Thursday February 17 2011

Waking up at 5:30 p.m.

Grabbing some Orange Juice to go.

Work at China Wok.

My brain is churning with more thoughts and reflections.

Would it have changed anything if when you were pining over me I returned with a full force love? Would this have happened still? Would you have still made this decision to leave me? I admit there were times I did not treat you the way you deserved. Would it have made a difference?

I wouldn’t have let you in my heart if I had known it would be a disaster like this. I wouldn’t have shared so much of my life with you. I would’ve been even more closed off.

I feel like I never really appreciated you or the beauty of our world. But did you really think you didn’t mean anything to me?

You let our home get evicted, or maybe I did, maybe we both did. But you decided to demolish it. I don’t know how much longer I can survive here in this rubble and debris.

I see what happened. Oh yes. I see it. I wasn’t giving you all the attention you wanted and someone else came along and gave that to you. And that opened the door for you to get out.

I’m trying to keep in mind how insecure you were before—all those times you went utterly crazy and almost psychotic. It was because of my behavior. I mean, there are other internal issues in you that caused it as well. But either way, I can comfort myself in knowing you felt this way already. And now it’s my turn.

It’s kind of busy tonight at the restaurant. I’m driving around blasting the stereo…On my gosh. This fucking song! It breaks me down as I’m listening to it…Ellie Goulding’s Blackmill Dubstep Remix version of Elton John’s “Your Song” is lulling me inside this mental fantasy world you created in my head. It’s not even the lyrics. It’s that progression in the chorus—that soaring single-note synth lead—the edited vocal melody—all that embodies what our world sounds like. It’s the soundtrack to my nostalgia and it’s invigorating. You are my dreamboat.

Still delivering Chinese food. I need something a little more…cathartic. Strangely I’m finding it in these Third Eye Blind songs. Windows rolled down. Speakers booming. Singing as loud as I can to….

“Want to get myself back in again.

The soft dive of oblivion.

I want to taste the salt of your skin.

The soft dive of oblivion.

How’s it gonna be when you don’t know me anymore?

How’s it gonna be?”


“Never look back at all the damage we have done now to each other.

Cause when I see you it’s like I’m staring down the sun.

And I’m blinded.

There’s nothing left to do.

Still I see you.

I’m blinded.”

The big breakdown comes after the chorus and it feels like the floodgates of my heart are exploding. I’m belching my voice out. And then the uncontrollable crying comes out, but it almost sounds like laughing—dry heaving. I shout to myself, “STOP IT!” Pulling up to Sloop Point for the last delivery. Drying my eyes with tissues and blowing my nose so I can look presentable to the customer.

It’s funny how food has just become so unimportant to me the past few days. Usually I am very strict about eating meals at particular times of the day. I have to get out of this, for health’s sake.

Back home, eating a Tuna Salad Sandwich with Tomato.

Watching the latest edit from the Tokyo DVD—taking notes for changes.

Practicing a little music.

Margot got off work a little early tonight. She comes over. I had a few more things to say to her that I had been thinking about last night and today. There was no need to make this a heavy-hearted meeting though. I feel better when you’re here. Lying down together and exchanging a few kisses here and there. Admiring her form as she reclines on her stomach. I mount myself on top. She’s being incredibly sweet—smiling and looking content. Allowing me to unclip her bra strap and unzip her dress so I can caress and massage her glorious backside. I know the geography of your body. I can map it out in my head. And you’ll never find anybody with as gentle of a touch like mine. My touch is one of a kind.

Me: “How are you feeling?”

Her: “Fine….How are you feeling?”

Me: “Good.”

Newspaper route.

Snacking on Salt n Vinegar Chips.

In a much happier and hopeful mood.

Eating a Coffee Roll and Blueberry Donut from Dunkin Donuts.

Practicing songs on the guitar at the storage unit for my show Friday night at The Taphouse. I get distracted with a new drop-d chord progression—pulling lyrics from the air above me.

Chocolate Milk.


Sleep 10:45 a.m.

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