No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2001-10-21 - 11:18 p.m.

i'm lonely. and fuck off.

today i hid from the world. and today, i am not happy. football sucks because even my backup i'm not really a fan i just play one on tv team got walloped. heh. at least the chiefs lost.

sunday nights. for some reason sunday nights are the time that i become most aware of loneliness. these are the times i can sense it hanging around me, like the odor of spoiled eggs. it clings, as old wild bill said "like a new-made wife about the neck of her husband, hardly to be shook off". and even that quote reminds me of my alone-ness, of the improbability of my ever getting married. cause you know. it helps to find a woman before you do that whole marriage thing.

and right now it seems the world is lousy with women who i would love to date. and i feel like john merrick, shambling through life, of the world but not in the world. a quizzical footnote to society, but certainly not a part of it.

i don't.

i don't understand.

i just don't fucking understand what it is about me that makes so very many women wonder aloud why i don't have a girlfriend, but makes none of them willing to step up and take the challenge themselves.

doesn't it seem in a way worse that nobody gets it? maybe it'd be easier if someone were able to say "j$ the reason that no woman wants to date you is that you have three arms". i could understand that. i could get on board with that. i could undergo elective amputation.

but when there is no good reason that anyone can see, and yet i still slouch through life alone, that's a bit harder to swallow.

coming out of the movie theater yesterday, i saw an ad for some movie. it said "one man takes on the impossible challenge. no sex for forty days and forty nights."

and i.

i just snorted.

and said "that's nothing."

and then suddenly i wanted to cry.

and i know that i'm a whiner, and i should take a page out of PG's book and think of the things for which i'm grateful.

but right now i can't.

all i can think about is another in the infinite number of nights i'll spend alone in my queen size bed with the flannel sheets.

and it's my journal.

so if you don't like it.

you can fuck off.

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