Tomorrow

I wasn't ever trapped,
I never lost the key,
I just never opened up my eyes to see
that I, my soul,
just wouldn't let me live.


Look at tomorrow. When you find it let me know, cause I can't see it right now. Man, everyone talks about a brighter day tomorrow, don't worry about it, there's always tomorrow, etc. etc. What good is tomorrow for me when I can't love today. When you can't wait for the end of the day so you can finally sleep and get away from this world, what can tomorrow bring you? When you find it, let me know, I want to talk with it. I have too many questions right now to write about, and I'm not even writing to anyone. This is my head, scattered out on this page and pieced together to make it look like my thoughts make sense. This is the last little drop of true emotion I have left in me today. Maybe tomorrow will bring some more so I can let it eat me away. Tomorrow gives you a fresh start. I'm still not sure how that happens. I still have the same job tomorrow, I still have the same life tomorrow. I don't fall asleep, spin a wheel and become someone else tomorrow. Life is made up of a bunch of today's strung together, not tomorrows.
This string of today's is getting hard to hold onto. It's too damn heavy right now, too damn cold; it's too damn mine. Too bad, cause it's all I got left. At the end of the day, when I sit here in bed and type to this, all I have left is that string of today's, that's all I got. No one else is here to share with, no one's hear to watch me fade either. Maybe it's better that way.

I'm not locked up,
the key was never gone,
I just never opened up my hand
to see it all along.

Darlin, please don't

Oh lie to me, lie to me,
forgiveness will be yours.
Well treat me wrong, abuse me so,
I shan't even the score.
I know you might just cheat on me,
please keep it quiet so,
I'll be alright if it's not with
anyone I know.
Steal from me, but not too much
and you can even gloat,
But darling please, I'm begging you,
Don't take the remote.

Don't ask, It'll be easier for everyone. :-)

So, on a topic completely unrelated to the previous paragraph, I'm to the point, at my work, where I just don't care about anything anymore. It's a dangerous point, because my filter that usually weeds out sharp comments and things I want to say but maybe shouldn't, isn't working too well right now. Maybe that's a good thing. I have no problem pointing out things anymore, even things as petty as not replacing a fax cartridge for no reason. I have a feeling something is going to happen pretty soon in this area, whether it's me just blowing up one day or I let loose in a meeting sometime soon. Either way, something has to change soon.
I'm amazed at the lack of observation that people display. People are just so unaware of anything that it's scary, for example: On my trip last weekend, we were driving back in the bus, and in the middle of a long long ride, one of the guys up front suggested that we all share about ourselves, one by one, on the mic. So the first guy gets up, the one who arranged the trip (cause he's a travel agent) and proceeds to take up the next 50 minutes with his whole freakin life story. No offense, I don't mind hearing about you, but not for that long, and not when we're expecting 10 minutes. Not only is it boring and I couldn't even hear half of it, but when he goes on for that long, he's now taking up time from everyone else, but he never thought of that, and because we're all christians on the bus, no one went up and cut him off.
The guy I was rooming with on the trip, he asked about me during breakfast one morning. He wanted to know how I got to where I got, so I started giving him the kind of short version. Halfway into it, I mention California, and he jumps in and starts telling me about his daughter and how she wants to move to California, but her boyfriend is upset cause he doesn't want her to leave, and this guy talking to me now is telling me about her boyfriend and the history there, completely forgetting my story. Needless to say, breakfast ended with him talking and I never got past the halfway point with my story.
These are just two examples of how people can be so oblivious and unaware, and they just happen to be two christians. I, being a christian myself, am not trying to bash christians, just this trait so many people seem to have. But in both stories, I feel like each guy that just talked and talked have something in common with each other and with the human race: they just wanted someone to listen. The need to open up and share and to have someone listen is so strong in people. It's amazing how much people suppress that desire to talk out of fear of something. Why do you think blogs are so popular? Even therapists, most of the time, they just sit and listen to you, and they get paid for it. People just want to share themselves, and they so long for someone to listen. And I myself, don't mind if they talk to me, I'll listen for hours, as long as they don't take the remote.

