July 30, 1999
The Glamorous Life
Well, as you can see, I've gone to my new format, as promised. All of the links above should be correct, except I don't have an archive page up yet. And of course, the calendar at the left isn't correct, because I don't have the patience to code an entirely new calendar just for one entry. I'm really proud of how everything looks, but of course, any and all feedback is completely welcomed! I'm very new at all this design stuff.
This is sort of a transition for me. I almost feel as if I'm saying goodbye to Crossroads, and I guess in a way, I am. It was a beginning step. A place to try things out both in my writing and in my web building skills. But I'm leaving it up indefinitely, just in case there were entries that you especially wanted to re-read sometime. (Heh.) Also, I'm afraid I'd get booted from my webrings for not having any entries up. ;) It almost feels like I've moved into a new home. Everything's all clean and sparkly right now. I need to settle in and get the garbage out, make it more homelike.
Looking forward to another quiet weekend. Weekends have been pretty Hollingsworth-less lately (ow.. unintentional pun), usually he's been gone from Saturday afternoon/evening til Tuesday sometime. But he's only "sorta seeing someone". Jo called me on that the other day. I said almost that exactly, and I admit, I sounded pretty snarky. She said, "Why are you so upset about this? It's only going to make matters worse in the long run." I had to stop and think about it. I don't think I'm upset about him dating, or even about him spending weekends with her. Hell, I like having the house to myself. I guess it just bothers me that he's hemming and hawing about what this relationship actually is, the way he did with us. I guess some things really don't change. I honestly do want him to be happy though. And me too.
I'm supposed to be going to see "The Blair Witch Project" tonight sometime. I'm very psyched. I plan to be scared silly. Even better, I get to go see it with a group of witches. This should prove interesting.
Wednesday night I found my old journal, the one I kept on paper from about April 1995 to April 1997. I skimmed as much as I read. There's so much anger in that journal. Anger at myself, at Gary, at Hollingsworth... it seemed like, as I held that binder turned all those notebook pages that it was warm under by hands, still burning from that two year-old rage. That was at a time when I was just learning what it was like to feel angry again. Most of the time I couldn't even tell the object of my fury that I was upset. I sure could write about it, though. My handwriting changed, too, based on my mood. Anger didn't effect it, but I could tell by looking at a given entry if I was going through a depressive episode when I wrote it. Still toying with the idea of excerpting samples of it here, possibly scanning a page or two to show the handwriting difference. I thought it was pretty dramatic. I know I have a couple more journals lying around the house. My goal this weekend might be to dig them out and see what I find.
(Rational adult voice speaks up: You should concentrate more on digging out your room first..)
Of course, it's not like I ever listen to that voice anyway. And speaking of that. I got some amusing email today from Sheri with the subject line, "A Letter of Resignation". I didn't forward it to anyone because I thought some of it (most of it) had a rather unrealistic view of childhood as carefree and uncomplicated... BUT... the following seems like a good credo for me, right about now.
I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make ripples with rocks.
I want to think M&Ms are better than money because you can eat them. I want to play dodge ball at recess and paint with watercolors in art.
I want to lie under a big oak tree and run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer's day... I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs, a kind word, truth, justice, peace, dreams, the imagination, mankind, and making angels in the snow.
So... here's my checkbook and my car-keys, my credit card bills and my 401K statements. I am officially resigning from adulthood. And if you want to discuss this further, you'll have to catch me first, cause,
"Tag! You're it."
Ask most of the Changeling players you know (and unless you're one of them, I'll bet you don't know any, besides me), they'll tell you the secret. You don't need to be eight years old again to live a life like the one listed above. It's all a state of mind. The trick is not to care what others think or not to worry if you look silly. Look over to the left. Caitlin's got the right idea.
And next time you see a big puddle of rain, maybe... just maybe....
July 27, 1999
Where were you eight years ago today?
July 27, 1991. Brighton, Michigan. Right about now, in fact, I was in one of the upstairs classrooms at the Brighton Church of Christ, having the ultimate slumber party fantasy. I was getting dressed for my wedding along with my bridesmaids Sheri, Dawn, Dana and Sharon. We were giggly and slightly ribald with each other, a virgin bride and her more experienced bridesmaids. I don't remember being nervous. I remember wanting everything to look just so. My nails and hair I'd left to professionals, but I was determined to do my makeup myself. I remember being anxious to put my dress on, and the veil, wanting to see exactly what the end result would be. Never mind that I'd done a full dress rehearsal of it all a week prior. Dress rehearsal. It's odd, but in a way, getting ready for my wedding was remarkably similar to getting ready for all the plays I'd been in. Only this time, I was the star of the show.
