memorialrainbow | 121713: It's 3 AM, I Must Be Lonely

Ha.

Ha ha ha ha ha.

Ha ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HA NO THIS IS NOT HOW IT'S SUPPOSED TO GO.

This isn't how it's supposed to go. This isn't how it's supposed to go. If you think about the events of this past year, this isn't supposed to have happened at all. I should be over this. I should have the one or two people I can trust and safely sit in introverted happiness, plugging away in front of the Mac of my choosing, forgetting about Easter dreams and truths and falsehoods and being on my best behavior.

For the record, here's how it's supposed to go, in a few easy steps.

1: We meet. You are immediately smitten with how wonderful, amazing, talented, attractive, et cetera I am. I am used to this, so it's okay.

2: I hit you up over text and we spend all of our days texting back and forth. You tell me it must be fate that we met, and the fact that I have a boyfriend doesn't scare you away.

3: I let you in as a friend. I tell you my secrets. You learn I'm not exactly human -- and this doesn't just apply to my synesthesia. You swear to keep the secrets. You also swear to never leave my side. This promise is always broken.

4: Since I'm letting you into my world, you think I fully trust you. You treat me more like a girlfriend than a "regular" friend. All I want is to be held, maybe even kissed sometimes, but what happens over text is anything but. I don't say no because I still want you by my side, and I know what's going on is more than what people would term a "friendship," but not a boyfriend/girlfriend thing. In short, I tolerate it because of my number one rule: I know what I'm doing.

5: Until I don't. You come to your senses and remember I have a boyfriend and automatically denounce me as a player/whore/crazy bitch. Because I'm crazy, right? Because I should "go home and seek treatment." Meltdown occurs (let the reader understand). I hate meltdowns. Meltdowns mean I lose you as a friend. If I'm lucky, I forget the whole thing.

It's all because when men meet me, they're filed under one of two different labels, and sometimes the same one:

1: Emily is extremely attractive and I'd bang her in an instant if she let me.

2: Emily is the most talented music maker I have ever met and I will do whatever I can not to lose that power in my life.

If you're female, you get filed under: Man, am I super jealous of her! (Congrats.)

This works with EVERYBODY. When I think back, it happened with my parents (!!!) and my siblings. Granted, they grew out of it. So is Garo, I think. If I dump a boyfriend, it's because he has an inability to grow out of the label I've given him. And, quite frankly, the entire series of events is taxing and frustrating. I'm sick of it. I've stopped REALLY trying to make female friends and as of this last meltdown have been done REALLY trying to make male friends because it's just not working. I have acquaintances. I meet with people once a week and they use me for piano stuff and that's it.

And then the freaking E train. I mean seriously what the hell.

No. Nooooo, ha ha. So what if the E's not assigned? It's still a moment of incidental faith that results in a judgement call being made about me. Except you insist there's no judgement call. You clearly don't want to push me up against a wall and do ridiculous and illegal and ridiculously illegal things to me. You're not having me listen to all of your recordings. But you're not running away, either.

We sit in Argo just like I did before the meltdown, in one of the few memories I have left (really just a flash), and you can't stop staring and I can't stop staring and what the hell, I had all the answers but they just got thrown away.

I want to ask every question on the face of the earth. Do you think I'm weird? What do you think about my music? Really? Why do you seem to hug me like you won't ever again but you won't reach out and touch my hand? Why won't you give me a clue as to what kind of manic pixie dream girl I need to be so that you're happy so that maybe I'll be happy? Why can't I save you? That's all I'm ever good at!

I'm used to dealing with rocks. I paint them and make them look pretty, like glass or diamonds, and then they do me a favor and smash my head in. You're sand -- same idea, but slipping through my hands and I don't know how to hold on. Neither one of us knows what we're doing. I've got some idea, but this path has been trodden one too many times with people who fit perfectly into the labels I've set apart.

You're not a label. When I think of that, I want to throw the rest out the window, find you, let you know, remember why I do what I do best. Fight for you, not in a "I can save you" way but in a "what can I do for you?" way. But the last time I did that, all I got was meltdown, meltdown, meltdown.

I should know. I spent a year and a half trying to save someone from themselves and all I got was the ultimate slam in the face. Three years of pretending, huh? What do you want me to do, try to force myself to forget that? I left worse than I started -- no wonder I don't believe the words you say.

I wish I knew what I was fighting for. I used to know. But you don't know either -- so you're not giving me a clear answer. And because I'm too damn scared to stand up and do my job, I'm stuck at a yellow light that I myself have put up.

And then I remember what is so condemned. The power source that's not in New York City. Four lights on a mountain, three yellow, one green. You know my real name. In these days of interborough transit, of perfectly aligned local and express lines, not many people know anymore. I myself don't usually remember. Perhaps I'm taking the wrong damn train.

You gotta be reckless to go a hundred and twenty miles per hour backwards, right? All it takes is a couple of whacks!

So I'll do what I know how to do, because nobody can do it better than I can. "Please be who you are. Always." All right, so I warned you. I'm coming after you. I have a feeling you won't hate me afterward, but I beg of you: if you have to find some way to disappoint me, let me down easy. You know what shit I've been through. At least let me properly meltdown so I don't try to self-destruct every time I think of you in the future.

At the risk of coming on too strong: let's see how far we've come.

On a completely unrelated note, this entry has way too many Rob Thomas references in it :D :D :D