This is How I Feel

Hello?
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone home?
Come on, now.
I hear you're feeling down.
Well I can ease your pain,
Get you on your feet again.
Relax.
I need some information first.
Just the basic facts,
Can you show me where it hurts?
There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship's smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're sayin'.
When I was a child I had a fever.
My hands felt just like two balloons.
Now I got that feeling once again.
I can't explain, you would not understand.
This is not how I am.
I have become comfortably numb.
Ok.
Just a little pinprick.
There'll be no more ...Aaaaaahhhhh!
But you may feel a little sick.
Can you stand up?
I do believe it's working. Good.
That'll keep you going for the show.
Come on it's time to go.
There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship's smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're sayin'.
When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone.
I cannot put my finger on it now.
The child is grown, the dream is gone.
I have become comfortably numb.

And yes I believe in what we had
But words got in the way
And only yesterday
As I was leaving
Lord knows I've tried to say but I've
Heard a million conversations
Going where they've been before
Seen the way that careful lingers
Undecided at the door

And all I know for sure
All I know for real
Is knowing doesn't mean so much
When placed against the feeling
The heat inside
When bodies meet
When fingers touch

All my words are secondhand and
Useless in the face of this
Rationale and rhyme and reason
Pale beside a single kiss
And I've heard so many things I
Fail to understand at all
I'd settle anytime for
Unknown footsteps
In the hall outside

Because the world is cruel and
Promises are broken
Don't try to tell me
Anything don't try to tell me
You'll be true to me you know the
Real truth is never spoken

And I know the world is cold but
If you hold on tight to what you
Find you might not mind too much though
Even this must pass away and
Memories may last for years but
Names are just for souvenirs
Some kind of angel let me
Look into your eyes

Don't give me whys and wherefores
Reason or surprise
I don't care for words that don't belong
And I don't care what you're called
Tell me later if at all
I can wait a long long time
Before I hear another love song

Come here I think you're beautiful
My door is open wide
Some kind of angel come inside

Come here I think you're beautiful
I think you're beautiful beautiful
Some kind of angel come inside

Come here I think you're beautiful
I think you're beautiful
Some kind of angel come inside

There is no pain, you are receding.
A distant ship's smoke on the horizon.
You are only coming through in waves.
Your lips move but I can't hear what you're sayin'.
When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone.
I cannot put my finger on it now.
The child is grown, the dream is gone.
...and love has made me Deranged!

Let's Start at the Bottom

Tonight, I think I came the closest to suicide I ever have. I humiliated myself in a rather pathetic and benign way. In an effort to try to promote the sketch comedy show I started back in '87, I posted an event at a local coffee house where an episode of the show would be shown before the movie "Big Trouble in Little China." Nobody I knew showed up, and the people who were already there were more annoyed by it than entertained. At the same time, I was trying to draw what was going to be the latest installment of my online strip, "Boritom."
It finally hit me, nobody gives a fuck. I'm an annoyance. I suck. I give everyone the creeps. I'm a 41 year old white male who likes to date (okay, wants to but can't) girls in their 20's. I hate people my own age. I still don't trust people over 30. The more I see of them, the more I hate them. Peter Pan... That's me, but with crows feet and a poochie belly. I honestly believe, if it weren't for the fact i have a 21-month-old daughter, I would have gladly eaten a fucking bullet tonight. I have never felt lower in my life. I can't even get a fat ugly bitch at the local drum circle to give me the time of day. I may as well be a homeless nut case. I'm only a paycheck away from it as it is. I have no savings, a pissy 401K from work that will disappear if I quit, and I rent a shitty 2 bedroom duplex. I live like a slob and I hate it, but I'm too depressed and fed up with myself to care. I have never really fit in with anyone. I'm not geeky enough for Trekkies and sci-fi nerds, I'm not "dark" enough for my goth friends, and to everyone else, I'm a fucking joke. If I did kill myself, the few people that do care would be hurt too badly, given that we've already lost someone dear to us recently. It would be an act of cruelty on my part.
Since nobody i know will ever read this, there's one thing I would like to say...
Bradley, you suck! I love you, but you suck! Why did you have to die? You had a good thing going with Becca, and you died, not only ruining it for yourself, but also for her and for anyone who would have wanted to be close to her.
I admit it. I'm in love with Becca. Permanently unrequited and impossible love. I have been in love with her since before she met you, and before I met my ex. I know a lot of guys in my position would have used a time like this to swoop in, be the bionic shouler with the Kleenex shirt on, and swept her off her feet. I don't have it in me to be an opportunistic pig like that. If I had, I probably would have ended up marrying Kathy at GCC. The night she drunkenly cried on my shoulder, literally holding my hand on her breast, it would have been so easy to say, "What the fuck," and just let her think I was going to be her protector forever. I'm sure, if I had slept with her, and made myself say, "I love you" once or twice in the next couple of weeks, she would have been my wife.
Instead, I was the "decent" one who refused to take advantage of her, and met up with her 10 years later in a titty bar. She was dancing the lunch shift, of all things, telling me she wanted a boob job. I told her not to get one, and was tempted again. No, I told myself. It's too late.
Becca's in much better shape, but I still want to save her, and she's SO worth saving. Her beautiful body, her beautiful intellect, her beautiful soul...
The only other girl I could really care about now is Betsy, but she is so young. She's even a bit younger than my ex. She would never have any sincere interest in me, and to be honest, if it wasn't for her eyes and her smile, I would find it easier to resist her. I mean, for shit's sake, she's only 21 years old.
It's the curse of the theater geek. I feel everything so much more deeply, yet in some ways, I'm so fucking shallow. I don't want some middle-aged hag trying to snog on me. In my income bracket, hot girls in their late thirties are very few and far between. Would that I could meet some hottie my own age, like Lisa Loeb. She's only a year or two younger than me, but she is so beautiful, I would give everything to have someone like her.
You think me shallow and obsessed with looks? Fuck you. I have taken enough for the team. I've dated plenty of "chunky" gals, and even fell in love with a couple of them. They're just as capable, if not MORE so, of being vicious, sould raping cunts as any of these precious little skinny darlings. The only one I regret hurting is my former fiancee from about 6 years back. She was sweet and nice. It was just not a lasting love. We just couldn't connect, and the harder we tried, the farther it pushed us apart. Other than that, I've actually been hurt worse by "aesthetically challenged" women I opened myself up to than any of the "hotties" I've dated. I've only got a couple of years of actually being datable left. I want someone cute.
The problem is, so do they.
I've never been cute, but at 41, I'm not even close. Now, I have a choice between shaving my head and looking like an Aryan psycho or letting my hair grow out and looking like an accountant on a fucking sitcom.
Thank you, God, for making me a failure in EVERY sense of the fucking word.
Thank you, God, for making me an arrogant coward.
Thank you, God, for making me a nearly talented hack.

I am going to bed now, trudging on another day, week, month and year...

I will not kill myself, but if I were to die tomorrow by other circumstances, I can only welcome the release, and pray that my daughter will forgive me for not being there.

I love you, Evelyn. Please, do as daddy says, not as he does.