How Do You Afford Your Rock and Roll Lifestyle?

It's pretty amazing what two days, a "fuck you and fuck off" mixed cd, some rent songs, a few hours of yoga, a bikeride, some vietnamese, some grapefruit, and a good night's sleep can do.

Sunday and Monday I was a wreck, with good reason considering the drunken actions of All Around's post break up. I went home that afternoon and passed out. Mother thought I had lost my mind.

But the next morning.

I woke up, and everything seemed a lot closer to okay. School work could find itself done. Dinner could find itself eaten. And yoga has become an addiction.

All Around and I have agreed to take a week off and start over. With the exception of occasional glimpses of the whore in the hallway, I'm looking forward to next Tuesday.

The others and the editor hate him. They don't want me to talk to him. They try to talk him out of taking me to prom.

It's pissing me off. This was my relationship, this is my breakup. I don't need mediators. Yes, I appreciate the support, but they need to relax.

He never knew it, but I named him Mr. All Around Kind of Guy for another reason. He always walking around with a gloss coating. None of these friends know the real Mr. All Around.

Yes, he broke up the way of things in an asshole abrubt way.

Yes, he got drunk and made a fool of himself and me, courtesy of the whore.

But if all of this is the only way to crack open that gloss, then I will gladly go to coffee Tuesday. And I will gladly go to prom with him.

I see him walking around the hallways, and he tries to make an effort to avoid me. The editor tells me he's upset, but as she says, "he messed up, and he should feel like that". I'm just glad that its not me this time around.

A week was just what I needed. Already the thoughts of dark nights and driving around the country have begun to swirl away. As they do, I realise just how unhealthy that relationship was for both of us. We tiptoed around each other, with exceptions for collisions.

starting over seems good.

Especially now, as occasional glimpses of happiness and giddiness at life gradually slide back from their two month absence.

Never underestimate La Vie Boheme.

A Collision of Faults

I can't breathe.

I can't move.

I can't eat.

Mr. All Around cut out last night.

Perhaps it would not have been so bad if I hadn't been completely unaware what was going to happen.

When did it start going downhill? I'll tell you. A night with two friends in the spare room and a big decision.

That's when we stopped laughing at every second. That's when our conversation got turned down like the radio during an important telephone call.

That's when I started to get scared. All Around got quieter, so I got needier.

I would give anything to have those first two months back. When he read me as fervently as I could turn the pages.

I would kill to start over and return to laughing fits and belle isle afternoons and a cd for when I work too much. To never be anywhere near that last chapter.

He got to the end of the book.

I've been wondering around the house, every ounce of my being screaming to get out, to run, to go.

But there's no where.

The tears come and with it a rage like I have never felt. I hate myself for messing this up. I hate myself for smothering him.

and I hate myself for seeing this on the horizon, but continuing to make it worse.

This is nothing like last time. This is karma for the gaping wound I left in the Mad Scientist.

Last time I felt nothing. This time, I'm the fool.

I feel not good enough. I feel ugly and annoying and stupid and worthless.

The words flowing out of my fingers fall onto the keyboard with a limp. And it kills me to know that he is probably going about his day with a care in the world.

Why didn't he just fucking say something. Why couldn't he be honest with me until I lay barefoot in the grass screaming and hitting his chest.

He says he will take me to prom. He says he will take me to coffee every week. He says we'll be best friends.

I gave him everything and got dropped. I'm so afraid to trust him again. Because if he drops me again, I don't think I can piece myself back together.

And so here I sit.

Not breathing.

Not eating.

Not moving.

I should have been a pair of ragged claws.

Goodbye Blue Monday

Here I sit, in the computer lab of the College of the Atlantic. It is everything I should have in a college.

and yet, here I sit, lonely at the moment. Anxiety always fills me when I leave friends for a vacation. It's stupid, but I always feel that they will have adapted without me while I am gone, especially Mr. All Around. I am always so worried that he doesn't care for me like I care about him. It's horrible, but I'm not used to a soul who doesn't want to talk about everything.

I'm still bothered by a directions slip up in a recent car trip, where a question on how to reach our destination turned into a question of where we would end up before college.

He didn't want to talk about it until it was necessary. The rapid way in which he responded scared me to death.

I've been afraid to bring it up to him, but part of me can't help wondering how he feels, not just about the dog days of August, but of now. these last exhalations of high school.

I feel like a ragged ballerina balancing a single worn satin shoe on the rocky hips that are Maine's coast.

Here my life stands ahead of me, amazing opportunities and people, and I am worried about home and an all around kind of guy who is amazing and has never muttered a malicious or worrying word.

Another aspect of this trip rests as a small spider in the corner of this web. I remember a COA student reading this blog. Part of me wishes I could meet them, to find a face in the crowd who has heard my voice other than the usual dance I have been preforming for strangers as to my whereabouts and interests.

The blur of AP tests and classes and exams has frozen as a permanent ink blot in the future of this term paper of an existence.

I care about all around, and time with him has made such clouds more bearable. I just hope I haven't become a burden or an annoyance to him. I don't know why I am so afraid to just sit down and talk to him. Perhaps I'm afraid of what I might hear.

But the storm must break before the dance can go on.

Downward Dog

I suppose the time has come for me to write.

The universities did not want me. Rejection letters fought for their place at the top of the mail pile.

And so, presently, all signs point to Maine.

Enter Family.

Mother does not can not will not accept the friendly hand of the North. Every evening has been filled with pleas to settle with a smaller Virginian university and to chide The Atlantic as a simplistic child's dream of running away.

I know this is the hardest emotion in the world for my mother. I am the only one she has.

But I can't go to Mary Washington. I would float around in a state of Virginia prepaid misery.

I have also learned to keep my distance from the telephone of late as well, since the hate calls from my aunt filled with figures based on how I am going to squander my inheritance with college tuition seem to be the only greetings I receive from the handset.

I went to a yoga class tonight for the first time in an effort to hide from everything. Turns out I have a knack for bending into a human pretzel. The teacher walked up to me after class and stated that I was more flexible than some teachers, and that I should look more into the art.

Nothing beats something you are naturally good at to take away all other worries.

Well, most worries.

So many sentences have flown through the cerebral highway of late that potholes have started lining the route.

So much of my life seems about to completely reconfigure every possible facet.

The only thing I seem to be able to do is breathe.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

A Midsummer Night's Dream

And the play which kept me from sleep turned out. Here's a clip which was taken during the fight scene. The girl in green is my best friend, the pole vaulter.