I have these intense cravings all the time.
Lately my body will beg for a cigarette. And I remind myself if I smoke one that it won’t make me feel better but it will make me want another. I have successfully for the past month or so had one cigarette a week. Not on any specific night but usually after a night of heavy drinking. Just one cheat smoke though as opposed to the steady chain smoking my body is accustomed to but nicotine nonetheless.
Hold up, I already wrote this essay. Let me stop myself.
This is exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve already written the essay where I tell you I’m going to quit smoking but I really haven’t quit.
I need to write the essay about how I’m the person who says he’s going to do something and then doesn’t follow through. Always trying to toot my own horn and never really doing anything worth tooting about.
Writing a solid essay once a week, that is something I could be proud of if I did that.
I can’t seem to find a focus and my creativity is always stalled by trivial bullshit that clouds up my thoughts and distracts me from my writing endeavors. More excuses for my shortcomings which unfortunately come much easier to me than I’d like.
I have plenty to write about. I could write about how much I love Cults the retro garage rock duo with the throwback girl group harmonies that just slay. Or maybe about how Katy Perry just confuses me, but not in a cool she’s so mysterious and clever way. I thought she was talented and charming but I can’t figure out why she is always dressed for the main stage at Perfect 10.
I can’t sleep at night. I’m always busy chewing on the inside of my cheeks or dreaming of unicorns and Justin Timberlake. My head is spinning and I’m discombobulated.
What is GaGa doing in space and why is Kanye talking to Jesus at the Staples Center?
Christmas decorations hang over my head at Mozart’s and people are stopping in the middle of the street at green lights and running red lights. Modern life is chaos but I no longer believe there is apocalypse looming over the horizon. This isn’t the end of days, it’s just Thursday.
And I don’t think I should have to be medicated for everyday living. I don’t want to end up as dazed and confused as the general population would lead you to believe they are. I can’t afford those prescriptions or bad habits.
I get so emotional and it’s embarrassing. So I avoid dealing with my emotions occasionally. The intense dark and stormy bits hide deep down inside of me until they get spun around so hard they erupt without warning. At that point I usually focus my wrath on a singular person and God help me I say things I can’t take back.
And I’m sorry.
Most days I’m doing all the yelling in my head. Beating myself into submission and those are the days I can’t even drag myself out of bed.
My frustrations wrestle around looking for someone to blame for my shortcomings when honestly there isn’t anything to be upset about. You cannot live your life within your limits and expect to achieve anything amazing. Everyday should be filled with the unfamiliar and unexplored territory. Wishful thinking will not lead you to glory.
I can’t keep propping myself up as the ultimate writer’s block. This blog stands as proof I am a writer no matter how I may try to disprove the fact to spite myself. I haven’t failed if I don’t stop trying and after a two month hiatus I have succeeded again. I just have to give myself the fighting chance I deserve. So I suppose you’ll be hearing from me a little more often now.
Same time next week?
This essay is about catharsis and is an attempt at the expression of my confusion.
Instead of making this about my bitterness I want to explore how my countless attempts at creating a love interest for myself out of thin air has left me wading in a deceptively dark deep pool of my own undoing. I dedicate this essay to all the other pummeled hearts and all the idiots doing the pummeling because they probably aren’t even aware of their unfortunate disposition.
Sex has always been a secondary concern of mine because I have never shared a sexual encounter with someone I’ve actually been intimate with, as in sharing an actual emotional connection in addition to the sharing of bodily fluids.
Now let the record show I am not discounting the merits of a good old fashioned trip down to pound town. To clarify, I don’t think you have to be emotionally attached to have good sex with a stranger or lover. But numerous encounters with strangers and individuals who ended up being estranged to me has left me more than wanting.
Which brings me to the conundrum of my quest for intimacy and those individuals I have pursued in this quest. I guess in my mind, I always think that I’ll find someone enchanted enough by me to pull a Lloyd Dobler and show up outside my window with a boom box and a trench coat. In reality, it is I standing outside with a boom box playing my favorite song hoping in turn that they will declare their love for me. That they know that song too and they get it, they get me.
My latest misstep began as a playful crush and has inadvertently played itself out as some discarded soap opera storyline in which I’ve written my would be lover off the show with no resolution. I mean I legitimately have no explanation for what has occurred between us. Maybe he does…
Dear Would Be Lover,
I feel like everything was different before like I had this life that was separate from my ordinary day to day but then there was my time spent with you. With you the world just made perfect sense in ways that weren’t so obvious before. When we were apart and something happened and you weren’t there to laugh at the joke or enjoy the irony or my cleverness something felt off.
Being with you was too easy. I don’t know when it started making sense that I prefer doing everything with you and that everyone else was boring. Probably about the same time you wanted me to choose you before anyone else, that you were the only person worthy of my attention.
This other life, the one where we are awesome together, was converging with my reality. I guess that was the goal for me anyway. I felt like we kept crossing paths and that somehow I would fit the two together the way we fit together. I mean if you meet someone and when you are together everything just falls into place, why would you wanna be apart?
I make you laugh and that makes me smile. I guess that’s why I kept building this up in mind the way one does when there is something to look forward to. I began to only look forward to seeing you. I guess that was my first mistake. Seems I was giving you something you weren’t asking for but I didn’t know what else to do. My head was spinning between all the mixed signals and the attention from you I couldn’t get enough of.
I didn’t want to stop. I was slowly giving myself up to our lost cause. Now there were reasons I started with said pining in my defense.
Why did you think it was okay to sing me to sleep? I mean singing me to sleep is romantic, a late night serenade. You serenade someone when you want them to fall in love with you. Right?
I mean if you are wooing me and you don’t want me to be wooed I don’t think you should be singing to me. I’m not making fun of you. I love it when you sing to me. I wish you sang to me every night.
I should take more responsibility for our demise. And unfortunately now you remind me of an embarrassment, a lapse in judgement, I’ve made numerous times and come out none the wiser.
We made plans before and I used to look forward to our adventures but now I wish they would just come and go if they don’t involve some amicable reunion, something we have managed countless times before.
So I have to gather myself in hope that one day I might get it together. Today is not that day and I remind myself that perhaps this wasn’t the right time or that you weren’t the would be lover I was waiting for. I also consider that I could be completely deluded.
This playlist reminds me of us and also that “us” is no longer some idea we share together because now that is all over. It’s a brief selection of songs that serve as a reminder of how much I liked our mess and also that I’m perfectly fine without you to complicate my life. Especially since I enjoy complications so much more than I should.
The I Don’t Need This Shit Playlist
Track 1: Some Things Never Seem To Fucking Work – Solange Knowles
Track 2: Recover – Chvrches
Track 3: Forrest Gump – Frank Ocean
Track 4: (One of Those) Crazy Girls – Paramore
Track 5: Mirrors – Justin Timberlake
I offer up the these songs although I can name a dozen more that I have convinced myself are either about me or my feelings. They are about all the adverse and positive effects of making yourself vulnerable to someone. Especially if those feelings are not reciprocated, or kind of reciprocated but not really, or just enough to make you think otherwise and maybe act crazy.
Like how I feel when you sing to me and I like it so much it makes me nauseous or enough to stand outside your window with a boom box declaring to the world my devotion to you, just plain crazy. I guess you can kind of pick up that I’m still confused and probably will be for just a bit longer.
For now, I’ll prefer the heartbreak songs to the happily ever after songs and nurse my wounds. I still sympathize with the suffering but I’m not condoning the pummeling of hearts for anyone’s entertainment, it’s just nice to have some company.