There is something in the wind that drifts through the open window merely five feet from where I sit. It's probably carrying memories that would make me cry, if it weren't for the fact that I don't seem to care about too entirely much right now. It's the 21st.. traditionally, the monthly anniversary thing I used to have with my ex.. I hate having an ex. I hate having a history with someone and no real present. It's just something I don't like to deal with, but it's there, so I guess I have to.

They try to tell me when I should go to sleep, when I should wake up, who I should be friends with, what I should do. It's all in my best interests, they say, it may seem odd, but I really don't need anyone to tell me I don't rest enough. I don't need anyone to tell me my life is fucked up or that this isn't how people are supposed to do. I know what everyone else is doing, it doesn't need to be pointed out to me. I realize that there is more to life than the computer I spend so much time on, I'm just not sure I'm ready for any of it. The only thing that seems to soothe my swirling, insane thought'y matter is to write it here, to displace some of it. I don't want to feel like such a burden, I don't think you want me to either, but I do a lot of the time. Do you think that if this computer didn't exist, I'd spend more time in the "real world", is that what it is? I can tell that you look down on me, think less of me because I don't do what you do, but I'm so much more than you could ever know.. more than I know, even. I wish you could be happy just knowing that writing makes me happy, but I know you can't.. it doesn't make sense, not to you.

I sit up every night when I know I should be sleeping, I don't even do anything really, just write, and write.. I'm always writing and when I'm not I feel as if I should be, as if I'd love to be. I can't express how I feel about anyone or anything with my words because you don't give me the opportunity to use the words that I want to, it's like this is the only place I can use my one true voice, however silent it might be from such a distance. I'm so tired of the strange looks you give me, the laughs when I say the dreamy things floating around in my head out loud. Why is it so odd? Why do you always laugh at the things that mean the most to me? I know you're not even listening half the time.. I'd ask you what I just said, but I don't need it verified, it's bad enough as an assumption.

I'm just lonely tonight, I suppose, lonely and kind of disappointed with a lot of things that don't seem to be going as I'd like them to. I'm tired of being sick and of the haze'y confusion it has wrapped around my brain. I'm tired of not being able to write like I would be if all of my thoughts weren't weary, half-assed reflections of that which they could be.

I started listening to Pere Ubu today, freaking crazy ass great music, I love it. I'm listening to "Heaven" right now. I guess that Pere Ubu falls into the post-punk category.. I suppose I should explore the genre further on the off chance that I'll find something else this intensely neat. I wrote a node about BioSteel Goats, but I don't think it was of much interest to anyone. I think it's freaky and really strange.. spider genes. Hm..

They put the baby horse down today.. (just don't expect me to understand), I guess that's part of the reason I'm pretty down tonight. It's nearly 3am.. I suppose I should wander off to bed sooner or later. Maybe I'll have another nifty dream, like last night.. hangin' with the Counting Crows, I was chatting it up with Adam Duritz. I won't get into that, though, not right now..

I can't place exactly why I feel so distant from everyone and everything today.. I just really needed to talk to someone tonight, but there really wasn't anyone around. I suppose I shouldn't complain, things always look brighter in the morning.. and for that reason, I'm off to bed (maybe, probably not, though), I leave you with this:

"I wake up scared, I wake up strange and I wake up wondering if anything in my life is ever gonna change.." - What a Good Boy, Barenaked Ladies