There's a Hole In My Pocket That's About Her Size... But I Think Everything's Gonna Be Alright

Sometimes when I can not write, I wait for the happy thoughts to pass. When the darkness returns, the words flow again and make their mark.

I've been spending the last few nights staying up late, writing stories about writing stories. I figure out the plot, and the main ideas, and then leave it open for weeks or months before I fill everything in between. Just like life, if you really want to go there.

I've been feeling inspired to write stories about broken hearted people. I think those are the most interesting of people. I think that when I am broken hearted myself, I am at my most interesting. Although, I don't wish it upon anyone. At the same time, I wish it on everyone. The lessons of life amount not to wisdom, but to scar tissue and callus.

Anticipating a broken heart is similar to the feelings you experience before you jump out of a plane. You feel it all over. You're sick to your stomach. You can't think straight. You want to throw up and cry and scream and you pray to god that the parachute will open and save you. And although you're scared to death while you're falling, it's almost a thrill. And when the parachute has opened and you realize you're gonna be okay. You realize that this whole time, it has been a thrill. That's when you actually realize, that you really are going to be okay. You'll live.

It might not seem obvious that we know our dreams from our waking life. If someone asks you how you can be sure, really sure, that you do not every morning fall asleep from the reality of flying through clouds and speaking with animals and cascading through time, to the dream life of going to school and doing the dishes and always seeing the same people again and again, you don't really have to argue with them. Or so it might seem.