It's one thing to consider, to imagine yourself taking your life - all that you were, all that you are, all that you ever will be, all that you've ever laughed about or wept over, and all the things you think you'll never get past - in your hand and, out of all the desperation and broken dreams and dead joys that comprise life, hurl it in God's direction, hoping that you'll hit something good. You'll have a hard time convincing me that actually doing it isn't quite another.

Right now, i'm tired (in all three, four...however many senses of that word exist). I want to leave, but i'd rather stay. I want to cry, but i'd rather remain silent. I want to take all the energy i've ever had and use it scraping my limbs beyond recognition in order to forge a new path through the woods. The beaten path is beating me, and it's getting old. I want to end a day thoroughly exhausted for all the right reasons for once because few things feel better than sleep that's actually deserved. I want to write forever, walk forever, sing forever, live forever...if only i can bring myself to do it right. For the most part, it's only when i sit down to write that i feel that hope that i mentioned...the last time i wrote.

The only sign i want to see says "exit" on it, but i can't see much of anything right now. Soon i'll be home for a week, away from most everything except my thoughts - i don't know whether to consider it a blessing or torture. I think to myself, "maybe i can figure (some) of it out," but that seems unlikely. Some knots can't be untied; the thread simply must be cut...i hope not, but what must be done must be done.

Sometimes the night is so long.

a brief and terribly undescriptive return - 10.28.04
- - 09.17.04
- - 08.16.04
- - 08.13.04
- - 07.30.04