I was really down this morning, I gotta say. This weekend thing has me really depressed...I mean, I wrote a couple haikus...haikus!!! I only do that when I'm going crazy. In any case, I wanted to say that I was uplifted some by light-hearted conversation at lunch about crockpots and crazy people (or are they one in the same? jk). I just think it's amazing how even the most inane things can make a pained heart feel much, much better.
As for the haikus, I'll share one:
Friday night, sun set
dead to the world reborn Sunday
kinda like Jesus.
However...I think I have it nailed down as to why the weekend thing bothers me so much (that over-analysis thing I'm so good at...and dead horse beating). The thing is, I think I'm a pretty good guy. Yeah, I have my faults, but none of them are so major that a touch of understanding and a pinch of love can't overlook and accept...at least I think so. And I love myself, I really do, but when people refuse to spend time with me when I have free time, it makes me question things. I mean, if I were so damn great, why would I be so dead to the world on the weekend? There must be something wrong with me I think to myself -- I must be a son of a bitch bastard, or worse, because everyone I know, everyone that I call a friend, has something better to do come the weekend, something that doesn't include me. Ever. And it's really draining on me, you know? Because here I am trying to be a respectable human being and good friend, but everyone runs away like I'm on fire and spitting gasoline. And it makes me wonder if I'm not shitting myself, it makes me wonder if I should really be hating myself instead of loving myself. It makes me question everything that I think about myself. It makes me doubt myself and my own self-worth. And that ain't good. It ain't good at all. And so every time my friends ditch me on a regular basis (after sunset every Friday and Saturday night being a regular basis), I can't help but feel that I'm grotesque, a monster, evil, boring, whatever because I can't help but feel that there has to be a reason why I'm not worthy of their weekend time. You know? Yeah, well, that's the best I can do for right now but it helps me when I write it all down. I don't really like beating dead horses like this, but I just need to because this is really draining me lately, really draining me.
But I was thinking about one thing -- the catholic church of the middle ages would have considered my regular weekend cycle of death and resurrection in the minds of my friends to be miraculous and worthy of canonization ...imagine: St. Kyle. But, alas, I was born six or seven hundred years too late.
As for the haikus, I'll share one:
Friday night, sun set
dead to the world reborn Sunday
kinda like Jesus.
However...I think I have it nailed down as to why the weekend thing bothers me so much (that over-analysis thing I'm so good at...and dead horse beating). The thing is, I think I'm a pretty good guy. Yeah, I have my faults, but none of them are so major that a touch of understanding and a pinch of love can't overlook and accept...at least I think so. And I love myself, I really do, but when people refuse to spend time with me when I have free time, it makes me question things. I mean, if I were so damn great, why would I be so dead to the world on the weekend? There must be something wrong with me I think to myself -- I must be a son of a bitch bastard, or worse, because everyone I know, everyone that I call a friend, has something better to do come the weekend, something that doesn't include me. Ever. And it's really draining on me, you know? Because here I am trying to be a respectable human being and good friend, but everyone runs away like I'm on fire and spitting gasoline. And it makes me wonder if I'm not shitting myself, it makes me wonder if I should really be hating myself instead of loving myself. It makes me question everything that I think about myself. It makes me doubt myself and my own self-worth. And that ain't good. It ain't good at all. And so every time my friends ditch me on a regular basis (after sunset every Friday and Saturday night being a regular basis), I can't help but feel that I'm grotesque, a monster, evil, boring, whatever because I can't help but feel that there has to be a reason why I'm not worthy of their weekend time. You know? Yeah, well, that's the best I can do for right now but it helps me when I write it all down. I don't really like beating dead horses like this, but I just need to because this is really draining me lately, really draining me.
But I was thinking about one thing -- the catholic church of the middle ages would have considered my regular weekend cycle of death and resurrection in the minds of my friends to be miraculous and worthy of canonization ...imagine: St. Kyle. But, alas, I was born six or seven hundred years too late.
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