There were, of course, somewhat more somber moments. Brian came upstairs at one point, dressed in his tux. It was shortly after I'd put my dress on. We spent a moment just smiling at each other. As always, if anybody understood my thoughts right about then, it was Brian. Or maybe it was just that neither of us needed to speak. My bridesmaids, which included two of my best friends from high school, a college roommate and my cousin (who's more like a sister), understood how I felt, but Brian (the one just to my left) knew my mind. I think we said something appropriately serious and nostalgic, but that didn't matter. We said what really needed to be said when we were smiling at each other.
Once we were all dressed, we went outside to take pictures in front of the church. Of course, Gary and I didn't go out at the same time. We did it in shifts, all the pictures of me and everyone but the groom, then all the pictures of him and everyone but the bride. There are times when I adore Michigan in the summer. That day was one of those times. Maybe memory is coloring it slightly, but it was as picture perfect a day as any bride could have wanted. Sunny, not too hot, fluffy clouds in the sky, a nice breeze. My mom and I threatened to get weepy with each other, although I can't remember if either of us mentioned my dad. One of us must have, because I remember feeling like he was there watching. Then it was back upstairs with me to wait.
The wedding was late in getting started. Aren't weddings always? I paced in the hallway outside the auditorium, listening to the last of the taped music I selected. (Everything had to be taped, by the way. The Church of Christ is against instrumental music in worship. I almost wasn't even allowed to use taped instrumental music.) Now I was starting to get nervous. Why wasn't the march starting? Steve, a friend of mine who was running the music started playing something that I hadn't chosen, to fill time. Finally our parents and grandparents were seated, and the music started. "Spring" from Vivaldi's Four Seasons. That was for the bridesmaids. I stood next to Pat Smith, an old friend of my father's, holding his arm and listening. Sheri, my matron of honor, was the last one to go down the aisle. Sheri (the one immediately behind Gary) and I have grown up together. We played together from the time I was born, got in trouble together at family gatherings, got in more trouble as teenagers. I was in her wedding too. Before she started her walk, she turned and gave me a look. She looked so serious, I knew she would end up crying before she even got halfway down the aisle. So I stuck my tongue out at her. She gave me a mock look of shock, but grinned. Mission accomplished. Of course, we mistimed it and the music ran out before she got all the way down the aisle, but that's okay.
A hush in the auditorium now. The music started. Not the traditional wedding march. Very little about my wedding music was strictly traditional. Instead it was a piece by Michael Kamen, from the soundtrack to Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves. That movie was very big that summer, at least to me. The piece, called "Maid Marian", started out quiet, almost expectant, a whisper of strings and flute. Gradually, people stood up, realizing that this music was for me. I had coached Pat on exactly how we were to walk down the aisle, timed to the music, step-together, step-together. Through my veil, I could see everyone smiling at me. It was like looking at the world through a soft-focus lens. At the end of the aisle, Gary waited. I can't remember what he looked like at that moment.
The timing was perfect. I reached my mother's row just as the music reached its climax. Hidden in my bouquet of pink carnations and white roses were two loose carnations. I stopped and surprised my mom by pulling one of the carnations out and giving it to her, along with a hug. Then I turned and faced my groom.
I have so many mixed feelings, looking back and thinking about Gary. We were so young. I was just barely nineteen and he was twenty-two. I don't think either of us ever looked at anyone else for the rest of the ceremony. Jeff Rich was the minister, and (I'm sorry to say) typical of most Church of Christ ministers, he used my wedding as an opportunity to try and convert any non-believers in the audience. It was a full-fledged sermon, and my feet were getting numb in my shoes. Finally though, we exchanged our vows. We had them memorized beforehand, so we could speak them to each other rather than repeating them. They were fairly traditional. Too traditional, given my bridesmaids' reactions at the rehearsal. Yes it's true. I used the word 'obey'. I'd be given cause to regret that later, but that's a matter for another entry.
