Weepy, self-pitying update #938420
The days slow down, office white. Right now it feels like the sound of static before hitting signal, jarring, anticipating release. Fluorescent lightbulbs and daylight are one and the same. My eyes are weary with neon. I communicate through Post-Its and e-mail. I'm eastern, central, mountain and pacific all rolled into this mess of non sequiturs. Coffee and paperwork. Youtube chuckles, facebook nudges. Patterns in meaningless data. I've always been terrified of signing along dotted lines. You've never been one to read through them. It's been this way before. We've walked down these paths, but always stuttering. Nervous. Half-hopes and "what-if"s. Walking bridges before burning them down. But it's never been like this. Like this, whgen I find myself throwing punches at the moon out of frustration. When I talk too much and make too little sense at night. Yelling through cell phones and grasping for any connection whatsoever. When... when? When's the last time I was really honest? To anyone, about anything. About where I'm stuck, about the way I feel, about my interpersonal skills and the way my relationships seem to end up disintegrating, like so much sand falling through clutching fingers.
And so another week drags to a dead standstill.
Another weekend for the (increasingly) heavy drinking.
And another night of half-assed socializing.
Good night, pareidolia. Good night, paper clip.
Good night, indifferent blue eyes. I don't exist.
And so another week drags to a dead standstill.
Another weekend for the (increasingly) heavy drinking.
And another night of half-assed socializing.
Good night, pareidolia. Good night, paper clip.
Good night, indifferent blue eyes. I don't exist.