The Bloody Doors Off

Song lyrics inspire me.

“You want it darker, we killed the flame” = Snow Angels

Leonard Cohen, “You Want It Darker”

“Like holy water to my lips” = State of Independence

Jon & Vangelis, “State of Independence”

Apparently with blog posts, as well.

I’m feeling out of sorts tonight. I feel like there’s a low-grade migraine brewing in the back of my head, but it hasn’t landed yet. Best I can describe, it’s like a storm front moving in. You can feel the change in the air. The barometric pressure is dropping. In slow motion. Almost crawling. But you can see it on the horizon, and it’s big.

When it lands.

All hands on deck.

It’s gonna smash on the rocks hard.

I need an anchor.

I have an anchor.

She’s sitting five feet from me.

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You’re still here? I thought that was a great break point.

Seriously. Everyone else closed the tab already.

I don’t have anything else to share.

Maybe later.

Maybe.

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What do you want from me?

That’s not right.

Sorry.

What do I want from me?

What am I trying to prove?

I don’t have to write every. Single. Day.

And don’t let yesterday’s stats confuse you. So someone read through over 160 of your posts.

It doesn’t mean anything.

They had time to kill.

Maybe they enjoyed the posts.

Maybe they empathized.

I’m not writing for them. I’m not writing for you.

Although I am freely sharing everything here.

It makes me feel less alone doing so.

You know, when you were growing up, you swore you were the only person going through whatever existential crisis was brewing, and no one could understand your pain?

I’ve been there.

So have you.

Unfortunately, we can’t assuage our childrens’ anxiety. They have to go Through, Not Around. (Nice plug for Marlo’s book, dude.)

I’ve lost the plot of this.

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The storm is sure as hell taking it’s fucking time.

Let’s get it over with already.

I may be back later.

I need to grab my hip waders.