Unity candle. The music was "Ubi Caritas", a motet by Maurice Durufle`. The idea, if you've never seen this particular ceremony, is that the bride and groom jointly light a center pillar candle with two separate taper candles. Then the tapers are blown out, symbolizing two becoming one. In theory, at least. Now... as lovely an idea as this is, it doesn't allow for certain things, like shaking hands and uncooperative candles. We managed to pry the candles from their holders, and light the center candle. I was very careful to keep my lit candle away from the front of my veil. Wait a minute. My veil was still down. That was the plan, of course, I had wanted Gary to be the one to lift my veil. What I hadn't foreseen was the difficulty in blowing out a candle with a veil on without setting myself on fire. After a moment of panic, Gary and I put the tapers back in place, still lit.
Here, memory fails me a bit. I know what happened, but not the order. Gary and I sang a duet then next, for sure. "To Me", originally done by Lee Greenwood and Barbra Mandrell. (Yes, I sang country, and I'm telling you about it. I have no pride.) I found out later that everyone cried when we sang together. "No road is too long, as long as you belong to me.." Somewhat cheesy, but romantic nonetheless. We exchanged rings. Then he sang to me.
A side note here. When Gary and I first met, we had a conversation once about things we'd always wanted to do. He said that since he was thirteen, he'd planned to write a song for his wedding day, and the first time anyone would hear it would be when he sang it to his bride at the wedding. He did just that. The song was called "This Day", and it was done in Gary's trademark Elton John/Billy Joel style. Anyone who didn't cry during our duet cried at that. Except for me. I just remember being dazed. I came close to crying at the end, when he knelt and took my hand.
That was it. A few more words, a kiss, Bach's Sleepers, Awake! filling the air. I was no longer Lisa Bentley, no longer the me I had known for nineteen years. I paused to give my new mother-in-law the second carnation, then down the aisle we went again. The receiving line was a chaotic, cheerful, informal thing, with all our friends making off-color jokes and all our relatives looking shocked. The reception I remember hardly at all, except that the best man (Gary's brother Joseph) and Brian and a few of the other guys in the wedding party all tried to sing Monty Python's "Lumberjack Song" while we were cutting the cake. They forgot the words and ended up grinning sheepishly. I was tired and cranky and was ready to stop being the center of everyone's attention. Gary and I got into a fight just after cutting the cake.
In complete honesty, the wedding was the last perfect part of my marriage to Gary. Weddings are beginnings, its true, but they shouldn't be the beginning of the end. Three years, one month and twenty days later, I was in Martin, Tennessee loading a few belongings into a 1992 Ford Festiva and saying goodbye. I imagine one month and twenty days from now, on September 16th, I'll be writing about that in more detail.
I thought I'd be more snarky about all of this. Instead, I've been nostalgic, almost. I feel like I've given myself a glimpse of me at nineteen, eight years ago. Eight years. I'm not really even the same person anymore. My dreams have changed. My beliefs have changed. I was so innocent then. It's hard for me to even see the seeds of the woman I am now in the girl I was on that day, clutching a bouquet and trying to play my part as perfectly as I knew how. That girl, with the flowers and the lace and the dreams, she had fires and darkness to walk through before she could start to grow up. She did it though. On most days, I'm proud of her.
July 24, 1999
Metaphysical Me and My Good Intentions
Ironically, I'm sitting here listening to Hollingsworth playing Civilization II in the next room. Only ironic because he's playing on his computer. I have the Playstation version of it, which I haven't gotten around to playing yet. It sounds like a lot of fun, from the sound effects I'm hearing. Then again, to play it, I have to either take my Playstation back from him, or go play in his room. Of course, neither is a fate worse than death, but... ah well. Add that to the long list of things that want to eat up large portions of my time.
Today though, I plan to spend in bed reading. I'm completely hooked into The Dragonbone Chair by Tad Williams. It's just taking me forever to read it (see above: long list of things that want to devour my time). I used to be such a fast reader. Sometimes I feel like I've lost that. Then again, certain books tend to slow me down, not because they're boring or because I don't want to read them, but because (as Jo put it) the writing is very dense. Thick. This is never a bad thing. :)
Of course, I would still be asleep at this point, but the phone rang at about 11. Wrong number even, feh. I've thought about just turning my ringer off before I go to sleep on the weekends, but sometimes friends call at odd hours. I don't mind being woken up by a friend calling. Speaking of friends calling, I talked to Brand again last night. (My phone bill is going to be horrible this month, but ask me if I care...) I got sort of an odd scare. He was in a car accident yesterday. Both cars were totaled. No one was seriously hurt, but it was one of those 'just a little bit more to the right and you would have died' sort of accidents. The thought of losing him made me shiver a little bit anyway, but the thought of losing him barely twelve hours after we'd worked everything out...
