November
It's been over a year, and you would count the stars in my sky
I could feed off your words and not be lonely inside.

You struck the match
Maybe I set the fire
and our whispers burned to the ground
The night sky lit up
Smoke rising high
And I'm alone.

I think about you everyday. I wanted you to stay.
I'll always be your friend, but it would never be the same

But I'm lonely now and it's over
I'm lonely now, if only we could have had more time.


March 21 2006
And that's how it's done.

I was driving along to work, down through the industrial area of town where sidewalks don't exist and traffic is more sparse, and I spotted the telephone pol ahead. It was solid wood, strong and sturdy. I passed by these numerous poles. So repetitious, with my eyes fixed on one in the distance. For whatever reason, this was the one. The object of my well-planned point of attack. It looms closer, gradually becoming larger - taking on a look that is somehow bolder and more extravegant than the ones on either side, extending rows upon rows. Because this is the one.
My car collisdes. A direct hit. And I feel the rough grains of wood splintering against my face as the vehicle wrappes itself and clings around the telephone pole.

I don't know where the time has gone. I think whatever force keeps each minute 60 seconds long has sped itself up. Each minute is now 30 seconds long, and we'll all die when only half of our lives are spent. Half of the years are wasted.
I can't remember at least half the things I do, and the other half are so prominent in my mind as if they only just happened. Because half of my life is gone and ceases to exist. And whatever I did during those missing minuates, hours, days, years is forgotten and none of it ever happened.

What do you do when you want to stop, but it's too much work to do anything else. Maybe you've shut off your mind so you could ignore that nagging voice you know is good for you. To turn it back on is like realizing your whole life is too simple, and your brain has become mush.
So you try to revive it. Make it think and learn, but it's strenuous and tiring. It's hard.
And it's difficult to remember a time when your body and all it's parts worked for you and did as they were told.


Travel
I'll write a traveling song about golden grass and grey shacks, sparcely populated towns and dirt rising up. We'll go on a road trip. We'll drive the day away. We'll hope for the best. How long will we stay . . .
Water towers and grain elevators. Populations of nothing declared at town's limits, and why would anyone live here, under cloudy skies - with their boring lives.
We'll long for a fast drive out of this hell, past the brown, rolling hills. And I can count - one - two - three trees. There's only the fence posts, and we'll watch as miles go by.
And we'll go by - exit signs, mile signs, the tell-tale signs that we'll soon go crazy. Passing by the barren towns, the dust, grime and dirt - the water towers - the grain elevators and overpasses. Fence posts flying by and barbed wire barely visible to the eye. I'll write a traveling song and hope the drive won't last too long.


12:31
I do it to myself, and it's unfortunate, because I'll never know what might have been or what adventures could have progressed. It's probably better this way thought. It'll save myself the hurt that I know is inevitable in the long run, because even this short run stings. I'm not so good with people. I guess it's good I like to be alone. And maybe I'm lacking in detramental skills. You know, the type that stop me before I say too much. They say mystery is important, but I'd rather just know it all where relationships are concerned. When I get along with someone, I would automatically like to know the things that make them happy and the things that make them sad. And I would know right away what to do if tempers flared, and I'd stop them from being mad. But life doesn't work that way. It seems in my attempts to be as open and honest as possible towards people I feel inclined to know better, it all backfires and nothing will be had to do with me. Maybe I'm more abnormal than I thought. Everyone tends to think they're something special when it comes to their habits and emotions, but everyone is pretty much the same. Although personalities differ, the feelings still come up and are the same. And I don't want to say I'm different or apart from the norm, but other people, for the most part, are able to meet people and carry on meaningful relationships, but somehow this never works for me, even when I try. I have my friends who stick around, who I have known for years, but quite honestly, I can't comprehend how they would still want anything to do with me. I'm not always the nicest person and sometimes am downright sarcastic. I never fail to point out their stupidity or ignorance, yet they're still there. So mostly I'm sad about relationships I might have liked to keep, but never had the priviledge to find out because before I could properly know the person, they pulled themselves out of my life and into obscurity.

I just want to write, but I never do. I never know what to say. So I'll write whatever pops into my head.

Stars on trees and the summer's breeze are things I wish for. A swing in a tree would be nice for hot afternoons. The universe is changing and shifting, and i wonder how long before everything's different. Sometimes I think I need to meet him and then everything would be better. i would feel happy and maybe he would too, and we would "hit it off" so to speak. But I know better, and those are only thoughts that get to entertain me sometimes. Things would be awkward and neither of us would know what to say or what was supposed to come of this meeting. So mostly I think I live in this imaginary world. When I'm faced with my life, I just feel too sad. So I think of situations and stories to make me feel better. Or sometimes I just pretend I'm someone else in a worse situation (not that I'm in a bad situation) and go with that for awhile until I fall asleep. I find it hard to accept what my actions could eventually lead to. I'm not naive, and I know what happens, but maybe I don't want to think it will. Maybe as long as I ignore it, it won't matter. It's 12:14 so I've only been writing for about two minutes so far, but my hand already hurts. I remember when I was much younger and would stay awake all night filling notebooks with silly stories about silly people. I was happy though, I think, for the most part. Because that was before things really mattered. And life consisted of best friends, slurpees and riding my bike. And it sounds so good, but I would never want to go back. Even though I feel like dying a lot of the time. I hate that time.
One page gone by. I'm tired. Maybe I'll be able to sleep quickly tonight. I'm tired of lots of things though. But I still have to do them day after day. And sometimes I just chose to do day after day because I can't leave it behind. But things out of place make me anxious, so maybe I don't know what I want. Maybe I am just out of place in everything. I wonder how he's changed. If he's better. But he was never really in trouble. He was always strong. Maybe I would still really respect him. But now he's just a spark in my imagination when I want to feel good momentarily. And I wonder if he thinks about me or knows I still read his journal. I get excited a little bit everytime he makes a new post even though they're very sporatic. But then I know he's still okay.


I'm tired now, and I have to be up for work in 6.5 hours. But I don't really care. Tomorrow is Friday. I wish I could just stop wallowing in self pity. It's really very stupid to be sad about things I could do something about. Like when I feel so alone. It's not that hard to call up someone to go for coffee or whatever. But apparently it is, because I never do it.

Maybe I'll have an anneurysm one day.

She's been annoying me lately. Maybe it's a cycle where she does, and then briefly she won't. But I don't know, I just try to act normal which can be very easy considering we rarely see each other, and when she messages me it's only ever a few lines of text and the conversation stops.
I guess someone could analyze the situation and conclude that I am jealous of her future marriage, but truthfully I'm not. I see it as neither good nor bad - mostly because I don't see anything changing from the way it is now. So mostly it seems non-existant to me.
But I am sick of hearing about the wedding. I don't even want to be a part of it. I don't like that sort of thing, but I am sucking it up.

I wonder what's going on with certain people I never see anymore and haven't seen for a couple years. Nolan for one. I just keep thinking about him lately. He randomly pops into my head from time to time. Things keep reminding me of him. So I wonder. Not that I bother asking anyone who might know. I'm content just to wonder and maybe I'll run into him somewhere, sometime.

So I'm tired.