Go2Sleep ...

Another night, another episode of me fearing sleep and the morning that comes after it. Either I'm a glutton for punishment, or I really just feel like the summer rain outside is the perfect soundtrack to the pictures in my mind.

I wonder if she's thought about me today. I wonder what she dreams about.

Truly, the monotony and lack of income that accompanies being unemployed is beginning to wear on me. It's been a month since I've taken the bar, and I'm anxious to move to the next step. Granted, if laying low, exploring a new city, and generally being carefree paid $40k annually, I'd be straight. But since it doesn't, it really just gives me more time to think and reflect on the shrinkage occurring in my bank account. On a day when I learned the unemployment rate in Detroit climbed to almost 30%, the awareness of my financial situation hit even closer to home.

If there's no sense in crying over spilled milk, I guess it makes even less sense to cry if there's no milk to spill in the first damn place...

All there is to do is for me to stay up all hours of the night.
Thinking.
About everything.
And nothing, at the same time.

Funny how this bed wasn't so lonely not too long ago. I was comfortable in your arms. Safe. Maybe too comfortable? Who can ever say. But I can't deny what felt good to me.

It's the return of the brooding side of me. The pensive side that never knows quite what to do or who to be. The side that doesn't know if it wants to collapse and pass out or grab a drink and sit under the stars. The one that has no idea if it's better to be alone or in the company of someone who knows when to speak and when to be silent. The one who knows writer's block and thinker's lament.

The one who hears thunder now but knows he needs to get his ass in gear as soon as the sun comes up. But for now it's just me and the beat tapes until something tells me what to do...

Sweet dreams.

Jackie Blue ...

On a little bit of a downturn ... trying to right the ship.

Pardon me.

Helter Skelter ...

you make me feel like letting loose some
haunting melody hummed by the voices inside my head,
as if you're ready to listen.

mounds of balled-up future memories reek of stale scents
while piled in the pit of my empty stomach.
a constant, curdling reminder of nothing.

if you could see the world that i see behind my dancing eyelids
at night, there would be no need for me to live out our
understanding in a world of make-believe.

you would just know.

it's too dark in here.
the whispers echo; the pictures move.
the wind won't cease slamming the screen door,
creaking - forever creaking.

don't leave me alone.
please, just turn on the light...

Light My Fire ...

The time to hesitate is through
No time to wallow in the mire
Try now we can only lose
And our love become a funeral pyre
Come on baby, light my fire...

I'm back, and supposedly better than ever. School is done. The move to Maryland is done. The bar is done. And now the hunt is on for enlightenment through employment.

Or something like that.

I've picked up a new book, "Riders on the Storm" by Doors' drummer John Densmore. I became intrigued by/infatuated with The Doors a couple of months ago when I caught the Oliver Stone biopic on TV in the midst of one of the mid-summer moves I was a part of. Seeing it on TV, of course, prompted me to listen to as much Doors music as I can, buy the film on eBay, and fall into the mythology that is Jim Morrison. I have a thing for rockers who flame out and the method behind their madness - Jimi, Jim, the Crue, etc. It excites and intrigues me. The stories are so good they can't even be made up.

Next up: "Hammer of the Gods," the supposedly best-written biography of Led Zeppelin.

In the meantime, I'm in a state of flux. I won't know the results of the bar for three months, and waiting clearly doesn't pay the bills. My problem is that I have a bit of an elitist complex. For the longest, I've been determined to get a job on my own terms .. doing what I want to do. Problem is, for the longest, I haven't been able to fully describe what I want to do. In my head, there's at least the semblence of a rubric. Translating that rubric into a full-on, full-time position has become increasingly difficult. But because I don't feel as though I either want to or will settle for anything that does not advance me toward my goal. In some ways, I hate the fact that I'm so dead-set on not "lowering myself" [a relative term of art .. positions that I've considered aren't necessarily "lower," they're just unrelated to anything of interest to me]. When I think about it, though, it's really all about me not hating my job. I made a silent vow to myself that I would never be stuck in a position where I absolutely abhor what I do. Sure, everyone says that. And yet and still, everyone ends up in that one job where they spend 93% of the time staring at the clock, and 6 of the remaining 7% convinced that the clock is broken because it hasn't advanced past 3:53pm.

No. No. F^ck that. No.

But as a job market entrant in the midst/on the back end of the worst recession we've seen in over half-a-century, I have no right to be so snobbish - especially considering attorneys have been hit much harder than most people think we have as a result of this mess. Happiness doesn't necessarily pay the bills in the same way joblessness doesn't. People used to scoff when I explained to them that I didn't really want to practice law, and that I wasn't trying to work at some huge law firm. "I don't want to sell my soul to pay my loans," I said. "I'd sell my soul for six figures," they'd flippantly respond. And now I sit at the crossroads. Tomorrow, I'm back to searching, looking, applying [or at least considering it] ..

But, in short, how much is my happiness worth?