Cruel Summer

Wow. It's over. SPF. July. August stares us in the face. The somber downhill month of summer. All the excitement and promise of the summer has left us. August is quiet and reflective.

I feel... worn. Melancholy doesn't quite fit. Infinite sadness, perhaps.

Parties may be over, and the neverending goodbyes, but now's the real work. I've got some serious writing to get done. Along with getting back to people.

People in my life have got to be compatible with my long-term goals. I've severed people from my life who just weren't helping me at all. It's amazing how much time a person can waste getting shitfaced at bars. I'm no prude. I enjoy the oblivion. But it can become an anchor. And you can end up staying in that painful place indefinitely because you can't feel anything. There's got to be some balance. People can end up holding you back without meaning to. (Some people just don't want to see you escape.)

If alcohol is the only thing that enables us to have a conversation, something's fucked up there. Not to go on an Axl rant...

To be filed under "Things That Aren't New", I'm fuckin exhausted. I saw 10 of the other plays at the fest this year. I liked the ones that featured people getting emotional and crying. As sad as I may be, it takes a lot to get me to cry these days, so I'm sort of fascinated watching other people do it. It's like grief porn.