Interesting sidenote, make of it what you will. I came home from work last night and collapsed in my bed to take a nap. I woke up at one point with a sort of murky, half-awake sense of urgency. It seemed very very important that I know what time it was right then and that I try to wake up. Since I couldn't see my clock, I called time -- about 10 PM (I'm on Eastern time). Then I laid back down and listened to my heartbeat, still feeling that urgency, but too sleepy to figure it out. When Brand was telling me about the accident, I asked him what time it had taken place. About 7 PM Pacific time. Maybe coincidence. Maybe not.
Well so much for good intentions, I suppose. I fell asleep here in my chair shortly after writing the above, made it back to bed about an hour later, and just woke up. I guess sleep did get sort of ignored this week, so I'm trying to make it up. I find myself amused, once again, that my writing puts me to sleep.
I'm thinking about going to church tomorrow. It's sort of odd. I haven't been to any church in easily two years or more, and of course, haven't been regularly in at least six years or more. I'm trying to decide whether to go to the Church of Christ here in town or maybe go to the Unitarian Universalist Church. Odd, I feel no compulsion to go to the Church of Christ in Brighton, where I grew up. That wouldn't be a spiritual exploration so much as a massive guilt trip. I know the people there who watched me grow up mean well. I also know that they see me as one of the lost, someone who moved out into the big, wide, bad world and drifted away from everything good and pure. I got a lot of pressure from them at my uncle's funeral in January. Not sure I want to deal with that.
I have, however, heard very good things about the UU church in general, and about the one in Ann Arbor in specific. The idea of a Christian-based church that's open to other religious and spiritual ideas is so utterly foreign to me. I think I'd be going as much out of a sense of curiosity as anything else. I guess it sounds like I've made up my mind, huh? Now if I can just drag myself out of bed tomorrow...
July 23, 1999
epiphany \E*piph"a*ny\, n. -- 1. An appearance, or a becoming manifest. 2. a divine manifestation
Where to begin. I'm exhausted. I was an hour late to work. I feel as if my entire existence was turned utterly and completely upside down.
I haven't been this happy in a long, long time.
Not bouncy, hyper sort of happy, although I was definitely giggly there for a while. Rather, I feel... calm. Centered. At peace. I want this to last. I have a feeling it will, simply due to the nature of the change itself.
I debated writing about this last night/this morning. In fact, when I got off the phone, my first instinct was to get up and start writing right then. Unfortunately, it was 8 am, and my body didn't cooperate. Just as well. It probably would have come across as the ravings of a sweaty-toothed madman or a wild-eyed mystic -- the latter might not be so far from the truth.
At the risk of fumbling my way through putting the spiritual into words, here goes. For months now (see December 9 and December 13), we've referred to each other as 'soulmates'. Saying something like that, and getting occasional metaphysical glimpses into what it really means was like... a flickering flashlight seen across a lake in the middle of the night.
Last night it was like someone (Someone, capital S?) turned on a halogen spotlight and turned it full on my existence. If you've been following the saga over the past couple weeks, you know that I've been really struggling with what Brand means to me and vice versa. Two weeks ago today, in fact, was the conversation from hell. There was one issue that we had left unresolved. One very major issue that both of us were pussyfooting around and ignoring: to be perfectly honest, there's always been a strong physical component to the link between us. And given the situation as a whole, that was only causing more conflict. We were either acting on it, or ignoring it completely. Last night we resolved it. At first, the conclusion we reached was one that neither of us especially liked, but that felt like the right thing.
(I got compared to crack. I'm still not sure how I feel about that. Addictive and deadly and cheap? Me? ;))
Decision made, stood by and validated... something happened. I realized last night that how you describe a spiritual experience, what terms you use, reflects your beliefs. Part of the reason, I think, that I'm so... wordless about all this. Brand, with his more Christian viewpoint, saw it as a confirmation from God that we were on the right track. I'm simplifying that a bit, I know, but that's the general idea. The closest I could come was to couch it in almost Eastern terms. Leaving part of our relationship unresolved was... a block on the spiritual energy we share. When the block dissolved, there was all of a sudden this dam-burst of energy that was able to flow free, for the first time ever.
Flashlight versus spotlight. The difference between professing to believe something is true, and finally experiencing the full force of that truth.
