You know how most blogs are a whole bunch of daily summaries (blah), peppered with occasional tragic episode of teenage life? I don’t know if it’s ego or simply an attempt at communication. In my case, it is both. Suddenly I have a deep down I-want-to-sleep-my-life-away kind of feeling and I’m going to tell you about it. If you, like me, hate whining, this is your chance to jump ship. So, I’m really confused as to why I’m writing this, and so it is difficult to start. I first wrote, “I feel like shit,” but that didn’t seem to capture the spirit I wanted to convey. Then I wanted to make a few observations, maybe a couple of jokes, about suicide. That didn’t fly; half of you would laugh, and the other half would worry and call me in the middle of the night (this, interestingly, is almost equally divided between males and females, with a few notable exceptions). What I want to avoid is being dramatic, or at least, overly so. Usually I’d now be on the phone with a friend, discussing my miserable life for a couple of hours, end up trying to be funny and feeling better, at least for a while. Somewhere along the way, I ran out of those people who were willing to listen. Or, somewhere along the way, I ran out of people who I wanted to listen. And, fuck me, if that isn’t a part of the cold pit in my stomach. I thought I was so strong because I’d bested all the death and agony of past few years that I forgot that I always had somebody to pick me up. So, I’m angry at myself, and I’m the best person at beating Nick up. I love women. Some of you might think I’m gay, or have some nagging suspicion. I’ve heard it before. But there is something about the soft peach fuzz on the nape of a beautiful woman's neck, and her reaction to it's caress that tells me I'm not. What you think, I'll give a damn about later. The truth is, I’m a sad pathetic romantic. Sex is… Oh, what can I say, awesome, spectacular. Insert your favorite word (pun mostly intended). But, and here is the so called ‘pussyfication’ factor, where do I go from there?Something changed this year; something important to me. I never wanted a girlfriend. Actually, what I didn’t want was a relationship. I spent my late teenage years answering 2 am phone calls about boyfriends who didn’t understand, guys who didn’t call back, guys who did call back but were the wrong guys, and so on. Yes, I made the mistake of becoming a friend to these women, but they more than repaid me when the time came for me to complain. The thing is there are no answers beyond your own. So, when they cried softly, I just listened. I’ve heard people dishing out advice as if they have it all figured out. My great grandpa called this kind of advice, perfectly logically idiotic. Use common sense, you know yourself better than anybody.Oh, and yes, the guy that you call in the middle of the night to sob to, he probably wants to sleep with you. When you’re crying on his shoulder, he might be wondering if he might weasel himself in somehow. The only variable is, if he’s man enough not to.That was tangent there. What I meant to say is, I changed my mind. Maybe a woman is what I need, not only what I want. Why this makes me sad, I don’t know. I think I’m getting old. And, all the girls I could see myself with, I’ve either long since made clear I “ain’t the boyfriend type”, or don’t like me. I wish I could say that instead are “taken”, because that would make it easier to stomach.These gray days have been boiling for a while. Yesterday, I had a bittersweet day, and it only made it worse to remember how much fun life is. I want to call myself a pussy so bad, but I know I’m not. When I came home, I found out that an aunt of mine, who helped raise me while my mom went to school, who saw me walk for the first time, who loved me like her son, is dying. Slowly, with the same brave face that she’s always had. (And I’m crying right now, and don’t give a shit). What makes it worse is that she clings to the stupid idea of God. She’s given up because she feels some kind of assurance. I hate it with passion, but could never tell her otherwise. I’m torn.I wrote this for myself, so it's raw and personal. I post it because of ego and loneliness. And I’d like to quote Nietzsche but he sounds idiotic right now. So, please, Miss Guilty Eyes, tell me something I don’t know…
I've been watching all the time
And I still can't find the track
And I wanna know
Is it okay?
Is it just fine?
Was it my fault?
Is it my lack?
- Red Red Red - Fiona Apple