...

A year and a half - that's how long it's been since I've set my thoughts in digital imagery. It isn't that I've had nothing to put down, but more than likely it's because I have too much on my mind. I have jumbled thoughts and countless worries, so much so that my mind has just become one big mass of random words and sentences.

I wish I knew where to start... or how. Everything is just muddled in my head, I don't even know what I'm saying half the time now.

-__-

Ramblings

I haven't written anything in a while not because I have nothing to say, but because I have so much that I don't know how to piece it and/or where to start.

The minute I begin to type and gather my thoughts, the powerful pull of the delete button takes over my finger and I just continually press until all that's left is what I had begun to work with - a blank page.

It's crazy how life seems to just be zipping by me right now. Cliche as this may be, it's flying way too fast for my own good. I used to think I had all the time in the world, now I barely have any at all - not even when all I do is sit idly and wait for the sun to set and the next day's light to break.

But of all the things I dislike the most at this very moment, I dislike the fact that I can now say I know how it feels to hate what you do, but are too afraid to make changes because of the choices previously made, or lack thereof.

See, I'm currently left stagnant because, due to limited opportunities, I'm stuck doing something that leaves me constantly second-guessing myself. Ultimately, I do not like what I am doing, but I am left with very little to work on because A.) I get paid okay here, and B.) I've become afraid of what might become of me if I should ever choose to leave.

I never used to be like this. Now, I incessantly wonder what the hell happened to the girl that I once was. Where did she go, that little girl who didn't mind if the next few weeks were unclear as hell?

I guess, the best answer I can come up with is, that girl opened her eyes, saw that what needed to be done was bigger than her own selfish dreams, and needed this sacrifice because of it. Still, I can't help but wonder, is this going to be it? Is this all that I came for... all that I gave everything else up for?

I sure hope not.

I hope, somewhere in the not-so-distant future, that I'd still be able to build what I need to and do what I have to - without all of this exhaustion. I hope, down the road, I'd be able to wake up, run to the train, get to work, and not inwardly regret and grumble. I hope, some time soon, I'd be able to smile and not wonder if this was even worth giving up everything else for.

I hope.

Children, we all are.

Ayun.

On a grand scale of things, I love being here. I love the new environment. I'm basically okay with the people hovering around me. There's just one hitch.

I hate the drama that comes with the people.

See, I don't exactly live independently, per se. While I may be on my own, I currently live with a bunch of different personalities... a bunch of which I would right out dislike, but hey, that's what growing up is all about isn't it? You eventually learn to adjust... even if it means stepping out of the comfort zone, which, in my case, would be extending my already-extended patience further and biting the inside of my cheek as prevention to a potential snide remark that could possibly bring me trouble.

But, it's hard.

It. is. so. fucking. hard.

It's bullshit, really. I'm not entirely sure if there ever was something I did wrong, but being a reader of eyes and actions, I'm pretty damn sure that there's something off.

But hey, as struggling as I may be at this moment, one principle stands true: If I know I didn't do anything, I won't say nothing unless it's brought to my attention. Wherein, if I did really do something erroneous, I shall apologize. If not, I remain silent.

After all, I have nothing to explain... unless it was something I was absolutely unaware of.

Alrighty then.

Early Ranting...

Anxiety.

Uncertainty.

Rapid Hope Loss.

Three things that have been incessantly plaguing my system in recent days. No, depression is a far state from where I stand right now... but insanity, I figure, is quite close by.

My plans and prayers are a hairbreadth away, but I have neither the means nor the ways to direct them into fruition. Because of it, the solidification of the itinerary by which I am supposed to lead myself to betterment is slowly dwindling away like crumbling autumn leaves adrift upon October winds.

I need to get out, but I have no way of escaping it seems. I need to break free, but invisible chains bind me. I am held steady by my already feeble faith, but hoping against hope can only go so far, I assume. Before I know it, I feel that I'll already be done for... without even getting a fair chance to fight it out.

RAAAAAAH

Tonight, allow me to be selfish.

Unbelievable, I live in a place full of insanely selfish, histrio-narcissistic beings. You invest your emotions in them and how do they pay it forward... Well, with a simple rejection of a minute request.

I mean, really, how hard is it to just keep someone who's on the outs with the world and herself company... even just for a little bit? Was I asking for rocket science? No. Was I asking for the moon? No. Was I asking for a grandiose entourage? No. Comfy company... understanding eyes that don't feel the need to speak and instead choose to listen to me uselessly rant about the shit that is my life just this once... that's all I was asking.

I can't believe how even THAT turned out to be a little too much to accommodate.

Granted, I may not have blatantly expressed that with clear intent. But in an idealistic world where "friends" need not speak transliterated objects to convey what is sought, should that not have been obvious? I mean, I'm not cocking my insignificant ego up over here... but what the fuck, I see it when they need it. Really, I do.

Why can't they? Why can't any one of you?

