and we all went to heaven in a little row boat

Happiness is such hard work, and it gets harder every day
And it can kill you, but no one wants to be that tacky about it
If you spin fast enough than maybe the broken pieces of your heart will stay together
But ain’t no gyroscope can spin forever

The Dismemberment Plan never should have... dismembered? Such great lyrics.

For some reason I'm up early... I considered going to church this morning for reasons whose origins are completely arbitrary. At least I could test out my superhero Catholic ritual recognition skills.

I wish I knew what was wrong with me inside. For some reason I don't know if it's just a general depression or what, but I can't keep having random breakdowns. For instance, yesterday night I found myself walking down the road for miles after a disagreement. It wasn't that the altercation alone drove me to walk out of the house and just start putting one foot in front of the other - it's the balooning of thought that occurred afterward. I took my shoes off about halfway through my jaunt, and when I finally returned home, I realized that my feet were bleeding (they had gone numb during the walk). I mean, come on. To quote the Pixies, where is my mind? Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I think I truly belong in a padded room.

Speaking of insanity, I can say with confidence that Survivor is easily Chuck Palahniuk's best writing. I've read quite a few of his books thus far, but that one is truly remarkable. In the way of reading, I've been trying to increase my time spent doing so. I splurged at Borders a few nights ago, purchasing Choke (another Palahniuk work), Created in Darkness by Troubled Americans (<3 McSweeney's), and Barrel Fever by David Sedaris. I have many hours of reading ahead of me. That fact brings me a certain amount of peace.

As for life in Hopkinsville, things have been slowly getting better. The house is in order, I have a paycheck coming in, and I'm starting to get to know the city. I'm still trying to convince myself that my break from school wasn't the worst decision of my life. I look back on the past accomplishments and little triumphs that I took for granted, and I wonder if this selfishness is merited.

James teaches me so much without even realizing it. He's unlocked rooms in my heart that I never accessed before, rooms that were invisible until he came. Somehow he releases me, he puts me at ease. Soon I will wiggle my way into his strong arms and be warm and feel safe. As time goes on, I'm not so scared to trust. And that's a big step. He starts a new job tomorrow with hours that will allow me to see him for about an hour every weekday (ultimate sadness), but I'm proud of him for finding something. Perhaps the limited weekday interaction will just strengthen our bond. It's hard to imagine missing him much more, though, considering I feel lonely when he does so much as go into the other room.

I trudge along, clinging to the little things that bring smiles. Ever-changing rhythms and violent surprises, that's what life is made of.