PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I don't really think that a poetry site is the most appropriate place for a pseudo-journal entry about my personal life, simply because this isn't poetry. But this is where I feel the most comfortable writing, and it is where I shall remain.



It's a little after 10:30 on a Monday morning. My small vacation has ended abruptly and I find it hard to shake the aftershock of returning to the office after having so much time to spend with Megan. It was a good experience overall, though we did bicker a little bit throughout the weekend. We're very argumentative with one-another, but the moments generally pass with ease and we're able to forget about them quickly. I have no idea how functional we are as a couple.



We're able to spend vast amounts of time together without getting irritated or feeling as if we should go our separate ways; even when we are fighting. I was never able to do that with Emily, nor was I able to with any other girlfriend. But there's sort of a catch. Generally I feel a strong measure of passion for whomever I'm dating: otherwise I likely wouldn't be dating them. But things have changed drastically. Megan is the first to be with me after my heart was "broken" and I imagine it's very difficult. All the romance I once had welled up within me has been tapped, and now the very thought of typical romance seems kind of faulty or fake. I do try to make Megan feel special, because she is special to me. I care about her a lot and the thought of being without her is painful. She's fun, and very different. She forces me to see the world, and myself, in entirely new and alien ways. She catapults me out of my comfort zone on a regular basis. I know that this is good for me, and I do my best to accept it.



I absolutely cannot get my head on straight today. My mind is wandering aimlessly. There is so much shit to do, all of it right in front of me, and I cannot focus on any of it to save my life. Some days, I feel as if this job is killing me. It's not an especially difficult job, but it's incredibly mind-numbing. The money is good for the time being, but when taxes come to call next April, I will most likely be completely broke. Will it be worth it? I can't honestly say. Probably not, though.



I've been here for going on two hours now and so far, all I've managed to do is glance at what I have to do today and check the messages. It's a pretty ordinary office job, and it will drain the soul from my carcass in a perfectly ordinary way. Most days, I feel entirely useless here. None of my work is every really appreciated or acknowledged, nor do I get any sort of rewards for going above-and-beyond. I do not get paid overtime of any sort, I do not get bonuses and in the seven months I've spent here, I've yet to see a raise. I'm not really sure that I deserve one, but that is only because my employer lacks the foresight to teach me anything relevant to her business. I have been "trained" (and I use that word as LOOSELY as possible) to handle most if not all of the boring and monotonous tasks that she does not wish to be bothered with. This makes perfect sense, but what doesn't make sense is her refusal to educate me to the point where I will be self-sufficient and helpful to her cause. I need her approval for damn-near everything I do, and her word is constantly final. By now, these tasks should be left entirely up to me without any input from her, and I should know exactly what to do, how to do it and when it needs to be done. Most of the time, I wonder why I'm even here. If I were to quit tomorrow, she would have someone else in by next week, and they would be functioning at my level in under a month.



I have no reason to be motivated here. I do my job with a glaze over my eyes. Afterwards, I head back to my parent's over-crowded dwelling, and force myself to relax. I dread the coming days and suppress all of my negativity with pot. Recently I have taken a turn for the better, and have distanced myself from marijuana enough that I do not feel like it is in control. I may feel dead inside and out, but at least I know that this is how I actually feel.



I'll probably leave this window open and return to it later, but right now I have got to try and get myself to do something productive. I'm a terrible employee, but I do fully believe that the only reason I am such a terrible employee is because I have a really terrible boss.



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I can't seem to get myself up and out the door for lunch today. Nothing really sounds appealing, and our last night's late dinner really did a number on my gut. I feel like shit, to put it plainly. My mind feels very clouded today and I feel weighted and unhappy as a result.



There are so many things that I need to do. Every day of my life should be spent looking for a better job, trying to narrow down my career options and working to get in better shape. My motivation to do any of this is so slim and transparent that it might as well not be there at all. It's simply a reminder of how much time I'm wasting as I grow older. The twenty-first year of my life felt like the longest I have ever had, which is somehow frightening and exhilarating. A lot has happened and I feel like I've changed significantly, but I wasted so much time, so much money and so much effort just to wind up back home, with less to my name and more to be concerned about than ever before.



