sitting here blogging

at the brookline public library (are there any private ones? at least they don't call it the "free" library. what, are there ones that charge? language can really drive you mad) blogging. does it help? it must, because i'm doing it, but i think screaming at the top of my lungs would be better. i used to do that in school, just yell "fuck" as loud as i could. the detention was always worth it. now, i'm an adult, so i control myself. i used to sing outside too. pinko remembers when we would walk down the street and i would hit high notes from old show tunes. sammy davis on the common. what kind of fool am i? not a common one. now, my finger screams, as it smashes down on the keys. i yearn to hit another high note, but all i hear is the sound of silence. you know, they say we must graduate into maturity, but the whole thing just makes me simon. where is my current release from the madness of the everyday? what can i turn to now that i no longer sing who can i turn to? people used to laugh at me, (not with me, as half assed administrators often pointed out) now they ask me if i can help them solve a math problem. i want to tell them there is no solution, but they wouldn't understand. and yet, there is the other side of me, which blushes at how melodramatic i am becoming. but that doesn't seem to stop the surge toward sadness. and when in these moods, i tend to compound the feelings by playing "after the rain" or "one for my baby." maybe this feeling is actually happiness? often i feel pushed toward a state of slight depression, as if it were a glove i must wear for warmth. it does fit, that much i can say.
is the blog helping? well, it's hurting less than other things. for the moment, that is enough. it has to be.

i am now going to get up and try to force myself to be happy. for the moment, i feel like someone resigning themselves to a rape. hopefully that will change soon.

go chargers.