stars in a blender

At times I feel like I’m living a life outside of my own. How is it that I ended up at this exact moment, with the exact relationships I’ve managed to develop? Everything seems to have passed by me without me being consciously aware of any of it - like things happen without control and before I know it I’m a part of it all.

Extremely odd sensation.

“You may be feeling a bit anxious today, even if everything seems to be going along well. Your worry stems from the uncertainty you have when you are drawn into emotional issues that pull you away from your more comfortable logical view of life. But this isn’t a smart time to remain cool and detached. Jump in and get your hands dirty from messy and unmanageable passions without worrying about cleaning up until later.”

TERRIBLE FUCKING ADVICE.

And also I might take it.

I am a hopeless romantic, totally and completely. I’ve known this about myself for some time but it’s been especially obvious these days.

Sort of a blessing, mostly a curse.

I’m not functional right now. I haven’t been all day. Ever since I woke up I’ve been shaking like I was on a caffeine high (but I’m not). My hands have been clammy. I’ve been feeling sort of sick to my stomach, but in less of a sick way and more of a nervous way. In fact, everything that I’ve been feeling all day are my nervous signs. But I’ve got no reason to be nervous. It’s just another Thursday morning.

I can’t even check my e-mail. I love checking my e-mail. I can sit here for hours and read through all the interior decorating newsletters I subscribe to and click on a million articles and be content.

But nope, not today. Not right now. Today I’m freaking out, over absolutely nothing. Or maybe it’s something, but it’s not acceptable or reasonable.

I am feeling very unlike myself.

Oh, my friend, I don’t think I can believe you are real. I remember the exact moment you got stuck in my head, the night you walked through the doorway with your hand in your pocket and that indescribable look on your face. The night you sang that beautiful sad Billy Joel song and you sat on the stool on center stage, looking so distinguished, and the lights gleamed crimson and silver, your incredible voice giving me shivers, my heart melting. Your boyish but dignified charm, your shockingly blue eyes, your outbursts of dancing and laughter and life, all of this and more. You have always been something from dreams.

Yeah, I need to go back to school.

This is getting ridiculous.

I miss songwriting so much it’s almost painful. I remember when being creative didn’t take so much effort. I don’t know what’s changed. I mean, well, plenty has changed, but if anything all these changes should have sparked inspiration much quicker. Now I have to struggle to come up with anything even halfway good.

In other news, he said it was “always a pleasure” to see me. I wonder if he really meant that or if he was just being gentlemanly.

I wonder why it still fucking matters to me.

This is the closest that I will get to you
I will lay down next to all your words and all of your dignified charm —
All of the distance that we consist of
And every thing we are not —
And I will dream.
This is the closest I can pull you to me
Though you struggle and the weight of it will crush me
I persist.
There are ideas out of reach
and they tug on my heartstrings
They sleep in my bed
And they wake up with me in the mornings
and they drag on with the days.
And this is the closest I will come to them,
chewing on the bitter stems
of poetry in bloom.

I am not accomplishing a god damn thing here. I want to go back home.