I can only write when I am not writing. If I try to write, I cannot. If I think about it too long, I cannon. If I start out with express purpose, I cannot. It is a terrible fate.
What if the world were reading? What if it mattered? What if I cared? I don't know, but it made me feel better to ask.
I listening to music drifting down from my housemates upstairs. It occurred to me a few months back that I love him. Philos, yo. Not erros. I don't think I'm quite capable of agape. I've thought I was, but I'm not really there yet. But I digress. I am drawn to him. He is talented, artistic and has great taste in music, most of the time. I can pick out a playlist of his anywhere, though I rarely hear the same songs elsewhere. I aspire to his nonchalance, though it is getting in the way of our friendship at the moment. Damn hipsters. Why you gotta be? Beards, swanky(while faux-appearing not to be) shirts, ,The dumbest pants, plaid, and eternally willing to discuss the finer points of whatever environmental/artistic/social fads that are being circulated in the lofty hipster atmosphere: way above the shaved faces of normal folk. I just want to chill out and talk. Have a beer. Put the latest music find on and let it take us where it will.
I miss my friend. I'm not cool enough for you now. I know that means you are undeserving of my friendship, but I still try. Keeping in mind all the little caveats and pitfalls that hide behind so that you can talk to people who don't matter about things that don't matter. I do still love you. And yes, I'll have a beer with you, but not tonight. Tonight, I need to nurse my dignity. 

It's December 18.
It still doesn't feel like Christmas.
I could say that this is because my mother decided not to really get in the groove until December 21 for as long as I can remember... I asked her about this the last time I saw her. She said that at some early point in my 35 years I had lamented to her that I didn't like the fact that my birthday, December, you guessed it, 20, was often overshadowed by the biggest holiday of the year. Her, obviously logical option, was to postpone any christmas festivities like trimming a tree and lights until after my birthday. I would say WTF, but I feel like this warrants the extra effort of typing it all out. What the Fuck.
I have a demented mother. I have been close to saying that to her face, but it can't be the spawning of much good, so I do my best to keep it to myself.
In spite of this, I have maintained a potent yearning for the imagined warmth that I feel Christmas should have. Not the commercialism. Not the hype. Not the hollywood attempts to entertain, though I do like The Santa Clause. The true Christmas spirit, by my definition, of being with people you love and reaching out to them in very meaningful ways. I've held hopes of fulfilling my, somewhat ambiguous ideas of Christmas until the past couple of years.
Recently, I've been cold. Feelingless. It is December 18 and I've not really felt a moment of happiness that it's Christmas. That said, I'm in a really good place in life. I would go as far as to say that I'm happy. I'm in as good a situation as I see I could be. I'm not dissatisfied with life. It's just that I'm spending another Christmas, another year, without as much deep meaningful relationship in my life. Part of me wants to succumb to the numbness that seems to be exhibited around me. Part of me watches the same movies and tries to feel something more. I want to put my arm around her. I want to share what I feel with her. I want a friend who can see what I've worked to be and why it has taken so much to achieve my seemingly unimpressive level of mediocrity.
I wish the best for my friends and those around me. I wish the best for the people I've met. The people I have had meaningful interaction with. I wish you a Merry Christmas. I wish a merry Christmas to the ones I will meet. The ones I will love. I hope you are well this Christmas.
And to all of the above, I wish the best of the season.
Merry Christmas

It's been a while. I don't really think about you much anymore. I still smile in my head when I come across those letters that make up your name. There are several others with those same letters in that arrangement.
I listened to your song today. Not our song. We didn't have a song. Can't really imagine that... But your song. The one my mind attributed to you. I couldn't remember all the words. You've slowly dissolved from my mind. I can't remember your smell anymore, though I'm sure a moment would bring it back.
It really has been a while. 7 years next month. The melancholy has faded into bittersweet memory that brings a smile to my face. Partially, because I feel lucky to have had you at all. Partially to mask the bitter. You really could be happy. I hope you are. 

I had an epiphany yesterday. Amid an outrageous headache and 12 hours of fouled stomach caused by the massive consumption of a beautiful poison, whiskey, I decided to write a blog.
I've spent the majority of the few weeks in an apathetic state that would make Garfield look like an overachiever. You may have guessed that above average consumption of alcohol has accompanied this apathy. You would be correct. But, the Days of Apathy are coming to an end. I can no longer afford to sit on my talents and skills. Literally. I'm running out of money. Though there is the element of self preservation and the need to generate forward momentum in my life. Or any momentum at all, really.
Apathy is a bitch. Not one of my favorite monsters. I'll be playing Munchins tonight, so... there may be a few references. I killed the anger monster, lvl 9. It had it's own energy. You can do something with that energy like a kung fu master, lvl 13, uses the attacks of his opponent against him. I have stopped saying EVERYTHING that pops into my tiny little brain. The verbal diarrhea monster, sleeper lvl 21, took a bit longer to defeat, but after sucking the blood from your tongue after you've, once again, bit the fuck out of it, you. just. stop. biting. it. and. shut.up.
Apathy is different. Apathy possesses no inertia. It is a bit like my understanding of black hole. It sucks. Everything. It sucks starships, stars, other black holes, stardust,  planets, comets... you get the picture. You don't want to do anything. It is way to easy to lay waste to days on end playing Civilization and watching Two and a Half Men episode after episode and episo.... yeah.
The end is nigh. I would have been ok if this event was not welcomed by the last few American dollars exiting my accounts at high speed. Sometimes a $20 bottle of whiskey is a good expenditure. If it provides you the impotence to get off your ass and start moving, it's worth it. It's a shame the headache and nausea must accompany it. That does detract from the value a bit, but it's still worth it.
So today it begins. I need to equip myself to tackle the next monster to come along. I don't know which it will be, but if I had to guess, it will be a social monstrosity. Best of luck to me.
Fair Winds and Following Seas.