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Headaches will be the death of me

March 11, 2006

I find myself sitting for the 6th day in a row with a fucking headache the size of Montreal.  Whatever that means.  Headaches bring on stress, which cause the headache to grow, the next thing I know I’m super sleepy and I feel as though I’ve wasted my whole day doing NOTHING. 

I also can’t write for shit, which is really starting to piss me off.  Me not writing, is like a fish not swimming.  What the hell am I supposed to do? 

You’ll prob. soon find that I analyze myself entirely too much, but I am generally right.

Anyway, I’m in pain and although I’ve just stumbled upon this beautiful blog site, and want to play on here, I really should go.  I’ll def. write more soon.

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I don’t know

March 11, 2006

I’m sitting here listening to the pitter patter of rain outside the door.  At first I thought it was my mother-in-law who is moving out today (HALLELLUJAH!)  or one of her other kids that isn’t fond of me.  I’ve got my typical mid-day headache, and dying to write.  What keeps coming out is dribble, and I don’t know how I feel about it.  I don’t know how I feel about much anymore.  So I’m trying to reach down deep and visit memories of my past, and find just another piece that I lost in the darkness that was my life.  It’s been kind of cool, and so subconscious but I’ve found myself listening to music from when I was 14-17, talking to friends from that time, and wanting to do some of the activities I no longer do such as draw really intense pictures again.  I think this entire time that I’ve had writers block has been a representation of my conscious going on auto pilot leaving me numb and tired, as my sub-conscious goes to work to attempt to heal the vessel that encompasses my soul.  So here’s my attempt at getting some of this out:

I’ve left fragments of my already shattered heart

in different places across this country

in different time periods disguised as “moments”

I’ve given just a little piece of my self

to all who’ve come in to this dark musty bar

like a business card

and now I find myself

standing here

incomplete

wanting to love

the love that’s infront of me

feeling as if I have so little left to give

thinking of the lusts and likes of yesterday

and this is the kind of life that I have to live

tortured by a mind with a conscious

that is always working overtime, and I want nothing more

than to be worthy of being the one

for the one who thinks that I am the one

but I fear that my mask will soon fade

and alone again is all I’ll be

and all I’ll have left to write about

you know, the same old story of how I came

this close to being happy

for once, and one more time

in this situational comedic tradgedy called life

So what else is left to say

other than I love you

and I hope that one day I will find the rest

of the pieces that make up

me.