Thursday, September 29, 2011

The End of an Era

One post in September Blog. That's what this has come to. Well, I'll make this the second one so that odd and cryptic post from 10 days ago will have a friend for the month.

Speaking of that odd and cryptic post...

Speaking of (or perhaps not speaking of) my most recent trip to Europe...

Speaking of having both a broken heart and giddy smile...

I've come to the conclusion that I must no longer spill my heart out to you Blog. At least my romantic heart. I know this hurts to hear, but for as much relief and joy I get from blogging about my pining and hoping and love, I get just as much pain, remorse, and sadness from blogging about the end of it all.

I guess everything must come to an end sooner or later. What I've learned is that none of us have control over when that end decides to make its appearance.

What I've also learned is that the head and the heart are two different entities that coincide on most occasions, but only when they disagree with one another is it apparent that you really have to leave it to fate to decide your next step. You can't force something to happen that shouldn't be happening. And that Blog, is why after two weeks of witnessing an arguement between my head and my heart, I ended things with the sweet and dear Englishman who has somehow managed to change me from 4,000 miles away. My head wanted to stay, my heart felt otherwise and in the end won the debate.

So not only do I say goodbye to the Englishman. I say goodbye to spilling my romantic thoughts to you Blog. I one day want to make you public again and the only way I can do that is to censor my emotions so I don't end up hurting those whose gaze might fall on your lonely entries. Also, I think it might be time I leave a little bit of myself to the imagination.

Don't be too hurt, Blog. I know you can read my mind for the most part anyway.

Monday, September 19, 2011

This song blog. This song. It is the epitome of what it feels like to be in a new situation that is exciting and wonderful and full of anticipation.

Fuck it. I'm going to embed this shit:

I can't say any more. Not now, blog. I'm sorry. I know I pour my heart out to you on most occasions. But know that when I hold back, it's something that's especially serious and exciting that I will only spill to you in copious amounts after time has passed me by.

Yes, it's been nearly a month since I last wrote in you. I have good reason. I unfortunately can't elaborate at this point which breaks my heart. But one day I will continue the ridiculous story that is my personal life being thrown up on an internet forum; be it public or exclusive. We all reserve the right to write about our experiences, don't we.

For now, I'm off to bed to sleep. Perhance to dream.. No, I'm not Hamlet. My dad didn't die and my uncle didn't marry my mom. I'm not in love with a suicidal crazy named Ophelia. And the only Rosencrantz and Guildenstern I know are that of the Tom Stoppard variety and don't even think I'm getting that theatrically pretentious on this Monday night, the night of the Ivey awards. I'm better than that blog. Hell, I don't even dream. And if we're honest, everyone at the end of that play probably deserved to die anyway.

Hmmm. It's probably the wine talking at this point, but I could act in plays and be a great performer, but why pretend to feel that great emotion when you can feel it as yourself, firsthand for real and for the worth of actual consequence that it will have for you?

Well, I guess you don't get paid to feel your own emotion. Not in monetary amounts anyway. But it seems that there's this strange satisfaction about it that overshadows all of that anyway.

Yup. The wine hath taken over you, blog. It's time to turn in and be a resonsible adult for once in my life. Ha! Resonsible. It's my hybrid between responsibility and reasonable behavior. I can't lose with that, can I.