It’s 4.20 am and I have to work in the morning, and I said this blog was over, but nonetheless here I sit writing, awake and unhappy. This sucks. I’m 29 years old and I’m laying here alone. Alone. Alone for months to come. I am alone at night and she’s got company, just like last summer, when I stood awake in the dark on my trailer-patio under the moon, smoking and drinking and waiting, making everyone in my life tense in the process. I feel like an asshole for not being supportive. I also feel cripplingly lonely and confused in this apartment and in this city right now.
Maybe I’m not good enough. Maybe I just suck. I’m just too tired to think straight, not asleep or getting any rest yet not awake enough to understand.
It’s all beyond me, ponderous and stupid. Everything feels foreign and there’s nothing and no one to share anything important with while I imagine my loved one thousands of miles away and wonder at the difference in our lives. I feel selfish for even typing this, but I have to communicate with someone right now, reach out and touch something, or I’m going to jump in my car and drive.
And I can’t do that because I have to go to work in a moment.
Already I feel guilty, and I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s because I think I’m a liar.
Bah. It’s clear I won’t get any sleep tonight, and of course I have to work 8 hours momentarily at high stress, before coming home to the brief interim between workdays.
I wish there was something I wished for.