed that she couldn't stay longer, but she had stuff to do, and that's understandable. I was just happy that I got to see her, since it's been a month or so. It always takes me a little bit to warm up, but once I do, I'm open. I don't know. There's nothing I can do about it now. I just have to go to sleep and deal with it in the cool, crisp light of day.

     Happy Halloween, my loves.

"The obvious heart has come to collect, 'cause it tore apart like a tortured insect. The obvious heart waits here to heal and balances out a subtle reveal. 'Cause there’s a remedy close, in a familiar dose. This bitter pill to swallow is lost in the bottle tonight. You’re empty, it’s alright, and full of yourself. No need to explain to anyone else. Broken in time, taken what’s left. No need to deny the cause or effect. This heart is not a broken one, but where have all the colors gone? It’s still among the lucky ones. This heart is not a broken one, but where have all the colors gone? You’re still among the lucky ones and burning longer than the sun."

     I wish I would stop dreaming, or at the very least not remember what I dreamt when I wake up. The dreams are amazing, but that in itself is the problem. They're so fantastically perfect, overflowing with possibility. I'm tired of seeing all my fantasies, hopes, and dreams played out in technicolor brilliance on the back of my eyelids. As if it isn't bad enough that I think about all of that in my waking hours. I guess I should just be ecstatic that my dreams drifted away from the angry, painful, rape filled scenarios and towards a more peaceful, happy, yet not entirely without pain world of unconsciousness. I know if I just bowed down to all the things I have no control over, I wouldn't be so resentful towards the happiness I don't have, but that, like many other things, is easier said than done, and it's not a matter of being completely unhappy, because I actually am quite happy with my life at the moment. I'm just not very fond of my subconscious dangling everything I want in front of me to rip it all away when I awake. I honestly don't understand why I can't have simple, meaningless dreams that have no significance or lasting emotional stain. I feel as though once I get something sorted out in my waking life and am comfortable with it, my unconscious mind decides I need to be tortured in sleep, just for shits and giggles. Well, what can I really do about it? Nothing. Once again, it comes back to conceding to the things I can't control. Maybe that's my life lesson for the day.

     "The most important thing in life is your family. There are days you love them, and others you don't. But, in the end, they're the people you always come home to. Sometimes, it's the family you're born into, and sometimes, it's the one you make for yourself."

     Later, my loves.

<---Wonderful.

"Travelling, swallowing Dramamine. Feeling spaced, breathing out Listerine. I'd said what I'd said that I'd tell ya, and that you'd killed the better part of me. If you could just milk it for everything. I've said what I'd said and you know what I mean, but I still can't focus on anything. We kiss on the mouth but still cough down our sleeves. Travelling, swallowing Dramamine. Look at your face like you're killed in a dream, and you think you've figured out everything. I think I know my geography pretty damn well. You say what you need so you'll get more. If you could just milk it for everything. I've said what I said, and you know what I mean, but I can't still focus on anything."

     I've become so apathetic towards people. I just don't care. It's been progressively increasing. People tell me stories or things that are happening, and I do the obligatory sad face, say 'I'm sorry for your loss' or 'That's a really hard thing to go through. You're strong for sticking with it.' or whatever the words happen to be for the situation, but inside I feel nothing. I don't feel compassion or empathy. I don't feel much of anything anymore. It's not so much numb as it is calloused. There are four people that I sympathize with, and even with them, it's changed. I mean, don't get me wrong, I care about all of them deeply, and I care what happens to them, but something's shifted. I don't know how to explain it. I've never felt this closed up, cut off from emotion. Some days it takes everything I have in me just to drudge up feeling for anything. The funny thing is, I'm not depressed. I know what that feels like. I've been there enough to know what that does to me and how it makes me feel, so I know it's not that, and it doesn't bother me that I feel nothing for other people. At all. It's whatever to me. I'm still deciding if it's a good thing or not. I'm sure it's not like a fantastic super thing, but I don't mind not caring. I'm happy with only four people in my life that I care about. This is all probably one of my strange, unconscious self-defence methods to save me from my anger. Eh. So be it.

     Hopefully, depending on what happens tomorrow when I call this person or what happens with Zach, I'll have a car soon. Thank the lord Jesus. Amen. I'm thinking I'm gonna apply at Borders. I could do the work. They're hiring all shifts, so that's cool, and hey, 14 dollars an hour. Count me in. There are a few options I'd like to explore. I just know I need to get out of that restaurant before I end up biting Robin's head off, which could be very soon. Guess how many hours I had this week. Just take a wild fucking guess. 8. Yup. 8. When I saw that on the schedule, I died a little inside. *sigh* I have to pee again. I am a peeing machine today. Christ.

     Modest Mouse.

     Later, my loves.

"Seven a.m. The garbage truck beeps as it backs up, and I start my day thinking about what I’ve thrown away. Could I push rewind? The credits traverse signifying the end, but I missed the best part. Could we please go back to start? Forgive my indecision. Then again, then again, then again, you’re always first when no one's on your side. But then again, then again, then again, the day will come when I want off that ride."

     It's been sitting in my inbox for five days, getting lost in junk mail and updates. It's bad news disguised as a wonderful surprise. It's the head on collision of my past into my present, and an ambulance should be called for this mess, this on purpose accident. I've tried, but my fingers don't work when I'm staring at her name. I try to remember faces or voices, but none of it comes flooding back like I thought it would. None of it seems real now. He started a domino effect when he fell, taking out all those around him, letting the pieces fall every which way, leaving an empty space in the puzzle. I wonder if the pieces she sent me are the ones I'm missing, the ones I've been looking for so desperately. Could they be it? I want to give you their phone numbers, so you can call every one of them and let them know, let them know who I am and what I don't do, let them know I'm nothing they want to believe in. I want to forget I ever existed in their eyes, tear myself out of the gene pool before I drown in it. It's been sitting in my inbox for five days, getting lost.

     Incubus is fucking awesome.

     Later, my loves.