Everything I really know I learnt from Doctor Who....
" Time, in reality, isn't this linear progression...It's sort of this round blobby thingy with strands that connect different places and moments in time "
I'm nearing the real...I'm 40 moment. All that Jazz. Just a few days and nights away. I've been telling myself and others that ask that I'm already 40 since january. Sort of my way of dealing...hoping against hope that once the day came and past that I'd be just fine, thank-you.
But, in thease last few weeks I've been staying up terribly late. Sleeping in too much and yes....Drinking. Pure classic start of depression cycle clues. At work I've been focusing on my trip to LA last April. Versus the show.
Which sucks for so many various reasons that are too numerous to mention.
I really should be getting some sleep. Working on my idea of a Tattoo for my birthday. ( It involves an Iron Cross motif - I've decided to award myself a medal for making it this far with my basic physical and mental health intact. And the fact that I still can wear the slim jean size I wore College without resembling an upside down bowling pin.) Figuring out how to chat up the cute redheaded receptionist who works around the corner at the dance centre.
Yes Sir, I've decided to give redheads a chance again.
Once again that's the ghosts of the past talking. Why I should reference this is anyones guess ( Fact is I've spent the last 10 some odd years either wounded or picking at the scars.) try as I might... missing her, crying over her, hating her, drinking and smoking her into oblivion, attempting to understand my idea of her. Physically riding away in fear of her, pleading with myself to try to forgive her, Dreaming of her out of obsession - fantasizing about her when I desperately, deeply feared no other female would want to venture near me. Finally, chatting friendly with her - seducing and fucking her, and committing my only logical, possible act of revenge against her and her own future. And, now in thease last few years.... Trying to just let the rusted, scavenged hulk of that emotional shipwreck sink and break away from my ever present stranded existence.
The only fact that remains, now the beach is clear of the debris. I loved someone. Who I thought, naively that I could be the one for. And when I think of her. Her physical outside existence is so small, petite, fragile, beautiful and frail like any imperfect human being. And my love for her was this beautiful strange desire. And in the length of the rest of my life. My memories of being with her - inside of her. That " Us " will sweeter, bigger and brighter than the sum of our own real existence. Like memories of a child now grown. Thinking back and dreaming of memories of when the circus came to town. And all I can hope is those carnival memories, that they live on longer inside of me, and maybe her. Longer than our real companionship ever could have been.
And, that the punishment that I've put myself through, over the loss of Us, is over.....
Nothing can replace this...but why have I been trying to? It wasn't perfect in the longest way. ( I wish I could just go out there and mindlessly shop for a girl. The way I see so many of my ilk do. I can't seem to just fall out of the saddle and get back on. I empty a bottle and I feel a bit free. But that never changes the fear. And I can't just shop happily. I keep thinking theirs a special offer out there. Just around the next isle. So, I never make a choice and just indulge
I hope that my 40's will more of a...." Here Comes Johnny " laughing - lust for life. The way it is when I'm on top. Working the best shows, meeting the coolest people. Kissing the prettiest girl. Driving my fast machine GTi.... Feeling like I'm worth a Million in prizes. Even if I'm sleeping on the street.
Come on Babe... let's paint the town....
" Time, in reality, isn't this linear progression...It's sort of this round blobby thingy with strands that connect different places and moments in time "
I'm nearing the real...I'm 40 moment. All that Jazz. Just a few days and nights away. I've been telling myself and others that ask that I'm already 40 since january. Sort of my way of dealing...hoping against hope that once the day came and past that I'd be just fine, thank-you.
But, in thease last few weeks I've been staying up terribly late. Sleeping in too much and yes....Drinking. Pure classic start of depression cycle clues. At work I've been focusing on my trip to LA last April. Versus the show.
Which sucks for so many various reasons that are too numerous to mention.
I really should be getting some sleep. Working on my idea of a Tattoo for my birthday. ( It involves an Iron Cross motif - I've decided to award myself a medal for making it this far with my basic physical and mental health intact. And the fact that I still can wear the slim jean size I wore College without resembling an upside down bowling pin.) Figuring out how to chat up the cute redheaded receptionist who works around the corner at the dance centre.
Yes Sir, I've decided to give redheads a chance again.
Once again that's the ghosts of the past talking. Why I should reference this is anyones guess ( Fact is I've spent the last 10 some odd years either wounded or picking at the scars.) try as I might... missing her, crying over her, hating her, drinking and smoking her into oblivion, attempting to understand my idea of her. Physically riding away in fear of her, pleading with myself to try to forgive her, Dreaming of her out of obsession - fantasizing about her when I desperately, deeply feared no other female would want to venture near me. Finally, chatting friendly with her - seducing and fucking her, and committing my only logical, possible act of revenge against her and her own future. And, now in thease last few years.... Trying to just let the rusted, scavenged hulk of that emotional shipwreck sink and break away from my ever present stranded existence.
The only fact that remains, now the beach is clear of the debris. I loved someone. Who I thought, naively that I could be the one for. And when I think of her. Her physical outside existence is so small, petite, fragile, beautiful and frail like any imperfect human being. And my love for her was this beautiful strange desire. And in the length of the rest of my life. My memories of being with her - inside of her. That " Us " will sweeter, bigger and brighter than the sum of our own real existence. Like memories of a child now grown. Thinking back and dreaming of memories of when the circus came to town. And all I can hope is those carnival memories, that they live on longer inside of me, and maybe her. Longer than our real companionship ever could have been.
And, that the punishment that I've put myself through, over the loss of Us, is over.....
Nothing can replace this...but why have I been trying to? It wasn't perfect in the longest way. ( I wish I could just go out there and mindlessly shop for a girl. The way I see so many of my ilk do. I can't seem to just fall out of the saddle and get back on. I empty a bottle and I feel a bit free. But that never changes the fear. And I can't just shop happily. I keep thinking theirs a special offer out there. Just around the next isle. So, I never make a choice and just indulge
I hope that my 40's will more of a...." Here Comes Johnny " laughing - lust for life. The way it is when I'm on top. Working the best shows, meeting the coolest people. Kissing the prettiest girl. Driving my fast machine GTi.... Feeling like I'm worth a Million in prizes. Even if I'm sleeping on the street.
Come on Babe... let's paint the town....
As for SSS sufferers, here's another common trait: denial. The most vociferously opinionated or willing to debate the topic (and let's not forget here that it was a sardonic bit of writing intended merely to inspire a chuckle or two) are the ones who obviously suffer from it in a very real, un-ironic sense. Sigh. Perhaps one day I'll be a master satirist, but in the meantime, I'm just Ms. Understood.