New mantra

I must not be jealous of things I can’t have. I must not be jealous of bands that play better than we do. They have invested more time and energy to improve their skills than I have.

I must not be jealous of composers that write better songs than I do. They have invested more time and energy to improve their skills than I have.

I must not be jealous of performers that get better ratings than I do. They have invested more time and energy to improve their skills than I have.

I must not be jealous of editors that are more popular with their readers than I am. They compromise in their personalities to appease their readers. I am not willing to do so.

I must not be jealous of girls he says he loves. I am not in control of his heart. I can not invest more time and energy to improve his opinion of me.

I must not be jealous of things I am unwilling or unable to change.

And here… we…. go.

We got through the prelims. It was really close in the end, but we made it with the best show we’ve ever played. Mind Melting, the reviewers said. I didn’t think it was possible until two shows before the end. We had some good advice from someone special, and it really helped.

Words can’t describe what a rush it was to see our songs get six star ratings.

We’re in Seattle now, already preparing for the festival. Will our repertoire hold? Will all our events get good reviews? It’s so exciting, and yet… we’ve already done what we set out to do. We made it to the festival. We never expected to do well in the finals, but…. Well, I kind of want to, anyway.

So there’s a lot to look forward to in Stockholm. All those shows, and the wedding of Lianne and Stephen. And maybe the wedding of Walter and Anouk.

In the meantime I’m in Seattle, wishing it was Christmas already. Someone special gave me a gift that has a mysterious sparkling aura around it, and I can’t wait to open it. Still, above all else I’d like it if that special person were still in Seattle with me. We won’t see much of each other in the next weeks, and… well…

I miss you already.

On a whim

… I almost proposed tonight.

Well, not quite, but I almost came close to suggesting that… and wishing that…

It’s just the alcohol speaking, but… woah. I know the past few days have been good, but seriously, Isa… they weren’t that good. It’s jus that… with the tour coming, and the prelims coming, and with Jimmy being on the lake… I’m feeling…

I’m finally feeling again, and it’s intense, and scary, but here I am, once again caring about what happens. And I have no idea how to deal with all of it at once.

I do know proposing out of the blue is not a good idea though. Very much not a good idea.

Trying, trying, trying

Trying times. I’m really trying not to be disappointed, but… failing miserably. Again. Whenever I think it means something, he does something to prove me wrong. Whenever I’m 99% ready to move on, he latches onto that one percent and draws me back in. I am so pathetic… Kobe knows I wish it wasn’t so…

I’m an idiot.

This is the end now

I think that I’m nearing the end of my term as editor for It’s Pop. Beth and Regina don’t want to let me go to Melbourne with Jimmy, and they’re not exactly eager to find me a spot elsewhere either…

on top of that, Beth had the gall to call me out on supposed nepotism, stemming from the fact that Jimmy and I have a kid. The fucking nerve… I could’ve accepted anything from her but that. So… Even if there is a spot for me out there somewhere, by now I’m beginning to wonder if it’s even worth it. If 60 editions of it’s pop Amsterdam get me no more credit and respect than this, then I’m out.

twisted

I’m trying so hard not to be bitterly disappointed. I keep telling myself: I don’t even want this. I don’t even know what it is I do want, but not this. Not him. Not this with him. And yet… Habits are so hard to break. I feel so Kobedamned pathetic and needy. But here I am, thinking he wanted to see me. I don’t even know why that matters. It shouldn’t.

I guess… maybe… maybe I should look into rehab after all. I’m addicted to this idea of a perfect love, and until I get that out of my system, I’ll never be truly happy, and I’ll never be fair to the people I love.

Never meant to be

So… I don’t know. It’s valentines day and I’m stuck in recording studios all over New York. I wanted it this way, because then maybe I wouldn’t have time to think. But I do. Isn’t that ironic? So now I’m thinking of how it’s possible that someone would rather sit on a stupid plane all day instead of coming to see me.

I suppose it’s obvious to everyone but me. It was never real. It never existed. Only it my head.

Suddenly I faced the truth of my dream
My love had only been a picture, a scene
I suppose I needed to believe
Didn’t want to see you had never been close to me

phew

Narrowly avoided an awkward situation there. Feeney’s in New York tomorrow for a show, and for a moment I was sure that Rob was going to be in NY at the same time. That would’ve sucked :p

Rob’s seemingly over his whinge binge though, so maybe it wouldn’t have been that bad.  Eh. Better to avoid such things, instead of being stuck with feeling guilty over things that aren’t my fault.

You’re still self-destructing

You give up the booze, but you keep up with the fucking. You lose yourself between the thighs of some nubile young thing time and time again, until you forget your own name. Until you forget who you are, and why you were doing this in the first place. Drinking to forget didn’t work out for you. You think this will? Do you think the memories will really stay away if you just bury yourself deep enough?

I don’t think it will. I don’t think you’re doing yourself justice. I don’t think you’re doing your love justice. You’re not doing your nubile young thing justice either. For now she may be fine, just having that part of you as often as she can. But how long before she wants more? How long before she starts to think that maybe you’re not just doing this for the fun of it, and because you’re trying to get over your memories. How long before she whispers I love you into your skin?

And who will you let go then? Her? Or the one you’ve loved for so long before? Choices, choices. You can have them both, of course, but never as fully as you want. Never as fully as you need. Not as long as you’re self destructing. Not as long as you think you’re only doing this because you want to have fun.

You, my dear, need to talk to someone. Find a support group somewhere. Say it. “My Name is Stephen, and I’m lost.”

Fuck you very much

You know what? I don’t deserve this shit. I’m not the one who got pregnant with someone elses kid. I’m not the one who wanted to take advantage of the paparazzi attention instead of making things right with me. I’m not the one who was ok with the way things were, instead of trying to improve shit. I’m not so laid back I might as well be dead.

So leave me the fuck alone, Rob. You had your chance, and you blew it. I’d like to stay friends with you, but if that means having to deal with your passive aggressive bullshit, then you can go fuck yourself. ‘Cause I ain’t dealing with it anymore, babe.

In unrelated news: a 24 year old guy is trying to chat me up. Heh. *pats him on the head* He’s so cute and fuzzy and young (and a year older than I am. *cough*)

Apparently I really do have a thing for older guys.