URSELAPATCH

angela, i think you would like this song:
"existentialism on prom night" by Straylight Run.
not all of their songs are that good
but this one is.

It would appear that two days of rest failed to produce the desired effects, and the remainder of the week left no room for continued recovery. It's been two weeks since this began but there is still a jolt the instant food hits my stomach and there's nothing to do but close my eyes against it and sit here alone in the darkness with everyone away except the dog, Daniel to his own life and my mother in Virginia and my father at work and the fish dead and gone (I'm sorry).

Ah, wellll...

The best thing to do when home alone is watch the television. It cuts you off from reality and leaves you distant enough from yourself not to get caught in the sort of thoughts that are best kept buried. This is the problem with new beginnings: the past is too tenacious to ever rid yourself of completely, unless you want to cut out a chunk or two of your brain. So here is my advice for not getting trapped in the sort of thinking that drags you back into a past that you never wanted to be associated with: never make mistakes.

Whoever decided that mistakes are beneficial in the long run was surely a fool. If I could give up the memories of all of my mistakes, I would gladly give up any knowledge I've gained from them as well.

This song is good though, and I've got it playing pretty loud to fill up the house with something other than the darkness of the air. I've got the heat turned up pretty high and the dog in my lap and it's like I'm not alone at all. It's like I don't have to think at all.

Last night was fun, okay? Almost everything has been fun or good or at least neutral lately. Lately is not the problem.

Would it really be worth it to start over? It would mean risking another seventeen years of mistakes. Oh Jesus Christ I don't want that.

So you reason it out with yourself. Your certainties bounce back and forth like the game we played with the tennis ball in basketball, and you laugh at your own clumsiness until your stomach aches and your breath comes short but you still can't catch the damned ball. It's a great game, and you will enjoy it while it lasts. It just won't come to anything in the end.

I'm not coming to anything in the end. Go ahead and get rid of those expectations.

Hey,
I don't feel anything right now.

Oh god that winter sun was making it look like summer today with the reflections of sunbeams curling off the windowpanes and pooling on the few remaining leaves, streaking the asphalt with slices of light and burning a halo over the cat's fur as it sat statue-still on the sidewalk and watched me with its eyes like cameras while I sat inside and let the time slide past unnoticed.