Some Will Seek Forgivness, Others Escape...
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You know, when I think about my life and how things are right now, I get a little depressed. I don't think this is what I really want at all, but then I don't really think I know what it is I want either. I'm not quite ready for any of this.
Big things are coming but we never had a chance to brace ourselves. The storm is on the front porch and the clothes are still out on the line. The more I'm here the less I want to be. The music is getting bigger and bigger but I don't know what for. This build-up seems so out of place. So superfluous.
I just want a calm score, some rainy day clouds and a spot beside the fire. I guess the trouble is I don't really want anything. Just a little peace and quite and a target to shot at. I don't really want to be here but I don't know where I would. Certainly there are people I'd rather be with than without, but not even that so much. I can live with that, you know.
I'm playing the same board game I was last year. Going around rolling the same dice, landing in the same pegs. Right now, all I have is more of the same. Another little New England town that's not quite suburb not quite City. Falmouth in New York. Everything is just a skewed photocopy of somewhere else in space and time.
This liminal life has me waiting for something better to come along.
Nothing here excites me.
This place is like the weather - constantly grey.
It's like home but worse.
The people here are boring. Washed out by the weather.
Knock a cold one back and add a new angle. It's the only way things'll look better.
At least at home I have friends and family and pets and a place to call my own.
Everything here is on temporary loan. This is one big library and I want to check out.
Well I' clicking my heels but I'm not going anywhere. There's no place like home. Except when it's all like home. I'm sick of this black-and-white lifestyle. Color my world. Scribble on it. Anything. I'm bored out of my fucking mind and I don't even know why.
I want to run to the city and live in an appartment above my own coffee shop. I want to live surrounded by people who always have something new to say. With big smiles straying on their faces and bigs arms that are always waiting for hugs. I want to sit down and write for hours and watch the traffic go by. Except I don't even know if I want any of that. I want to make funky clothes and paintings and take pretty pictures. I want dogs and fish.
Really, I don't want anything complicated. Just something simple. Something worthwhile. Maybe I want to teach. Maybe all I really want to do is come up with new ideas and hope that someone else likes them.
I hate this waiting for tomorrow or next week or next month sort of living. Today is all you've ever got.
All I really like to do is spew my thoughts on paper.
I don't know. I like to write. But I never really care what it's about. I don't know what it is I want, but I know that right now this isn't it. Sometimes, I wish the rest of my life would hurry up and get here already.
Maybe all I want to do is write. Maybe I'm tired of waiting for my big break. Maybe I just want a little time where that's all I have to do. I don't know.
But here and now when I think about my life it depresses me. This place is awful.
Someone come and take me home.
I'm praying for an escape.
Break me out.
XO
Big things are coming but we never had a chance to brace ourselves. The storm is on the front porch and the clothes are still out on the line. The more I'm here the less I want to be. The music is getting bigger and bigger but I don't know what for. This build-up seems so out of place. So superfluous.
I just want a calm score, some rainy day clouds and a spot beside the fire. I guess the trouble is I don't really want anything. Just a little peace and quite and a target to shot at. I don't really want to be here but I don't know where I would. Certainly there are people I'd rather be with than without, but not even that so much. I can live with that, you know.
I'm playing the same board game I was last year. Going around rolling the same dice, landing in the same pegs. Right now, all I have is more of the same. Another little New England town that's not quite suburb not quite City. Falmouth in New York. Everything is just a skewed photocopy of somewhere else in space and time.
This liminal life has me waiting for something better to come along.
Nothing here excites me.
This place is like the weather - constantly grey.
It's like home but worse.
The people here are boring. Washed out by the weather.
Knock a cold one back and add a new angle. It's the only way things'll look better.
At least at home I have friends and family and pets and a place to call my own.
Everything here is on temporary loan. This is one big library and I want to check out.
Well I' clicking my heels but I'm not going anywhere. There's no place like home. Except when it's all like home. I'm sick of this black-and-white lifestyle. Color my world. Scribble on it. Anything. I'm bored out of my fucking mind and I don't even know why.
I want to run to the city and live in an appartment above my own coffee shop. I want to live surrounded by people who always have something new to say. With big smiles straying on their faces and bigs arms that are always waiting for hugs. I want to sit down and write for hours and watch the traffic go by. Except I don't even know if I want any of that. I want to make funky clothes and paintings and take pretty pictures. I want dogs and fish.
Really, I don't want anything complicated. Just something simple. Something worthwhile. Maybe I want to teach. Maybe all I really want to do is come up with new ideas and hope that someone else likes them.
I hate this waiting for tomorrow or next week or next month sort of living. Today is all you've ever got.
All I really like to do is spew my thoughts on paper.
I don't know. I like to write. But I never really care what it's about. I don't know what it is I want, but I know that right now this isn't it. Sometimes, I wish the rest of my life would hurry up and get here already.
Maybe all I want to do is write. Maybe I'm tired of waiting for my big break. Maybe I just want a little time where that's all I have to do. I don't know.
But here and now when I think about my life it depresses me. This place is awful.
Someone come and take me home.
I'm praying for an escape.
Break me out.
XO
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