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Seems these days I don't feel anything...

So, tonight was another of my deep, introspective evenings where I start pondering things like whether or not we are punished by some higher power for not actualizing our own potential. Then I watched some Denis Leary – which cured me of my existential whining post haste.

But then a funny thing happened. I popped in White Ladder to go to sleep & WHAM. I swear – there is nary (yes I just said "nary") an album that cuts to the core of me so quickly. It's instant nostalgia, but not for specific events or even people… it just pulls that all too familiar feeling out of my gut. Those same nauseous flip flops I used to get in Jr. High when I was just desperate to be in love. And it really is that very same emotion with it's same weighty demands on my life. Sometimes I feel like I might literally explode if I don't feel something soon – and that's where your brain will kick in, trying to psych you out. It'll start tripping you up. You start imagining these elaborate romances with people you barely know – or with people you *do* know (and would never date) with people you used to know…. people you once thought you knew? Oh it can get downright frightening, but at the same time it's such a delicious head trip that you almost don't want to talk yourself out of it.

And then we come to the part of the evening where I declare myself the Queen of wallowing. (trust me on this one, no one wears misery quite like me) I mean I say all the time that I want to be happy, but I really do wonder sometimes if I don't habitually sabotage my own happiness… I mean, there is such comfort, such warmth in the familiarity of loneliness, of longing, even of unrequited love. First of all, it's just so SAFE. There is absolutely no risk involved in resigning one's self to (love) life of abject misery. (can't you just feel the self-placating hyperbole?) You're right there in an emotion of your own creation, you can't be caught off guard by tiny moments of joy or *gasp* contentment. And well, you're in good company when you wallow… take a look at your favorite stories, songs, and films - chances are they're dripping with angst & the trappings of tragedy. Where do those things go when you're happy? They can't beckon to you all sweet & comforting when you're not traipsing around in your mired emotions. So there you are: safe & sound wrapped up in your little melancholy cocoon. Not even afraid of being alone forever because you can't bring yourself to ever really commit to believing that. There's always that the childlike dream that some dashing young thing will storm the castle, slay all of your inner demons & sneak in that one window left open "just in case", and wake to a world so sweet & safe & worthy of trust that your cocoon seems like a distant memory or a story you heard once upon a time. So you see, that's how it's so easy to live so well insulated… because obviously once you fall for the right man, well, he'll save you. You just have to sit there & look pretty whilst you yearn in your castle/cocoon/what have you.

Oh I know I've drawn these same circular conclusions for you before & I apologize for the redundancy, but it's just the twisted way my brain works. Blame it on the weather, my hormones, the music… it's just where my head is tonight.

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