...cause that's a thing, right? Adding -ish to everything? I just want to be cool too.

 

And now, without any further ellipses, back to my tangled ball of yarn... (OK, just one more.)

 

 

 

I wish I could pull the wool back over my eyes

Wish I could go back in time

Before any of this ever transpired

But I don't believe my lies

Even as I write them down, I know

The stories I tell, even I can't believe them

 

When I tell myself I don't care -- I really do

When I say my motivations are true -- it's never the case

When I say I'll that I'll get over you --  maybe it's true, I just don't know

Cause everything ends  -- everything, everything, everything, everything

I don't want to pout inside my room -- but that's what I'm gonna do

I don't want to go outside -- there's nothing that I want to do

I can't stand to be around myself -- but who else can I be, and what else can I do?

I can't stand the thoughts inside my head -- I never know which one of them is true

Yes, I do, that's just more lies

My moral compass works just fine

I just don't want to look at it

I just don't want to look at it 

Most of the time

 

I try to convince myself

The easy route, the one I always choose

Eventually, will get me there

Wherever there is

But I know it won't 

I may never get there

Cause I'm lazy

And all I want to do is whine

A spoiled brat

I can't blame my mother for that

She never did know quite what to do with me

But she tried

And as much trouble as I was

I can never give her joy

Troubled man that I am

Still just a troublesome boy

What makes sense is just to wait

In this unpleasant state

On strike for all eternity

God has sparrows to look after

He doesn't need me

If I don't make the cut -- so what?

What good will resisting this do?

I have no fight left in me

But I'm not going bend to some

Wonderful plan for me

Which I can't see anyway

Always the bridesmaid

There has to be a reason for that

If I ever see clearly

Ever see me

What I will see

But dirt under the doormat?

Feelings suck, please take them back

To wherever they came from 

I don't want them anymore

Nothing makes sense

And of nothing I'm sure, at least I'm sure of that

Even the coward's way out seems to take

More courage than I yet possess

How much longer do I have to wait

In this mess, this worthless mess?

I told you that I suck -- do you believe me now?

What more proof do I need to convince you?

What more do you need to make you see?

That the blackness in me 

Blocking the light 

Like a lead curtain a mile thick

Is all that exists

There's nothing more to see

 

What's inside, what I can't hide

Those who really get to know me

Stay away

Stay far away from me

A can of worms you don't want to open

A fair description of me, I guess

 

This Crap I detest

This meaningless pain I possess

That I just can't get myself rid of

Seems like it's all that I am

Seems like all that exists

 

I ruin everything

I take things apart, trying to fix them

But I wind up smashing it all

Smashing it all to bits

You are the only one I can talk to

But how can I do that to you?

The guy I don't want you to see

The guy I don't want to be

All about me

All about me

----

I can't sit here all day wasting away. My mind could spew out this crap, unendingly, just adding more layers of crap, more pain to unwrap. There's no gift inside, no prize, or else it's rotten, if there ever was one to begin with. 

Meanwhile, my songwriting challenge has devolved, back into the bliss of misery, misery of bliss. My miserly heart, retracting into its hard candy shell, looks fine on the outside. It's a facade I've perfected so well. 

 

I will even try to convince you that my pain is valid, that it's OK to feel the way I do. I make that part of my overall cunning approach. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. 

Fuck! I've got that damned girly pop song in my mind. The meter wants to creep into every thing I write. I am becoming a slave to meter, I keep going back, trying to make things fit. That's a subtle metaphor, I guess, for what I always do in relationships.

 

I can still say, honestly, that I really just wanted one kiss, nothing more. But with passion involved, sure, it would have been pretty intoxicating for me, and the idea that it might/ought to/could lead to more might be difficult to resist. At first, I said that the Dream was enough, but clearly, I did want more. I wanted it to be real, to happen in real life. I wanted to feel that, to express that feeling, physically.

 

But I don't want some pity kiss to placate poor, pouty Andrew. When passion turns to pity, why bother? I used to say I'd take pity over nothing at all, but I don't know. I'm on the fence. I know what compromise looks like, and I don't want to make my friend feel that way. 

 

What I'm doing, though, isn't any better. Sulking and pouting. Those things rarely achieve the desired result. The only one punished is the pouter. It's Happy Days and Laverne and Shirley vs the Stanley Cup Playoffs all over again. For those who are late to the party, I'll recap: 

 

When I was 9 or 10, my dad, stepmom and I were sitting on the couch, watching Monty Python, and the show had just ended. Up next, I wanted to watch Happy Days and Laverne and Shirley. I was 10, and it was important for me to keep up with the shows that my little schoolmates would be talking about. 

 

My dad didn't recognize this priority, however, and after Monty Python, he switched the channel to watch the Stanley Cup playoffs. I'm not sure who was playing. I didn't care. I wanted to watch my shows. When I objected, I was promptly overruled with a dismissive remark, denigrating my taste in inane sitcoms, and those type of shows in general.

