a vandal wrote this

tonight I am left unsatisfied while my fiance sleeps in the other room. he asked me what was wrong and fell asleep to my silence. I came to the living room to read, and then realized that I'm neglecting my free therapeutic outlet. so I lit a fire and here I am. if any of you knew me, it would be required for me to say that the fire is limited to the fireplace. for some reason we continue to buy the cheapest logs possible, that don't really burn, but rather smolder and turn to nothing.

and all of this after the neighbors upstairs flooded their toilet and it all poured down through the only light in our bathroom ceiling. beautiful disaster.

so now I have to work tomorrow, at a job that I'm not so much enjoying as waiting for it to end. then I'll be back to perpetually cleaning the apartment and hopefully I'll begin illustrating the book that I have been sent. wouldn't that be nice, if we could just take care of the assignments with which we have been trusted? but, I've never been so reliable. oh well.

here's my question: do men honestly know women's feelings without us vocalizing, and prefer ignorance and so pretend, or refuse to allow themselves to consciously understand what's really going on? or should I boldly go ahead and say what I'm thinking? I get the feeling that most of the time, "what's wrong" is a rhetorical question. should I actually take the initiative to answer it, would bring about an entire series of events that would be better left unsaid.

here's a bit of how I'm feeling at the moment:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
- Yeats

what I really want is to go back home to hawaii. I belong there, I fit in there, I'm warm there. denver has no draw for me. in making the decision to move here I did not hear one bad thought from anyone who had lived here at any point in time. everyone loved it and everything about it. I don't want to be here anymore. is this a sacrafice I'm making? and for whom? is it for myself, my fiance, our financial situation, or our relationship? or all of the above? what am I doing here? will finding a new and better apartment remedy the entire situation? or is it really that I don't belong here?

I guess it doesn't help that this is all culminating after a night of too much food, soft-porn, a fairly disappointing quickie, and the fact that I'm feeling incredibly unattractive thanks to a devastating hormonal fluctuation. and yes, I do realize that I'm overreacting and being melodramatic. but why live your life without melodrama? what else is there, really?

anyway, the fire has long since died out. it's almost 1am and I'm still awake enough to not want to venture back to the bedroom and all of its implications. and the sleeping man who will not even realize I'm in the same bed. is this really what it's like to be married?

(an explanation of the title: as I was driving to work friday morning I noticed that on one of the signs above the freeway, someone had actually gone to the trouble of climbing the 20-feet, or whatever it is, up to the sign to spray-paint the above-mentioned title over the upcoming exits. there was nothing else and nothing more clever than that. I thought it deserved an honorable mention.)