I’m about to go do some more volunteering for WFMU’s fundraising marathon. Last time I only answered two phones; it was a slow period, “a dark time for the Rebellion.”
I’m very tired and thoughtful; last night, I put away seven beers while trying to dull the pain of my still-recent breakup.

I’m not proud of maudlin efforts like the previous post, or of self-pity in general, but I don’t pretend not have such feelings. Not expressing a feeling is, for me, a lie unto itself. A lie that can kill.

In this crazy world, there are myriad ways for me to let other people know just how miserable I am at any given moment without any intention of changing my situation. It could be seen as reaching out. Sometimes, I see it as reaching in, into myself, desperately trying to come up with something positive, something or someone that I love. But I never have the urge, or never follow it, to actually contact that person directly, by voice, and have him or her talk some sense into me, talk me out of my frenzy. Because of that, a sense of loneliness pervades each text message, each facebook nod, each email, and each one of these blog entries.

We’ll see if that ever changes.

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