I'm slipping all over again, and it makes me feel so frustrated with myself. I allowed weed to take hold of me in such a sad and desperate way, despite promising myself that it never, ever would. I've been neglecting Muay Thai completely. Sure, my knee got fucked up yet again and right now I'm so burnt from the sun that any human contact more forceful than a light brush feels like getting stabbed by hot needles, but it all feels like excuses. I'm hard on myself because I feel like a failure all around. But being so hard on myself makes it so hard to really get anywhere. I'm so sure of my eventual failure that attempting something significant usually seems like a waste of my time.



I want to put my poetry book together by the end of August, and I want to have a new job secured by the beginning of October. I have goals. They may be either senseless or temporary, but they're there. I don't expect my poetry book to get any notice, and I doubt I'll be able to find a job that could compare to this one in terms of pay and commute, but I have to try, and I have to keep in mind that I NEED to be trying. Apathy is a pollution that all human beings generate. In order to filter ourselves of it, we have to be conscious of it, and we cannot accept what it does, nor can we indulge in it. I have for far too long. Some part of me expected things to simply work out in my favor because generally, they do. But I can't behave in such a way, and I can't allow myself to be so docile. If I'm going to be proud of who and what I am, I have to be vigilante. I have to be nothing besides myself, and I have to be proud to look in the mirror every morning of my life.



Life has blessed me with so many advantages. I've grown up comfortably, surrounded by a loving family as well as a supportive group of friends. I was born healthy, with nothing to hold me back from the start. I have learned to operate the world around me to a certain degree, and I have become very well acquainted with myself. I know who I am, and I know how I think. I know that I'm intelligent, even if it's only in a passive way, and I need to teach myself to apply my intelligence more practically. Dedication is something I lack, as is a strong sense of purpose. These are two things that I must acquire. I must find a goal, and I must adhere to that goal. This goal must benefit my life in its entirety. This goal will consume me, and I will welcome it, for it may return to me a sense of burning passion that I have completely fucking lost over the years.



More importantly, or at least, equally importantly: I must learn to love again. Megan is an enormous part of my life now. I shrug it off to myself at times, as if, had she walked out on me tomorrow, I'd simply move on and forget all the time we've spent together. But I know in my mind that it isn't like that. She means a lot to me, and she's helped me in so many ways since we've gotten together. She cares for me in ways that I was almost sure no girl ever would ever again. I worry that my feelings for her simply aren't strong enough to justify staying by her side. She loves me... And I'm terrified that I'll end up crushing her eventually.



I have no idea if I'll ever feel love the way that I used to. My feelings for Emily were so strong and all-encompassing that she eventually dominated every aspect of my life. I'm scared to allow that again, and it's translating into a distance that I have to consciously fight off. My time spent with Megan is always enjoyable and pleasant, but I never feel the desperate need for her that I had always felt for Emily. I don't want to ever hurt Megan the way she's been hurt before, and it makes me frightened. But love is such a strange and amorphous thing. I feel as if I may truly love Megan already, but that I am not allowing myself to recognize it or even really feel it. Stupid, shallow things cloud my thoughts: I often fantasize about having a girlfriend with large breasts, or being with a mysterious and interesting young woman who can play an instrument. I imagine being with a girl with such amazing curves that I can never take my hands away from her.



Megan is entirely good. She is good for me, and she is good as a whole. She is a good person, with good intentions and a good heart. She is hard-working, motivated and realistic, if a little negative and pessimistic at times. She does things that annoy me like none other, but she will always redeem herself in more ways than one with her uncanny sense of honesty and genuine appeal. If I were not to love her, it would make me nothing more than a foolish young man with a lust for things that absolutely do not matter. I stick by Megan for a reason; even asking her to return to me once the ties had been severed. At first, I thought it only my libido talking. But it couldn't have been. After hearing of her date with another man, I felt pain. I did my best to be optimistic and supportive because I know that she deserves nothing less than a great man who will treat her with the love and respect that she deserves. But I was hurting, and I missed the time we would spend together.



I want to tell her that I love her; I have even elected to stop myself from doing so on at least half a dozen occasions. Why do I hold my tongue? Because I believe in honesty, and I want to be sure that the word I will be using - the L word - truly is the word I intend to use. The concept of love escapes me now, and wonders never cease, because at one time it was simply all I wanted and all I could think about. But I'm simply not the same, and I do not consider myself one to take chances.



Forgive me, Megan, for being so afraid.