And I told you to be patient

There is a very distinct possibility that I'm going to let him break my heart. I just thought I should let everyone know that.

Home Is Wherever I'm With You

Do you ever hear a song and think it's about one person but then it turns out it's about someone else entirely? Isn't it always a little bit funny when that happens?

So hold my hand, I'll walk with you my dear...

"I just wanted to say how much I miss you. For the sex stuff, sure, but also I'd just like to see you again as well."

And that's moment where it occurs to you that maybe the label isn't as important as you'd been thinking it was. Because he misses you and he just wants to see you again and he misses the sound of your voice. And you don't have to be afraid that he doesn't miss your company, your friendship, your smile, just your vag and his ability to have sex with it. Because he misses you. Maybe he misses you as much as you miss him...

Hey Thanks

Dear Dormouse,

Can we please agree to stop making fucking stupid decisions? Or at least stop making stupid decisions about fucking? No? Well, I fucking tried...

Love always,

Your brain

PS: Your heart might think it's doing the right thing but it's a fucking idiot. Just sayin...

Make you feel my love

How am I always getting myself into these ridiculous situations? Do I live on a sitcom? Like, am I a real person or is someone providing a fucked up script for my life? Well, I wish there was a script. Then I could skip ahead and see if things would turn out okay. But right now I'm kind of on cloud 9. Your dear sweet Dormouse might finally be figuring out how happiness works. Isn't that surprising?

And the lie, you don't need anyone

Some nights I do this really self indulgent thing where I sit in my room and I turn off all the lights and I listen to this one song on repeat. See, I have this friend who writes these beautiful songs and maybe a year ago he wrote one for me. It's lovely and sad and full of references to one of my favorite novels of all time. And so sometimes when I'm feeling kinda down I play the song over and over and over in this nauseating act of reminding myself that at some point in my life I inspired someone to write me a song. And even if it's a sad song that's still one more song than most people I know have had written for them...

It's always something

So the hearing in my right ear is a little fuzzy, my entire back feels like one huge bruise, and lifting my right arm above my head requires a herculean effort. BUT! It was totally worth it. I went to see Cage the Elephant and it was fucking amazing. I danced and screamed and waved my arms around and thrashed and got picked up and tossed a couple times too. It was one of the top five nights of my whole life. And I almost didn't go because I didn't have a friend to go with. So here's what I have to say to you my dear readers: That concert you want to go to? That lecture you've been waiting for? That...whatever other super important thing you're super excited about? Stop dreaming about it. Stop sitting and trying to come up with reasons why you should and shouldn't go. Just buy the fucking tickets. You'll find a way to get there. This shit works out. If you've got the cash and you've got the desire just fucking do it. You'll find a way to make it work. Don't miss out on fantastic fucking opportunities because you're afraid to go alone or you're not sure you can find a ride or you're just not entirely sure it's worth it. Trust me, if you dig this band or this speaker or this whoeverthefucktheyare it's totally worth it.

If I can see Bon Iver by May then I will have seen the three out of six of my top bands of all time who it is still possible to see within one six month period. Who wants to help me make it happen?

You hit me just like heroin...

Sometimes we do stupid things. Humans I mean. We do things like fall for the wrong people. Care about people who barely care about themselves and can therefore hardly find it in them to care about others. And we care about them even when they disappoint us and frustrate us and worry us. We care about them even when we know they're so sad and broken and barely anything but a fiction. And even knowing all this we let them break our hearts again and again and again.

Dear readers, please forgive your sweet Dormouse for being so shallow and susceptible to flights of fancy. A dear friend of mine has been in a dark place (admittedly not darker than usual but for some reason it is getting to me more) and I'm worried for him. I wouldn't like to be so presumptuous as to attempt to cheer him up, I know how terribly I hate it when other people attempt to make me happy when I'm barely capable of picking myself up off the floor. However, I love him and I want wholeheartedly for him to be okay.

"Be okay." What the fuck does that even mean? Be happy? Be...normal? Behave in the societally appropriate manner? Most days I can barely fucking understand how to feel okay. How could I presume to ask someone else I love to feel in a way I don't even know how to feel? And of course I worry about my growing dependence on his morbid sensibilities. Today he spoke to me of a love of a certain drug and the way he purred about it was so enticing. I could feel myself back there in my dark room, my friend's hands on my arm, injecting liquid joy directly into my veins. I could be happy listening to him tell me about using it, making me crave it, until it drove me to insanity. Until all I would want is to beg him to kiss it into every inch of my skin. This is dangerous. I absolutely cannot allow him to drive me to distraction in this way. But his words are...so lovely. It hurt my throat to tell him to stop. The words had to be ripped from me. All I wanted was for him to go on and on and on. Problematic relationship much? Oh well. He's really a lovely gentleman when you let him be. As long as you don't mind the touch of the morbid.