A Box of chocolates

It's been a long time since I've even looked at this thing and I have a TON on my mind right now and it might get kind of deep, so get your waders on kids and jump in. (If you don't know what waders are, then I pity you and tell you this, go fishing!)
Forrest Gump is full of it. Life, is not like a box of chocolates. It's not even close. It is true that when you reach into that pretty box and pull out one of those chocolates, that you never know what you're going to get, but you do know one thing, it's gonna be a tasty chocolate. If life were like a box of chocolates, then things would just work out, and everything would be good; just different types of good. And then there would be people who are allergic to chocolate, which in this metaphor it means they die upon receiving life, or just blow up like a balloon, either way it's not pretty.
Life is much more like a box of chocolates mixed with chocolate shaped balls of $*#@. You reach in, and things all look good, and then you go for it and bite into it and realize you have a hunk of dung in your mouth and there's nothing you can do but swallow it down.
As you may be able to tell, I'm not real enchanted with life right now, nor am I enchanted with people in general. I wonder if everyone else feels this way too. I can't imagine how you wouldn't get jaded with life sometimes. Maybe I'm just too much of a pessimist. Maybe I'm realistic and everyone else is deliriously optimistic. I hope it's the former.
You know what, I don't mind so much if life gives me a chocolate shaped ball of crap, I've had my share already, I know what they taste like. (Not literally, geez) I have confidence and faith that no matter what happens, I'll be able to get through it and get past it, as do most people I'm sure. But it's not a matter of whether you'll get through it or not, it's a matter of how you get through it and who you become at the end of it. What I do mind is watching someone else choke down a lump when they expected a chocolate. To stand aside and watch that or know that someone is experiencing it is unbearable to me. I have all this resilience and strength built up over the years of suffering at my own hands, and I can't give an ounce to someone who may need it or want it. It's odd that no matter what kind of sadness or depression hits me, even the kind that erases all my energy and desire for weeks, I don't mind it that much and I'm ok with it. But when someone else has something happen to them, the huge hole in my scarred armor is quickly exposed. Maybe if I can somehow absorb some of that pain, I can make it better for them. It is infinitely frustrating to be helpless when I want to help more than any other time. This, this one thought and declaration, is at the heart of my true passion: writing. I've never written out the exploration or reason behind why I am so passionate about writing, be it word or music. When someone is tasting that foul treat of life, people often can't help or are not asked to do so for fear of inconvenience or looking weak. I am partly the latter in that I don't ask for help because I don't want to be perceived as weak, and contrary to what you would normally think, it's not an ego thing. I won't get into the psychological blab behind that now. When someone is looking for escape, they sometimes go to music, to movies. They can trust a song, or a movie because it's not a person, and it can't be selfish. Selfishness is the biggest reason behind distrust, and an expression of emotion and thought can't be that. It's the only way that I can help, and if I write hundreds of things, and it helps wash down one putrid piece of life for one person, then I've made a difference. In that one moment, when someone is profoundly touched by something you've created, it transcends any other feeling or experience I've ever had in my very young life. It is however, ironic, that my own selfish desire to help is what fuels that writing. Maybe you now see more of me, maybe you didn't even get this far down the page, maybe you think I'm way off base and talk to much psycho babble, and maybe you'll remember me when you need a tall glass of escape to wash down some life.

Angel of Mercy
Angel of Mercy, come nigh to me,
compassion begs you near.
Relieve this pained and empty shell,
this heart that once beat here.
Angel of Mercy, extend thy grace,
please keep me from the day.
Make this night a final moon
that ne're shall set, I pray.
Though I have asked a thousand times
for comfort, joy and peace.
I wish for only one wish now,
a hasted, sweet release.
Release from now a half of life,
and memories I knew.
Questions from a broken heart,
and now I ask of you.
Angel of Mercy, come nigh to me,
and leave her here to stay.
In me you find a willing soul,
take me instead, I pray.

-- The D