Am I really that walled up that even the slightest hint would be such a feat to see? I mean, I was not asking anyone to change their lives or stop traffic... all I was asking for was a little bit of down time... to, just this once, take the load off my shoulders... if only for a little while. That's all.

I'm not a hard case. I don't suck up anyone else's emotions. For as much as I can, I take my crap and I keep it to myself. At random points of this existence, I even go as far as taking your shit and everyone else's just so you could feel a little lighter about it all. If I had it in me, I'd take all your problems and throw them in my bin... because as selfish as I sound right about now, I still want nothing for you, all of you, but to have as little bit of hardship as humanely possible. Which is why I often resort to comforting and manhandling your issues because I would rather you feel better first, then I can get to dealing with my own life.

But I'm only human too... Sometimes, I need an exhaust.

I just think it's really sad that none of you are willing to sit down and ride the storm out with me.

Not even just once.

And today, that "just once" is happening.

And where's everyone else... the people I consider "friends and good companions"?

Hiding behind whatever crap they can come up with... and it is so fucking obvious that they're doing so just to purposely avoid and none too politely decline my small plea.

Well, well.

Cheers to you all.

The Waiting Place

Lenny Kravitz once said in a song, "Heaven help the fool that walks through my door."

That's my line now.

I'm so broken I can't even remotely imagine how it was once and how it would be to come to the part where I can open my eyes up and say that I'm in love. Yeah, yeah, cliche... I know. But that's the truth.

Do I still want what I had before? I'd be lying through my teeth if I said no. If I could have that even just for a flash of a second - scratch that... let me say instead that if I could have that and make it last until my expiration date - I'd be more than happy to say that I had a life well lived. Now really, who doesn't want it? But then again, opportunities like that are rare, few, and far between... and that is exactly why there are a multitude of others who, like myself, are found stuck between a rock and a hard place.

And that place is one that Dr. Seuss illustrated so well in his masterpiece, "Oh, The Places You'll Go." I read that book when I was about 6 years old and from time to time I manage to re-read it. Not for nothing else, but I suppose just to search for something that would jump at me through the text - a moment of clarity, perhaps? Maybe, I don't even know. But as far as I've read lately, I can only jump to one conclusion: I'm stuck at that most useless place - The Waiting Place.

For people just waiting
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go

or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite.
Or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night.
Or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake

or a pot to boil, or a Better Break.
Or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

It seems as though Dr. Seuss, in all his Cat-In-The-Hat glory, has ingeniously described every single thing that's on my mind right now. And that begs the question, am I really waiting for all those things?

After much thought, I'd have to say yes.

And, that again begs this question: How long before I stop waiting?

After further introspection, I'd have to conclude that the answer still remains unknown.

I don't know, I really don't. There are days when I feel like I'm ready to jump and break free from this monotony of sentimental foolishness that drives me to the brink of tears on nights that I don't drown my heap in inebriation, while there are days when I'm perfectly content just curling up into a ball and letting the sorrow sink in until it tires itself out and ultimately escapes my system... or at least, I like to think that it does. I mean, my heart has to get tired of sitting too long in a pool of utter melancholy right? The rest of myself sure has.

And that brings me back to my first point, Lenny Kravitz's song, Heaven Help.

In essence, the wonderful Mr. Kravitz with the exemplary backside speaks of being ready for love... and the song basically serves as a warning to whoever might be willing to take a chance to dive in love with him. Kind of like me, minus the nice ass and penis.

Have I decided that I, indeed, am ready for love again? Oh, hell no. Not at all. At this point, I feel like a beached beluga whale bloodied and beaten up so bad no sane fisherman would even dare touch me within a 50-foot rod, and that not only applies to my physical imagery (an aspect I could honestly give less than two shits about, anyway).

Truth is, the acerbic wit and acidic bluntness that I now proudly sport are nothing but coping mechanisms that defend my emotionally scarred id, ego, and superego. Harsh, I know, but true. I've gotten so used to the pain of the unforeseen loss that I would rather crap out and forget the sweetness rather than dream about it every single night - yes, even the endearing memories stab me with a tight sharpness.

I honestly think that I am far from ready, but I am for sure healing... at least, I'd like to hope so. The stabs don't come every other second anymore (ah yes, they still manage to surface 24/7, but they now come every other hour or so) and the internal disparity has been leveled to a certain minimum. But they're still there... and if I want to be able to devote me to the next good guy that comes my way, those little daggers that cut me need to die down first and foremost... and when I naturally begin to feel like my better self again, maybe, just maybe, I can make that choice once more.

And then, someone asks... What if someone comes along at this very instant... someone willing to take a chance on every bruised inch of me?

Well, Heaven help him.

The last two bits are wishful thinking on my part. I, for one, know for sure that the probability of a good man finding his way to where I am and him finding it in himself to see that I'm worth taking a risk on is slim to none. No self-pity involved, just the cold, hard truth.

And as most tragedies go, it was a truth I had, for a moment, forgotten... and shall now forever remember.