I haven't wanted to just write.

More than I do now in a long time.
And now that the page is open, the box is clear, the keys are willing... my mind has gone blank. I've been a cracked shell for the past... let's say 9 months. Slightly exerting small amounts of whatever toxins rest inside. I appreciate everyone who has helped place the bits of tape over the hole but, it remains torn. Right now I'm just feeling extra... lifeless. It's so strange. I had a good night. I've been having good nights. The weather has been warming up to a comfortable level where the sky is blue and the breeze is encapsulating instead of ravenous. There's even the annual St. Patricks day parade in Brentwood a block away from me. But I couldn't bring myself to see the sight. It almost reminds me of times when I was wiling to be innocent and happy.
Don't get me wrong, of course I want happiness.
But I want it in a different form now. Like a beauty magazine. Always having something to say and pretending like it's a different message every month but it's the same with different fonts and colors and models. But I want it dark and mysterious, I want it to search for me and want me. I want it to write me little notes and show me off to all it's friends. Because, god I hate the chase. I tried playing guitar today so that tomorrow when I play with Jackson I'll know what the hell I'm doing. Of course I won't. I really need some lessons. And I guess that's the stage of life I'm at.
The "okay I've been wrong" stage.
I want to be taught the way. I want to quit being upset and sad and defenseless. Someone the other day regarded me as Playful yet Indifferent. And it's not exactly ideal but perhaps it works for now. I've been blinded with making other people like me, trying to fit into their molds. Too bad my love handles spill over the sides.