Shitty Day

Frustration. Anger.

Why can't I just come home and hear "Welcome back." Is that too much to ask for?

Talking to myself

I keep telling myself that things will be okay.

I wish I would stop lying.

Let's be candid

I hate my family.

Social mores say I should love my family unconditionally.

I say fuck that.

They do nothing but try to outdo each other. They don't play nice with each other. At every gathering they try to put on a face of being one happy family. The paper thin happiness that they put up is obvious.

I'm sick of it.

The "cousins" as we call ourselves are always put into some kind of good-for-nothing competition with each other for no reason. Henry is doing that, Michael is doing that. Tommy has this. Jimmy has that. We never asked to be put onto your pedestals. We never asked to be glorified and vilified.

I say fuck that.

"Fuck that."

So what am I?

It happens again. I sit here, listening to a girl I want to date talk about the guy who played with her feelings, who used her for a month and then abandoned her.

I try to play ambassador for the male gender. Try to redeem my sex in some manner and fashion.

Suddenly all the instances just like this replay in my mind.

"I mean every guy...except you."

It was yet again the same old story.
Here I am, trying to redeem my gender and yet, I'm the exception.

So if I'm an exception to the male gender

...then what the hell am I?

A question

I sat at the table, Looking at all my family around me.
Everyone was quiet.

Some had a bowl to their mouths, others were chewing.

Yet no smiles. Just eating and silence.

Is this a real family?

...but doctor, I *AM* Pagliacci...

"Recitar! Mentre preso dal delirio,
non so più quel che dico,
e quel che faccio!
Eppur è d'uopo, sforzati!
Bah! Sei tu forse un uom?
Tu se' Pagliaccio!

Vesti la giubba,
e la faccia infarina.
La gente paga, e rider vuole qua.
E se Arlecchin t'invola Colombina,
ridi, Pagliaccio, e ognun applaudirà!
Tramuta in lazzi lo spasmo ed il pianto
in una smorfia il singhiozzo e 'l dolor, Ah!

Ridi, Pagliaccio,
sul tuo amore infranto!
Ridi del duol, che t'avvelena il cor!"


I am but a broken man, but the show must go on...

The Questionaire

He sat there tapping his pencil against he table.

The paper sat in front of him. It read "Where do you see yourself in the future."

He honestly did not know what to write. Every time he thought of something, a flaw would appear in the logic. This made deciding on something near impossible.

It should be said first that he was a logical person. Very logical. To him the world was a place that had a 99% explanation rating. Everything had a reason to it. The 1% then was that irrational anomaly which just could not be explained. In this 1% included: governments, emotions and women. Of course his future was included in this 1% as well.

He looked down again and sighed.