"Full of wonder. Full of awe. Full of an almost-fear. The face of woman who is seeing something she always longed for, but didn't dare even wish for, not in her deepest, most secret of hearts... Both the laughter and the tears are tinged with a slightly mystified, hysterical joy, the sound of a true believer who, after years of prayer and pleading, is allowed to witness a true miracle."
I wrote that. Months ago. It was, in fact part of the scene Brand and I played on Emerald Dreams, where Elathan got his wings back. Where he, ironically, experienced a spiritual reawakening. The wings were a symbol of that.
In case I haven't made it clear (and I'm afraid I haven't), I got my wings back last night.
"You've been my best friend forever. Literally," he said. No matter what words you use to describe it, it's true. Whether you think of it in terms of reincarnation, or in terms of two spirits that have simply always known one another, it doesn't matter. Words don't change what's there.
Once that block was gone, I began to realize more and more about myself spiritually. I saw the things I've been neglecting. I saw issues and ideas that I've been ignoring because of past prejudice. I realized that my 'pick and choose' idea of philosophy and spiritual beliefs will never work, unless I broaden my pickings, so to speak. What began as a reconciliation with someone who's as much a part of me as I am, ended as a, well... religious experience.
I'm still not sure what it all means. In the harsh light of day, I'm finding that I've lost as many things as I gained. More, in fact. I gained a gut-level, down-deep realization of who Brand is to me. I gained a new awareness of my own spiritual self. I lost so much more. A lot of confusion. A whole lot of jealousy toward his girlfriend. (The fact that I can sit here and describe Mo as his girlfriend without a flinch or a wince speaks volumes.) A lot of pain. I'm not so naive as to think that I'll never feel those things in this relationship again. I probably will. But the worst is long gone. Anything that comes along now will be from force of habit, as much as anything.
I love Brand as much as I have ever loved anyone or anything. The attachment there is so strong that it's a little scary to me. I suggested last night that I may (I'm still not sure about this one, it's hazy) have taken that feeling and attributed it all along to being 'in love', simply because I've never felt anything like this.
I don't know. I don't know if it matters much now. I haven't been this happy in a long, long time.
July 22, 1999
From Ravaged to Reveried
Well.. after reading several journals online, I completely want to restructure this one. In tone and appearance. I do a lot of whining here, it's true. It seems like the only time I can motivate myself to write is when my heart is broken. 'Til now, my biggest problems have been a lack of software and a decent computer at home. Right now I feel too impatient to wait for those problems to be resolved.
So. Watch this space. I think what I might do is leave this up as an archive, here on Geocities, and start the new one somewhere else. I have a title, which I'm not going to reveal yet, and I have a general idea of what I want this new journal to be. I feel like I have a vision that I need to realize at this point. Which journals inspired me to this? Here ya go:
Medea's Memoirs -- Scott's is the first journal I really started reading regularly, back in March or so (right around the time he got married, actually). I'm a confirmed addict. Scott just finished his residency in Internal Medicine at an unnamed hospital here in Michigan (based on his entries, I have my suspicions which one... ;)). He's also an artist, and he's succeeded in making me want a digital camera. In his journal, I have read two of the most moving things I've ever seen on the net here and here. In fact, the second of those entries won Best Dramatic Entry from The Diarist Awards on diarist.net. He's definitely got a sense of humor though, and here's proof.
Book of the Amber Dragon -- Actually I found this one through Scott's journal. Ceit is a Canadian archeology student with an incredible eye for graphics (not to mention just incredible eyes). I covet her design as much as I covet her writing. I've not been reading this long, but I'm very very impressed.
Perfect Way -- I just started reading this one too. I feel like I'm reading a really good novel. Sara hooked me with one entry, about a book of mysterious telegrams she found while antiquing. I wish things like that would happen to me. :)
So now I need a plan. A new computer would resolve most of the problems, but that's also out of the question for now. I may have to start abusing company resources. I'm looking for a good web page editor and a good graphics program. I want to get into this for real now.
Of course, I said that about writing too, and I still haven't found another outlet for "At the Ocean's Edge". Not enough hours in the day and not enough energy. And I waste too much time.
If you see the Organization Faerie, send her my way?
July 10, 1999
And The Hits Just Keep On Comin'....
