now playing: jackson browne, “late for the sky”
daylight savings time is a crock. a myth. a fabrication cooked up by a government conspiracy.
because i’m actually losing an hour here…how can that be saving me anything?
i’m not sure what prompted me to write what i wrote last night…i vaguely remember having posted it. i remember walking back to the house in the rain with mitch, and i remember having the laptop on the pillow sitting in my lap, like i do now…but that’s about it.
this weekend has been one long comedy of judgemental errors, thus far. i can’t remember how much of this i’ve expressed, but there was a plan, originally, then there had to be another plan, because of the doom and gloom weather forecast…then today, fate gets in one more good sucker punch by not releasing a single droplet from the sky from ten AM, when i arose (by some miracle) and the end of the day. so, all the work i put into implementing plan B just to have it go awry was for naught, as plan A would’ve worked out just fine.
i have become the constant bedfellow of overwhelmed frustration. i seriously don’t know what to do next – so much so that i end up grabbing another beer and just flailing about, trying to organize shit here so that it’ll streamline the process tomorrow after the baseball game…but i don’t think i’ve been very successful there, either.
1:56…i don’t remember the last time that i actually watched a computer automatically change itself over for DST. any minute now.
part of me wants to discuss the things internal that are fighting the external for my attention, but i’m doing everything in my power not to think about that right now.
not that this is working, because it’s clouding my thoughts and hindering my ability to stay focused and demanding audience with my consciousness.
it’s sad when a relationship ends and you don’t have a rational explanation for why it ended. you question and analyze and replay things in your mind and search for answers that ultimately never come. i’ve come to the conclusion, though, that it’s equally sad when a relationship comes to an end for what are clear reasons. there was a time when i’d have said that the former is much worse than the latter, but i’ve changed my mind about that now. i think the latter may, in fact, be sadder.
sure, it’s sad when you can’t put your finger on something and say, “that’s what it was…”…but if you’ve been in the position, as i am, of being able to say, matter of factly, that this is why – well, then, you’re forced to think about why you didn’t do anything about it. i mean, really…what the fuck? you can’t open your mouth and discuss this? you can’t put your cards on the table and have them seen for what they are?
what you come away with, my friends, in this particular scenario, is the Grand Bull Moose Gold Medal Winner Emotional Louisville Slugger:
you must not have wanted this bad enough.
wow. that’s just fuckin’ harsh. but that’s the thing that just keeps playing in your head…this must not have been that important, or you would have dealt with this and come to some kind of understanding. but, on the primary point here, i’m not sure that either party was willing to entertain the others’ thoughts on the subject.
and, ultimately, that’s fine. she knows what she wants, i know what i want – the truth is, they’re not as far apart as either of us think they are, but i digress – so we’ve adopted this course, and it’s clear this time that it’s for good.
and while i’ve had a couple of glancing blows that have landed since this bomb dropped, i’m still on my feet, still in the ring…right now.
i’m looking, though, and i see the glove dropping back, and i know that i’m about to be on the receiving end of a haymaker, and i can hear the wind from the leather of the gloved fist speeding towards my face.
it’s gonna land any second now, and everything that’s churning inside me that has been convienently elbowed aside by the chaotic turmoil of this past week is going to unleash on me, and it’s not going to be pretty, and i hope no one else is around when that punch lands…because i’ll be hitting the canvas when it does.