I Can’t Have It All.

I covered the side of my face with my book and pushed my nose against the train window, making a little house so I felt alone for a second. I stayed like that for about four stops. When I put my book back in my lap, someone had sat down next to me and I saw them looking.

A headcold perspective is what this is. It takes a face full of sick to completely abandon anything other than survival mode. I become a bag lady with an ipod, grumbling through grand central station and shuffling across the slick, clean floor. I can’t help my anger; I feel like I’ve earned every piece of it. I told my mom that the only time I am truly content during the day is when the caffeine kicks in and she laughed but I wasn’t trying to be funny. Although I recognize that I am funny  at times like this and it makes me more angry.

Some song says that there is "never any place where someone like he could be totally happy". And I say, yeah man. I thought once I came to the city that I’d feel like I did the right thing. And I wonder where I actually want to be.

I spend a lot of time every day wondering why you spend so much time away from the people you love most. Life is so brief. Why do we not all live in one big or small house in western pennsylvania and build our lives around each other? My fear and exhaustion are getting the better of my passions, because with age I am scared that my passions have been shallow all along. And maybe I don’t need that stamp of approval.

I wait for time to take away people (or at least the memories of such)  that make me feel small. In this aspect, time is not going as quickly as I’d like. 

The sky is not falling, but I swear to you.