BUT IN A TOTALLY MANLY WAY
After repeated listenings, the song finally carves down through my outer layers. The sweet pain I feel is unfamiliar, which is a good thing. It means it's been a while since I've felt it, and therefore I've made progress. Carefully, I've undone all the damage despite my natural inclination to never turn back time.
I'm back in my room, as if for the first time. If I try hard enough, I could turn the crank back a little further, but there's no need. I'm at a fantastic spot, and I don't want to forget why I came here. I'm even slightly worried that I may have undone a little too much but if I care enough on that end then the problem is fixable.
How time has warped. It has, hasn't it? Even now, I'm a little fucked up from two Fridays back and the party that ensued, and from then I was fucked up from weeks prior, fucked up from the month prior to that, fucked up from a moment prior to that, and fucked up from a timeless well of memories prior to that. Things seem a little longer in my head, and now that I'm out of the mess I was in, I can stand up and look at the puddle of mud. I can see, "It wasn't worth fretting," and I can see that I got very worked up over what amounted to a few unconnected months and weeks that bobbed in and out of my life.
The one fancy thing I've left is the stinging observation that I've left the horrible thing that was ruining me with somebody who intended to rid me of it to feel better about themself. Now they're rotting and writhing and so many beautiful things have opened up in my life. Roses grow outside my bedroom window in this comedy of errors.
The real problem, the real reason why I need this particular moment of reflection which I realize as a typed monologue, is that now that I'm out of the mud pit and standing alone and free again, I remember the barren wasteland that caused me to seek said mudpit in a moment of despair and boredom. Yes, I am travelling towards good things, but the unfamiliar pain I feel now is the loneliness that comes with my particular brand of growth and line of business. It's intensely temporary, though, because I'm accompanied by an array of companions who missed me very much while I was in said mud pit and are more than willing to help liven things up with the help of their smiles (CLICK THAT FUCKING LINK) and appropriate dosages of Dan Aykroyd.
Dan Aykroyd, who, by the by, was in town yesterday autographing bottles of his own champagne and vodka at a local liquor store.
On top of it all, I have photos from the better parties out of which I've been kicked. In other words, there's no problem, and it wasn't really anything special. This paragraph may as well be written in another language.
My room reflects my life. I'm almost done cleaning it and I should get back to work.
I'm back in my room, as if for the first time. If I try hard enough, I could turn the crank back a little further, but there's no need. I'm at a fantastic spot, and I don't want to forget why I came here. I'm even slightly worried that I may have undone a little too much but if I care enough on that end then the problem is fixable.
How time has warped. It has, hasn't it? Even now, I'm a little fucked up from two Fridays back and the party that ensued, and from then I was fucked up from weeks prior, fucked up from the month prior to that, fucked up from a moment prior to that, and fucked up from a timeless well of memories prior to that. Things seem a little longer in my head, and now that I'm out of the mess I was in, I can stand up and look at the puddle of mud. I can see, "It wasn't worth fretting," and I can see that I got very worked up over what amounted to a few unconnected months and weeks that bobbed in and out of my life.
The one fancy thing I've left is the stinging observation that I've left the horrible thing that was ruining me with somebody who intended to rid me of it to feel better about themself. Now they're rotting and writhing and so many beautiful things have opened up in my life. Roses grow outside my bedroom window in this comedy of errors.
The real problem, the real reason why I need this particular moment of reflection which I realize as a typed monologue, is that now that I'm out of the mud pit and standing alone and free again, I remember the barren wasteland that caused me to seek said mudpit in a moment of despair and boredom. Yes, I am travelling towards good things, but the unfamiliar pain I feel now is the loneliness that comes with my particular brand of growth and line of business. It's intensely temporary, though, because I'm accompanied by an array of companions who missed me very much while I was in said mud pit and are more than willing to help liven things up with the help of their smiles (CLICK THAT FUCKING LINK) and appropriate dosages of Dan Aykroyd.
Dan Aykroyd, who, by the by, was in town yesterday autographing bottles of his own champagne and vodka at a local liquor store.
On top of it all, I have photos from the better parties out of which I've been kicked. In other words, there's no problem, and it wasn't really anything special. This paragraph may as well be written in another language.
My room reflects my life. I'm almost done cleaning it and I should get back to work.