Lullabies for My Favorite Insomniac

Not really. That's just the name of this album given to me by my musically adventurous friend. Always stuck with me. What a great title for a classical joint, and a perfect one for a gift to me. (The album itself, is okay. In case you were wondering.)

"I also lost the ability to write somewhere, when things got hard. Do you know what I think it might be? I think I lost the ability to shape my own world the way I saw fit, on paper, in retrospect, whatever. Reality kept slapping me in the face, and I had no choice but to accept her."

Meh. Shit happens. I stopped being frustrated with my loss of words. It is what it is. I'm looking up again, so I've got bigger things to focus on other than where the hell my talent's disappeared to.

Besides, it didn't really "go" anywhere. It's just drugged out in a dirty, boarded up corner of my soul, covered in its own piss and blissfully ignorant of what the rest of me is going through. Good for you. Go get you some.

Santana and Nujabes are amazing soul healers when you need them. Some suggestions, if you didn't already know them:

Samba Pa Ti
El Farol
(-Santana)
Aruarian Dance
(-Nujabes)

And that's obviously not the best of their abilities. You find what settles you though. Dig deep.

Who the fuck are the Cheetah Girls? I just found out what a Hannah Montana was. Oh, boy, our next generation is going to be interesting.

That's it, really. I'm awake because I spent a nice night out with Kryptonite and friends, and I'm trying to avoid overthinking and overanalyzing shit like I do. It was nice. End of story. It made you smile and capped your night nicely. No hidden meanings, no secrets. Just good company, which is exactly what you wanted. Leave it at that. Haha at firm third party coaching.

I tried smoking weed again last night, to quiet my thoughts enough to doze off, and I woke up fucking stuck on stupid. Enough of that. // Quitting is an interesting thing; I know in my mind that I've made leaps putting distance between the times I smoke up, and to me that's progress (will power is the hardest thing, if you have none to start with). It was the same with cigarettes -- I was quitting for about 4 months, from when the distaste became too strong to ignore, to the fifth morning I didn't by my own pack. To this day, I bum a cigarette when the moment's right, and it might have been 3 weeks since my last pull, or a month since my last full, but shit, I know that I'm still not a smoker. When I get berated or laughed at for the few times I do indulge, it just makes me... resentful. Not enough to dive into the habit again, but enough to doubt what I know is an accomplishment, even for a little bit. And we all know, that a little doubt can go a looonngg way.

"Quitting means never doing it again. If you're still partaking 'once in a while,' you haven't quit." Whatever, babe. I chose to spare you the reminder of your long battle with addiction yourself. To things beyond that nicotene, sticky green, and the many, many slippery slopes you've had since you first realized you didn't want to do it anymore. Bah, leave me the hell alone, I don't like resorting to this. Quitting, okay? (Note to self: Check when you do this to others. It's human nature to lash out when frustrated.)

I'm glad I came home tonight. Even after all this time, he stays on my mind. Will I ever go a day without him in my thoughts?

Oh. Happy September. Where did summer go? Is it just me or did 2008 go by in a blink?