Mood Swings of My Own

On occasion (not-so-rare depending on the week), a person's look or response will send me in a downward spiral. I become insecure and doubtful of everything I know. It goes away eventually; I am generally a happy person.

I would like to make this disclaimer now: any pathetically depressing post I write is of the moment. By the next happy day it will sicken me, and I will remove it. If you read the last one and noticed that it is no longer here, you are my audience. I post them in the first place because I think in knowing me, one should know all sides. Good and bad. Just not the really really bad. What seems to be so is a temporary part of me.

The usual mindset change occurs during the discovery of a new favorite song or a really great acoustic performance... like tonight. The Josh Irby Band, a local act, sings every song meaningfully, and I agree with them all. That's a good feeling. My first poetry reading at the open mic segment that preceded it doubled that feeling. I read Music to Me, Edges of Love, Here I Am, and Feed The Shredder. Perhaps I will post them soon since readers only know the last.

So I will leave you tonight with good feeling on my part. I hope you are doing well, too.

Melodically Lacking

Perhaps I've never written a song because I am waiting for a song to be written to me. I have faith in that. Someday, I will be an inspiration. Haha. Until then..

Poetry it is.

You know, it's okay if I beat them to it. Chances are they will quickly mean more to me than I do to them, knowing my obsessive tendencies. Maybe their influence will be too important for me to ignore, and my impatience will eventually get the best of me.

I guess it's a footrace. Or a feeling race?
I don't care who wins.

We Miss You Both

Philip Silverman, a member of our senior class, died this morning. At around 3:00 A.M. his friend fell asleep at the wheel. The driver and a third friend have been in intensive care.

The student body seemed in a daze. At some point I stopped asking the tear-stained faces if they knew Philip. Does it really matter? I didn't know him. It is so upsetting how many people a person can meet posthumously.

How many times the story of the accident was retold, I can't count. "A.J. was driving, Jimmy was in the back. Philip's dead." Dead. Dead? Really? He's eighteen. He knew people I know! He's not ever coming back? They won't ever be the same? They will have to live without him for the rest of their lives...

This is the problem death presents to me. Dr. House, my reigning favorite on-air diagnostician, stated that everyone would cry like a baby when told of their imminent death. I am not afraid to die. I will admit I am afraid of some routes that could take me there, but I am not afraid of being dead. I am afraid of who will live without me. I am terrified of living my life without those people. I want to outlive everyone I love.

I hate impossible needs.

The cynical side of me, or the realist, finds this and wonders who it will be. Who will die in my graduating class? Whose death will shake the school, as well as my life? I don't want to think about it. I can't help it. I have felt as if tragedy is impending for some time now. I am hoping to train myself to cope with it, when it comes. How ignorant is that? I can't ever know. I just can't ever know. I would rather not ever know. But...see above.

I apologize for my rambling, and the unoriginality of this topic. It's been a long, hard day.

Rest in peace, Philip. Not to mention Kurt Vonnegut... We miss you both.

The Effects of Mood Swings

Emotions are an attempt to find one's self. Some practice being sad. Happy, because it looks good. Scared, because comfort follows. Confident, because followers listen. True, because credibility is desirable. False, because liars are the center of any problem they create; attention loves problems. I don't think we practice being unprepared, humiliated, or broken.

We are creatures of habit, and habits are fueled by short-term consequences. Any far off outcome isn't incentive enough, though outcomes essentially define one's self. Emotions, then, determine character.

What one portrays forms the world's opinion. The world consists of people we love -- or at least they live here. Those people's thoughts regularly surpass our own in importance.

What one feels is seldom what they portray. Are the aforementioned impressions false? Does the practice of dishonesty not only avoid reality, but alter it? Does the practice of truth lead to happiness. Does happiness create confidence. Is confidence scary.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave.

Sadly

withered daisies
deflated balloons
dying dogs
dented doors
crooked smiles
sinking ships
chipped polish
burnt toast
sad satisfaction
forced rhymes
broken hearts

celebration often ends
friends often flee
happiness often hides
love often loses

Heart In Progress

I have a heart-shaped box
not Cobain's but mine
it is blank and empty
waiting patiently

I tell myself I'll paint it
plaster it, polish it
but the bare wood is reassurring
it is mine to change

the edges are curved
it's pretty to look at
if potential is beautiful
step by step I fill it to the brim

with pictures
with words
with rhythm
with melodies

there will always be room for you
in the midst of the mess
I wait patiently for you to peel back the lid
tell me what you see

the pet peeve list: a mental figment until now

-walking behind slow walkers
-false flattery
-intolerant people
-intolerant people who find themselves righteous
-blatant interruptions
-dull pencils
-unnecessary answers to simple questions
-erratic bus schedules
-my inability to find a good pair of jeans
-people who read over my shoulder
-busybody salespeople
-spring break snow...not peeved. confused.
-dreams that flee my grasp within seconds of awakening
-knowing that I have more yet can't place them...oh well. to be continued.