Don't think about it too much.

************I'm typing this on our ancient Mac, so if anything is misspelled, please forgive me and i'll fix it when i get the laptop back*********

So we are finally going back to school after almost two weeks off. And I've gotta say, the last couple of days have been really, really interesting. My last post was also kind of a downer, so i guess this one is the one where i come back and have something optimistic to say.

But the truth is, this is a blog, and the only purpose it serves is for me to basically say what i'm thinking. Most of these posts aren't planned out so if i have a downer post one day...well that's just how i feel.

However, today has been a pretty good day.

Originally i was going to post a piece of writing that i had been working on over our snow break, but then i decided against it, because it is also kind of a downer, and might be a little confusing. But i think that that's ok. Because this is something that is true, and genuine, so i have no problem sharing that with anyone reading this.

(and for the few of my close friends who do read this blog, don't worry, i'm fine, this is just how i've been feeling)


He's sitting alone, staring at his computer screen, listening to the piano in the background. The singer's voice is masculine, but tender and seems to reflect how he's feeling in his heart. He doesn't know what to think anymore, only knowing that he can feel the unpleasant feeling creeping through his body, a feeling that can only be described as disgust, or resentment. Perhaps a mixture of the two. These feelings begin to well up inside of him, begin to consume his mind until only blurred colors and noise is left. So he does the only thing he can do, he stand up and walks out into the falling snow. The snow is cold as it falls in his hair, his mouth and his eyes. His body grows numb and the wind begins to sting his skin. But there is beauty in the snow; in the sadness. Ever the optimist, he tells himself everything will be alright. But ever the cynic, he knows that all the facts remain. He'll try to play it off, he might even come close to believing himself. But all he can do is put on that special smile he has, the special smile his friends have come to know.

Now, a few days later, he's one the floor. The constant rythm of push-ups and the burning in his arms seems to fit with the electric guitar and yelling voices in the background. He's not going to cry. It doesn't hurt that much, and if it did, he couldn't. As he gets to fifty he turns over onto his back and begins the sit-ups. It's a certain therapy which he has perfected in the past...but it doesn't always seem to work. It helps him, but nothing is fixed. But now he's ready, he has been for longer than he might have realized before.

But now this.

He didn't want to know that, he didn't want to accept that. To accept this. He tells himself he won't pay attention, that he'll shut those thoughts out. But, like a drug, he goes back and continues to look for more. He doesn't want to accept this. But he knows it really doesn't matter either way. And those feelings start coming back, the resentment, and the disgust. It surprises him. He thought he was better than petty jealousy.

But he's stronger than that, and he tries to make the steps to understand that things in the past are in the past for a reason.

She. Him and her..them? Just words he tells himself. Perhaps tomorrow will be better.

And he smiles to himself. The piano has come back on in the background.

Everything is going to be alright.



~Sam