“…why do I keep hitting myself with a hammer? Because it feels so good when I stop.”

Life is a disasterous affair, but hell. At least I’m learning that.

My heart belongs elsewhere, perhaps high on shelf where nobody can reach it. Perhaps buried deep in the ocean that I am so terrified of drowning in.

Definitely not in the hands of liars. Abusers. Manipulators. Pick one, I’ve got more…

My heart. A tough old bitch, but she’s been broken more times than she’s been fixed, and eventually one has to give up trying to repair those cracks. Those mini Grand Canyons whose grandeur seems a lot less grand after feeling the pain of falling.

Again, and again.

That heart is a romantic one. Who believes in true loves, endless blue skies, beautiful and simple truth. It pushes through the bullshit because of the genuine belief that goodness and pure souls exist. That heart endures the pain because without it, life would cease to have meaning. Somewhere, somewhere in that pain life has meaning again.

Dark and twisty logic, you think?

I’m going on vacation. I’m deleting myspace. I’m well on my way to being WELL again.

No more bullshit. I have too much to accomplish today.

That makes me feel good. To have written that, to read it again today, when I was looking for something else entirely.

I feel sleepy, and I can’t remember where this blog was going now.

It’s a Monday.