i prefer the wind
It’s been a while. Although I’m half tempted to pick up the flippant tone and throw an off-handed joke to diffuse the distance between this blog and my present life, I’ll refrain. Really, writing would have been impossible in the prior months. I can’t explain to you the nature of that impossibility, but I know as much as to say that it has not been the time to live life under a microscope.
So what draws me back? Peer pressure. The eloquent words of the girls with whom I fill my life. Boredom. Angst. It doesn’t matter, one way or another I needed to write, and here I am.
I have little interest in rehashing the nitty gritty of my daily life for the last few months. Suffice it to say that I, as always, find it impossible to be satisfied no matter how much spite I throw into the world or how much I change. As such, nothing has changed since the last I was here.
The interesting thing about writing in this wordpress is that there is a rundown at the top of the page of all of my incomplete posts. These were discarded for many reasons. Poems and short stories that went nowhere. Discussions of Billy that were too whiny. Daily details too dull. It’s a little odd to be forcecd to consider the failures of your work everytime you create anew. Then again, it makes hitting the “publish” button a little more satisfying.
In my life I often apologize for things that I am not at all sorry for such that I preempt the need to apologize genuinely in the case of offense. It’s a weak argumentative tactic. I do not, though, apologize genuinely even when I know it is most necessary. Am I at fault? Only partially. But if neither of us tries to rectify it neither of us ever will.
When couples around me break up I find myself deeply shaken, even now. Sometimes I forget that endings are inevitable. Mostly I try not to remember. I was up sleepless all night remembering the hollow feeling in my stomach I had for months after the last time he left. I can imagine going through it again, but I can’t imagine the way our recent happiness would intensify that pain. Even the mouse eventually learns the way through the maze because of the electric shocks. History tells me this can only end in pain, and yet here I go anyway.
I vow from here on out not to turn my favorite songs into ringtones or burlesque numbers. It only strips them of the meaning. That said, I’ve been listening to “Come on, Petunia” on repeat for the last god knows how long. The Blow saved my life.