There's a letter on the desktop that I dug out of a drawer
The last truce we ever came to, in our adolescent war
And I start to feel the fever from the warm air through the screen
You come regular like seasons, shadowing my dreams
The Mississippi's mighty, but it starts in Minnesota
At a place that you could walk across, with five steps down
And I guess that's how you started, like a pinprick to my heart
At this point, you rush right through me and I start to drown
And there's not enough room in this world for my pain
Signals cross, and love gets lost, and time passed makes it plain
Of all my demon spirits I need you the most
I'm in love with your ghost, I'm in love with your ghost
Dark and dangerous like a secret, that gets whispered in a hush
When I wake, the things I dreamt about you last night make me blush
You kiss me like a lover, then you sting me like a viper
I go follow to the river, pay your memory like the piper
I feel it like a sickness, how this love is killing me
But I'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly
And dance the edge of sanity, I've never been this close
In love with your ghost...
Unwilling captor, you'll never know how much you
Pierce my spirit, but I can't touch you
Can you hear it? A cry to be free
But I'm forever under lock and key
As you pass through me...
Now I see your face before me, that would launch a thousand ships
To bring your heart back to my island, as the sand beneath me slips
As I burn up in your presence, and I know now how it feels
To be weakened like Achilles, with you always at my heels
My bitter pill to swallow is the silence that I keep
It poisons me, I can't swim free, the river is too deep
Though I'm baptized by your touch, I am no worse than most
In love with your ghost, you are shadowing my dreams
(In love with your ghost...)
(In love with your ghost...)
Well... today was good. I spent the afternoon reading, listening to music. I was okay. Hollingsworth called me and asked if I wanted to go see a movie. My mom called and arranged to meet me for a birthday brunch tomorrow. Then, while I was getting ready to go get Hollingsworth at work, the CD changer pulled up track 3 on my Indigo Girls CD. "Ghost". I was on my way to the shower, and I stopped in the hall and started singing along. Then I stopped, and started listening. Then I started crying, and couldn't stop. Anyone who wants to know how my life feels right now... listen to that song. I thought I was doing well. These things have a way of blindsiding you.
And my hunches were right. Hollingsworth is dating someone he met online. I'm not sure how I feel about it. If I wasn't already dealing with this, I suppose it wouldn't bother me at all. I still don't know her name, just that she lives in this area and that I'll probably meet her at some point. It's funny. I didn't realize that I was having thoughts of rebounding onto him until I learned about this.
So. I'm on my own. Completely. Whether I like it or not.
I am honestly and truly going to end up as the favorite eccentric maiden aunt of my friends' kids. Indulge me for a few moments, as I imagine spending the rest of my life completely alone. It's irrational, yes. And self-pitying, yes. But I'm doing it anyway.
It's gotta get easier than this.
July 09, 1999
Illusions die hard. Especially for the Queen of Long Held Illusions. I usually fight to keep my illusions alive, but sometimes I fail.
I finally realized the drawback to not being depressed. When you're depressed, yeah, you feel like shit, but you're blocked from feeling all the things that are real. All feelings are muffled, like you're swaddled in cotton wool.
Welcome to the fucking real world.
This morning I cried so hard I thought I was going to throw up. I can't honestly remember ever crying that hard before. I know it's not because I've never hurt this way before. It's just that I don't think I've ever really been hit with grief like that before, not and really allowed myself to feel it. Funny, right now I'd rather go back to everything being muffled. I've never heard myself make those kinds of sounds before: keening, choking, sobbing. It sounded like someone else. I wish it felt like someone else too. I wish it was her.
I am so stupid for hanging on this long. I KNEW, in my heart of hearts, what the reality of the situation was, and I held on anyway, hoping that things would change. God help me, part of me, deep inside, still doesn't want to let go. It still insists that the story can't end this way, that loving someone like this won't end like this. If this were a movie, it wouldn't. I'd go through just enough grieving to make the audience cry, then he'd show up on my doorstep with flowers, begging for forgiveness and telling me how wrong he was to ever think he didn't love me. Then the music would come up and we'd kiss, and live (presumably) happily ever after.
I hate movies.
And I don't believe in happily ever after anymore, either.
The last thing I want is to be here at work, playing nice on the phones. I can't be angry here, I can't rant and scream and cry. I'm so tired and I just want to be alone right now. I've got Nine Inch Nails going through my head. I wish I had the tape here at work with me. GOD, I need some sort of catharsis right now, or I'm going to go postal before the day is over.
i still recall the taste of my tears
echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears
my favorite dreams of you still wash ashore
scraping through my head 'til i don't want to sleep anymore
come on tell me
make this all go away
you make this all go away
i'm down to just one thing
and i'm starting to scare myself
make this all go away
you make this all go way
i just want something
i just want something i can never have