My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

So, this doesn’t work, I can’t not write. No matter how dead I feel inside, no matter how much I want to be holding someone tonight, every night, I have to keep writing.

I’m broken and gone and I don’t think I’m coming back. Thank you for reading, I tried to make this place something good. I’m sorry I failed.

Words can’t express how broken and empty and alone I feel right now.

I really don’t see any reason to write anymore.

My head is too muddled tonight, I can’t write. Fuck, so many things I can’t say.

I really don’t have anything worth writing, again. I don’t know what I’m doing, just breathing, I guess.

On the one hand, I want to be writing great things, entertaining things, at least. The guy at the bar the other night, the guy with really sweaty hands who grabbed my face because he wanted to know if “that thing is real.” The way Jenna, my sister-in-law, smacked his arm away Kung Fu style. I want to write things.

On the other hand, I feel empty inside, and entertaining feels pointless.

I feel like I should just disappear.

I don’t think it matters either way.

So, last night, I went to this bar with my brother, sister-in-law, some of their friends. It was a really lame bar, anyplace that serves even their liquor in plastic cups just isn’t anywhere good. Beer in plastic, sure, that’s okay. Liquor in plastic, that’s completely classless. Liquor belongs in glass, no discussion.

Anyways, I still usually love a bar, I love writing about bars. Something interesting always happens. I kept trying to get in my writer space, where I’m taking in everything, feeding everything, remembering everything. I usually sit, and watch, and write things in my head. Even if I just feel lonely, lost, I’ll write that, wanting my drink to make me feel something other than empty, and how it almost never does. Even when I feel dead inside, I usually get some kind of peace out of using my craft to paint that picture with words, personal narrative, flash fiction, whatever. Last night, I just couldn’t get to that place of detached recording, where words just fit in my head. I was too anxious, nervous, too disconnected. I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to be somewhere else, with someone else. The weight of that, I don’t have the words to describe, I can’t.

I’m really nervous today and it’s fuckin’ freaking me out. I’m not supposed to be nervous like this, I haven’t been for years, fucking, years. I have errands to run, this thing tonight, and I just want to stay in my room. I don’t want to leave this tiny area under my iMac. I’m tired, and nervous, nothing feels good. The bad dreams woke me every hour last night, they don’t stop anymore. I’m, fuck it, whatever, I’m going.