step out the front door like a ghost into a fog
where no one notices the contrast of white on white
in between the moon and you, the angels get a better view
of the crumbling difference between wrong and right
I'm seeing a future now that's not completely on fire. This is...good? The problem is, I'm seeing a lot of fog on the path ahead. It may be hiding more than one path, so...I guess I get to be very, very careful again as I go.
well, I walk in the air between the rain
through myself and back again
where? I don't know
I'm doing my best not to judge reactions, here, because again, it would be very easy to kick myself and rant, or to tsk and shake my head. And it's not like I haven't done that before--"OMG, you're wallowing in this again." "WHY do you keep doing this to yourself?" "Get a grip, honestly." Or, my personal favorite, from a long time back (and someone else entirely): "You're despondent over a demon who left you to go find himself, and he came back gay. Of COURSE you're not going to marry him now. Get. Over. It."
Though that is still the one and only time in SL I ever agreed to partner someone. Guess it left a mark.
round here, we always stand up straight
round here, something radiates
Not so much just hearing the song, but every time I watch the video itself, I always think the singer looks so sarcastic singing that first line. Is he? Is it just my interpretation? It's amusing either way.
But that's always been the dichotomy of etiquette.
Maria came from Nashville with a suitcase in her hand
she said she'd like to meet a boy who looks like Elvis
and she walks along the edge of where the ocean meets the land
just like she's walking on a wire in the circus
I've done that. More in text than in person, but I've done that in person, too--make sure to place my feet very carefully, make no sudden moves, lest I disturb the fragility of that given situation. It's always nerve-wracking.
she parks her car outside of my house and takes her clothes off
says she's close to understanding Jesus
and she knows she's more than just a little misunderstood
she has trouble acting normal when she's nervous
Who doesn't? But what's 'normal', anyway? Rita Mae Brown once said, "Normal is the average of deviance". While I think there's truth to be found there, I'm more of the opinion these days that there is no "normal"--only a presupposition of it. No one is normal. Everyone's just doing the best they can.
You'd think I'd be used to this by now.
round here, we're carving out our names
round here, we all look the same
round here, we talk just like lions but we sacrifice like lambs
round here, she's slipping though my hands
And one way or another, everyone leaves, and if it's not them, it will be you. Distraction, disturbance, death--it will be something. The only constants in the universe are hydrogen and stupidity--everything else is in flux.
Adapt or die.
sleeping children better run like the wind
out of the lightning dream
mama's little baby better get herself in
out of the lightning
I could get out of the storm. It wouldn't be hard. But I learn more out in the ozone air.
Sure, there's greater risk, but...if it's not important enough to risk anything, why bother?
she says, "It's only in my head"
she says, "shh, I know it's only in my head"
but the girl on the car in the parking lot
says, "man, you should try to take a shot
can't you see my walls are crumbling?"
I have also learned, that although every patch of destruction feels like the end of all things, a lot of the time that's just what it takes to break down structures long solidified. Raze the foundations no longer needed, pour in new ones, build walls of new ideas, new concepts. Keep the change going. Recognize there will be another detonation at some point, if we lose our paths again.
It's bound to happen.
then she looks up at the building
and says she's thinking of jumping
she says she's tired of life
she must be tired of something
Now, to be fair, there's no one in my social circle, at least on the other side of the screen, who hasn't had a little suicidal ideation now and again, but then, those are my friends, not yours. Maybe other people aren't driven towards melancholy. Maybe other people don't casually discuss what antidepressants work around a campfire. It doesn't strike me as that unusual, though, because it's always been part of the life. Even the abnormal can feel everyday if you never know what that so-termed 'normal' is in the first place.
Which, in itself, may be part of the problem.
I also attribute a lot of those kinds of conversations to the follies of youth, where everyday reality stung the surface of our skin.
round here, she's always on my mind
round here, hey man, got lots of time
round here, we're never sent to bed early
man, nobody makes us wait
round here we stay up very, very, very, very late--
It must be said, sleep and I have never been the closest of companions. Of late, though, with help, I have something resembling a sleep schedule now. Does it interfere with the socializing I used to do in the wee hours? Of course. Do I mind that it does? Not anymore, because it's better for me to actually sleep, even though it took me a long time to accept that.
Of course, ever since the two-weeks-that-became-two-days, I've been waking up between three and five every night. About half the time I get back to sleep. The other half, I get up, and find extremely tedious tasks on the comp, so I'll bore myself back to tired. I don't mind the getting up as much as I mind not knowing the why. It's not nightmares, specifically; it's not even dreams, at least, no dreams that occur consistently enough between three and five ayem. It's just--*BAM*, no transition, suddenly awake.
I'll figure it out in time.
I, I can't see nothin', nothin' round here
you catch me if I'm falling, you catch me if I'm falling
will you catch me? 'cause I'm fallin' down on you
Of course, it doesn't help that the spiders are back. It doesn't help that nightmares have kicked up, which should be welcome diversion from my insistent brain trying to talk me into fever dreams, but...aren't, quite. It doesn't help that the ones I love sternly tell me to go back to sleep, as if that's something that can be had with the wording of it. My dears, I would if I could, but...something. There's...something.
Oh. Maybe that's it. There's something.
(Lyrics taken from Counting Crows' "Round Here.)
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