 

"If I can't watch Happy Days and Laverne and Shirley, I'm going to go to my room!" I huffed.

My dad, smirking, said, "Be my guest" and turned his attention back to his televised sporting event.

I wasn't in my room too long before I realized that my plan had backfired. I wasn't missed. I had dismissed myself, saving my dad the trouble. Did I learn my lesson? Probably not. I'm still doing it.

----

One more thing, as Columbo used to say. Why not, I'm on a roll. a hard, bitter roll of moldy, stale sourdough. What do I do best? I project. I fear rejection (though I say I don't, I do). So, much so, in fact, that I preempt the possibility of it ever happening by never trying. Or, if I do attempt something, when I don't instantly achieve the results I desire, I self-sabotage and make my predictions come true. 

It's like I want to say, "I know you won't like me anyway, so here are five more reasons for you to make the easy choice to walk away from me." In that way, I control the narrative, making myself the martyr, the dejected, rejected one, so I can justify -- what? Doing this all day? 

I'm one fucked up individual. A self-absorbed, self-aware narcissist, feeding myself a load of crap that "I am too fucked up to try, so why bother -- it's easier than getting shot down every time." Over time, I bend in that direction, away from the light, gravity beating out of me the will to survive.

If I were a Christian, I'd have a devil to blame. But the devil is me, and this illusion that I'm anything else, at this moment, is pretty difficult to see. These thoughts in my head are all me. Who else can claim them? They exist in me, however I may have acquired them. 

 

My responsibility, my choice, I suppose, although I can't say I was the one who initially decided to be born with these tendencies and capabilities. I'd probably have picked from a different buffet, all the characteristics that make up me. Menu choices like being a selfish dick wouldn't even be available -- greyed out, un-clickable.

I vacillate in my beliefs. I want to believe in God sometimes because I want to have someone to blame. A spider, a snake, a wolf, a bear -- all act in accordance with the inherent programming of their instincts. You can't blame them for capturing and eating their prey, God made them that way. Neither can you teach them, for they will just revert to their true nature.

Can I be done now? Have I tortured my two readers (and the Republic of Singapore) enough already?

----

Apparently, not. I fell asleep on the couch. To sleep, perchance to dream, etc, etc. (No ellipses, this time, see? I can keep to my own rules. Sometimes.)

So, as if to show me just what a _______ I am (you fill in the blank, I'm tired of coming up with self-denigrating adjectives) I had another dream about a kiss. But this time it was April, not _______. (I'm still not using her name, out of respect for her privacy, although I don't seem to mind blabbing April's around without the same regard.)

In this dream, ______, April and I were a part of a larger group. I want to say DBSA, but I can't be certain. (This was an afternoon dream, and details weren't provided, just a basic outline. I am also aware that I'm beginning to use parentheses with alarming frequency to highlight subtext and commentary. This must end soon. Sometime. Hopefully. Also, my sentences are also becoming more fragmentary, and I'm reverting to my prior style, with blatant disregard for conventional grammar.)

April and I hiked up to the top of a small bluff, while ______ stayed behind with the rest of the group. ______ was looking kind of upset, not her usual bright, sparkly self. I guessed that she might be miffed at me for going off with April. 

 

Even though I tried to make it inconspicuous, I could almost hear her thoughts with regard to this: "A woman is always aware of the presence of another woman. It is like a sixth sense." I don't know if this is true, or if it is even something she would say, but in my dream, it was.

When we got to the top of the bluff, April gave me a hug. (She does give good hugs, I won't deny that, dream hugs included.) At the end of the hug, she pulled back just enough to plant a nice, big smackeroo right on my lips. I felt all fluttery and nice. I liked it. I kissed back gently, and it kept up for a few seconds more. It ended with her giving me a huge smile and exclaiming: "Well, OK, then!"

But during the entire time the kiss went on, my thoughts were of _______. What if she found out? What would she think of this? What was I even doing with April, anyway? I really wanted it to be _______ that I was kissing, and yet, here I was with someone else, indulging in a guilty pleasure, albeit one with a higher guilt to pleasure ratio than I would prefer. 

I'm kind of ruined for this sort of thing. I'll be comparing everything to my ideal, to my dream person who just happens to exist in this life as my best friend. 

 

How do I deal with my own inconsistencies and incongruities? I don't like who I am in this regard. I envy my friend's high ethical standards. I don't share all of them, sadly. But then, I have never able to buy into anyone else's total package of beliefs. I'm too finicky with rules and absolutes, or as I like to call it -- a sociopath. Situational ethics seem to be my standard, but even that rule is broken, as I can be very rigid when it suits me. 

That'll do, Pig. For now...(see what I did there?)