cause i’m a little drunk and i need you now

but i set fire, to the rain.

i’m not that bold though. i don’t set fires of that caliber. if anything i’m the sneaking arsonist, shuffling ashes around to rekindle what’s left to burn, burn burn.

when i’m with you i could stay there
close my eyes, feel you’re here forever

i can’t help myself.

one more midnight gone.
when’s the last midnight?

this always happens. always.
isn’t it awful, when there’s no one to blame?

it’s time

It’s past time for a cleanse.

Every now and then it ends up being late at night and I pause the Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings movie that I was trying to watch because I can’t focus on it. Thoughts get all jumbled and I need to let them out. This blog is usually where they end up, and even though the number of individuals actually reading these words will be slim, someway, somehow, it feels better knowing they’re here, to be read. Potentially.

It is HP6, tonight.

But really, the thing that’s got me all riled tonight is myself. Though this probably is not anything new, the sangria is forcing out thoughts that likely should have been said anyway. I was going through my Facebook profile pictures and deleting the ones I don’t like, and I realized how much fun high school was. Middle school is supposed to be about the worst part of your life, high school is supposed to seem hard at the time but amazing in retrospect. This is true. I feel that fun then was made, created, and just… enjoyed, but now it is induced, forced, and usually difficult to remember in the morning. (Remember hanging out during the day?)

Sometimes it just seems that things have stagnated and aren’t going anywhere fast. I find myself reminiscing more often than I used to, and that sort of scares me. Where am I going if all I can do is think about how awesome the past was? Could the future possibly live up to that?

I don’t have any answers, and the more I write seems to just raise more questions.

what the hell?

I have absolutely no recollection of the previous post.

If it weren’t for the timestamp on it, I would have no idea when it was written.

I’m a little scared at how much I don’t remember about that.

Because normally you can say you don’t remember something, but you usually remember at least part of it. That post, I remember nothing except the title. And only because it was a song. It still is a song. The song hasn’t gone.

I still don’t remember.

I’m scared.

hello, I love you

The title seems to be mocking you, doesn’t it? Since I haven’t written here since January, and I if I truly did love you there would have been many wonderful posts since then?

Sorry.

The truth is, I always end up back in the same place. Trapped, but by nobody but myself, and feeling like I’m not accomplishing anything. My registration day was Tuesday. I need to figure out my second (probably more important) major and register for fall. I need to cut my hair and apply for Germany. I need to get a campus job so I don’t have to commute so far to work, and I need to play music.

Going to a band concert will never end up being a bad decision. Music is a crucial part of the soul, at least for someone who has played in the past. To not be exercising that mediocre talent is more than a lack of fulfillment. It is as if a big gaping hole is allowing darkness into your heart, and you don’t even realize it until you hear the music again. You miss it. You want more than anything to be on that stage or in that classroom playing, attempting to make the notes on the page sound beautiful.

You never know what you want. You’re indecisive to a fault, and when you finally think you’ve got everything figured out, some part of the world points out that you really haven’t got a clue.

Does everyone deal with this, or am I just an exception?

I just want peace.

Is it over now, hey, say is it over now?

Anberlin is possibly the only band that I can listen to and forget that they are “Christian Rock” or whatever the genre is these days.

That sounds bad. It’s probably meant to.

Once I stopped at the Owatonna Hy-Vee. I needed some tissues, so I stopped to pee and get some, as well as a soda. An hour later the Iowa State Patrol turned on their lights and hailed me down.

I need to watch Mean Girls again, apparently, because after three times this month, the Carolin Kraft morality message still doesn’t seem to have sunken in.

We’re back to one to two sentence paragraphs I see. And three word sentences. Great.

Every time I start writing one of these I feel like I have enough content for even Severus Snape’s nastiest parchment length requirement. Then I start typing, and it all goes downhill.

I got to find out what sitting in the front seat of a patrol car was like that day. I also got to keep my very own paper copy of an official warning from the State of Iowa.

This post is not turning out how I thought it would. But maybe things are better that way.

I don’t know how it was supposed to turn out anyway.

When there are problems in the world, there are two kinds of people.
There are the people who sit around and figure out what these problems are, and they talk and they write about them and what needs to be done to fix them, and they tell the world what’s wrong.
Then there are the sorts of people who are actually out doing things to make a difference. Who fix the problems.
I just want to fix the world.

But first I need to fix myself.