Tuesday, October 20th, 2009
It’s come to my attention, that I seem to fail at doing most things all the time. Given the time between this entry and my last, sometimes I wonder what’s the last thing I did right, and actually paid some form of attention to, for purposes of development or leisure. With that being said, it could just mean that I simply do not have anything preoccupying myself in the real world worth mentioning, and might not be very far from the truth.
It’s very hard to offer a buoyant update, when all I have been faced with recently are results of inadequacy. In summation, I’ve yet to have a day yet that’s been truly enjoyable, except for of course Electric Zoo Festival.
Perhaps if I entered a realm with whichever reader I have on a more personal level, then I have something more to talk about, which is exactly what I’ll do here…shouldn’t be too bad, I hope anyway.
I wake up every morning ( or afternoon, being unemployed ), and I find myself just reliving a cycle of constant regret, which ends up ruining the day for me before I even make it to the bathroom to brush my teeth. One problem I’m constantly dealing with, is how to get over an ex-girlfriend. I’d love to link articles where it states that men take longer to get over women than the reverse, but as for now, I do suppose the readers can give me the benefit of the doubt to put faith in the comment itself. Perhaps it is because I never wanted the relationship to end, or perhaps during the end of it, I never received much closure, but whatever it may be, it has tormented me for long enough and still continues to do so. I will formally refer to the subject of my debacle as Ms. J, for obvious reasons of confidentiality. (Or Mr. if it helps you get a good laugh out of my misfortune) The most unfortunate part is, that when the end of the relationship was had just occurred, I told myself I would be able to handle it, because I had a stalwart grasp of my emotions. Surprisingly enough, the longer time goes on, the worse it gets. I’ve heard the saying that time heals all wounds, but what if time is causing the wound to defile slowly, of which to ends unknown? What will I do then? Will a simple overused cliche expression do the trick in helping me to cope? To make matters worse, Ms. J here, is currently off in Kansas City receiving her Master’s Degree, and I could not make an attempt at closure even if I had to. I’ve been tempted to call many times, but as we all know, doing something like that will no more satisfy a sense of closure as it will pour salt on my already festering soul. There are certain things taboo to ask an ex, mostly if she has a current boyfriend, and what is he like etc etc..Is it a male thing to want to know something like this and reply with an overly obnoxious comment when the girl actually tells you, or do women do this too? It’s a conflicting sense of dread simply due to the fact that I want to know the answer, and yet at the same time, I don’t. And the whole problem arises, when I try to figure which to do. As of now, I’ve been settling on the latter, but as my days progress, I can only hold out so long before I completely lose my will to think properly. It’s becoming increasingly harder to sleep as the nights go by, because when I make an attempt to drift into any form of sleep that involves rapid eye moment, I just see her face, and there I lie, as if I had just ingested half of South American’s coffee beans in one bite.
I lay there staring at my ceiling, and I wonder how she takes the situation. After all it’s been awhile,people that ask for my name forget about me five minutes into meeting me, what would a whole year bring? As much as I’d hate to admit it, it is the usual things that plague my aching mind. Is she happy, am I still in her mind? I speak as if I want the relationship to come back full circle and continue where we left off, and yet atop all of my confusion, I do not have an answer as to what I want. There’s some quote here waiting to be said about life with oranges and lemons. I would love to understand the biological chemistry that separates males from females, and why these things do not torment females as much. Sometimes it is so bad, that my chest manages to form a physical manipulation of emotional pain, into something that feels along the line of a bad case of vertigo mixed with nausea from overeating, and I can do nothing about it but sit there and bear with it, hoping no one else in this world notices. Within the last year or so, I’ve drank more beers to get myself to sleep, than a fraternity boy has in his 4 years of “studying” during college. I am not proud of the fact, but this is my blog, and this is what I say to myself as I pretend to have at least one reader.
I walk on my way to LSAT prep class, and if I see the pizzeria that we used to eat at, I tell myself, “I wonder if she’s eating well in Kansas City?” or “Is the pizza she’s having there just as good as New York’s?” I realize things are turning for the worse when I reminisce about all the bad times we’ve had together, and those start to become good. Yearning for an argument with her in order to keep out the loneliness of my being, either calls for me to bury my face into a book, or play trance music so loud that I cannot create a sizable thought in my brain as the bass line shakes my core.
I have been guilty of driving to a rather famous NY Deli known as Cherry Valley, and not even going in to buy anything to eat, albeit being hungry or not. I simply did it because we used to go there at the wee hours in the morning for a midnight snack with nothing more than sweatpants and sleepwear, letting hunger guide us. During the summer nights it was especially fun as the sunroof was pushed back, and the ocean along the highway hit our faces with the brisk summer air, giving the illusion that something so simple and happy could last forever between us two. Maybe one of these days, I will actually step foot in there after driving there, and get something to eat, but it just feels wrong to not have her there when I place an order. Her usual order of French toast, and cookies, OH MY GOD WORDPRESS I AM LOSING MY MIND!
I still have the heart shaped glass container, that contains hundreds of hand folded stars that she made me, calling it a “rocket ship” that was supposed to send me to the stars. When I had opened it for the first time, the scent from the bottle smelled exactly like her, mixed with the perfume that she was wearing at the time, and I immediately plugged the cork back in, as if thinking that I must keep the love in, so that it would never leak out and deteriorate. I opened it for the first time last week, and took a whiff, and was stabbed through the chest with a stake made from irony. But…it was pleasant.
I realize I should probably move on with my life, maybe give more effort into making trance music, since I’ve been doing alot of that recently, and at the same time I feel as if I’m not sure if I want these memories to be forgotten….
So I offer this to you Ms. J if you ever read this entry, what do you think I should do?
“Moving on is simple, it’s what you leave behind that makes it so difficult.”
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