The Flight of the Rocketman

Pour the acid in my eyes
Burn the pictures in my mind
Take everything away from me
Cuz you don't exist if I don't see
-- You Don't Exist, Leah Andreone

I'm just too busy these days. Work is getting more and more hectic as I take in a second position of significance in the television show I work on. I love my job. I love the idea of all this work. But I fear my other activities shall suffer. Like writing here on my journal. After all, when there is so much to do, you cannot afford the time of certain luxuries. And this is a luxury for me...

I didn't notice
But I didn't care
I tried being honest
But that lead me nowhere
-- One of These Days, Michelle Branch

To one particular person: I don't know where you are and what you are doing now. All of a sudden, all the drama I left behind I seemed to have picked up all over again. I ended things because I didn't want to play games. I ended things because I felt I deserved better. I ended things because I think I shouldn't pursue a friendship if I was falling in love with you. As my friend, Morx, would say, it is "unethical." I ended things because I can't be in love with you if you are attached. That is totally against my cardinal rules. And so I ended it. I guess, at one point, I was hoping that you'd ask me back. I guess, at one point, I felt I was worth leaving your partner for. I was just being honest. I thought that would account for something.

I watched the station
Saw the bus pulling through
And I don't mind saying
A part of me left with you
-- One of These Days, Michelle Branch

I've written five songs in the span of two months. I wrote another one, but it is ugly. It isn't even filler music or a b-side. It needs a lot of work. I kind of like the chorus lyrics that I wrote for it: "I can't open doors if I don't close the others/ I'm not the kind of person who would play with people's hearts/ There's no back-up plan, your first thought's the best one/ Wait for the ending before you begin to start." And I got this great rock riff and melody for the chorus but the verse melody sucks and lyrics are kind of lame. I got to work on it some more. I don't have a real rock song yet that I've written.

Where am I getting at? How strange that one person can affect me so much and yet I can't seem to write a song about this person. I've written tons of poems and short stories about people, people who don't even matter sometime. At a drop of a hat, I wrote my first blues song (it's really cool, the title is "Don't Stop at the Green Light"), it's rockin'. But I can't seem to write a song about this person. Maybe because songs about regret and longing should be handled with a lot of restraint. Otherwise, they'd come out ugly, sentimental and crappy.

Did I make you nervous?
Did I ask for too much?
Was I not deserving one second of your touch?
-- One of These Days, Michelle Branch

Yet Michelle Branch does it so well. All of a sudden, I have this aching need to get the album, even for just the song "One of These Days" which seem to stem from the aching in my heart. How sappy! I should just hit myself with a hammer. But I have to stay true to my principles. I will not be anybody's number two. I will not be anybody's two week thrill. Actually, two-week thrill will make a great song. I just have to write it.

Of course, I feel weak. I want to text this person, text and explain all that I feel. Write one of my epic letters that are written so beautifully (I used to write such great long letters) but that won't help me. I'd be putting myself back where I first started and no, that's not where I want to go.

I'll just take this longing and bring it as far as it can until it just dies out. Like any flame, it will die out. As cliche as it sounds, many of my friends tell me that this won't be the last. There is someone out there who will take care of my feelings, want me and need me and I will feel exactly the same way. This person is not the last in a long line of desirables who have left me in the curb. Seventy-two hours. It's a lot longer than it sounds. It's been seventy-two hours since this person's last text. And we use to text everyday; we use to talk for three to four hours everyday. Now, there is nothing but silence.

I think there's a song there.