Sometimes, I get kind of obsessed with certain records. I’ll hear something straight through, fall in love with it and then I’ll listen to it, until I get sick of it. A few months ago, The Monitor by Titus Andronicus was that album.

Usually when I get tired of a record, I’ll put it on hold. I’ll walk away from it for a month or two and then revisit it and see how I feel about it. Thankfully, my return to The Monitor saw the same result as my first experience.

This is the best punk album to come out in years.

I’ve been depressed lately. I’d like to think that it’s the inner writer in me coming to the surface, bringing enough emotion to write the next big thing. But, the reality is that I’m just fucking sick of my life. I hate where I am right now, but I can’t afford to bring change. I can’t do shit about it, but sit here and take it, hoping something goes my way in the future.

I’ve never truly thought about suicide. I know that’s not an answer. But, I can see myself heading down that path, if things continue as they have. So, in the interest of safety, I’ve composed a suicide list. It’s similar to a bucket list, but the latter implies old age. Nah, this list is comprised of things I intend to do in my life, and I won’t pop myself in the head until I’ve accomplished them.

It’s for safety’s sake…

1. I want to travel the country. I’ve lived an incredibly sheltered life. I need to change that. I’ve never been the West Coast. I’ve never been out of the country. I spent a few days in New York City about a month ago, and that’s the first time in about a year that I’ve even left my fucking state. Before I drink poison, I want to visit all four corners of the country and see at least the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone.

2. I want to travel the world. As mentioned above, I’ve never been out of this country. That needs to change. Before I hang myself, I want to backpack through Europe, drink cheap tequila in Mexico and, even, take a stop in Canada and butcher the French language.

3. I want to write a book that will immortalize me. If I’m going to slit my wrists, I want to be sure I’m leaving behind a legacy, something to state that I made my mark on this world.

4. I want to have said book featured on Oprah’s book club and when she invites me on TV, I’ll wear a belly shirt and refuse to sit on the couch, lest I catch the “Tom Cruises”. Before I throw myself off a cliff, I want that to happen.

5. I want to have 1,000,000 followers on Twitter, so I can fulfill my lifelong dream of telling 1,000,000 people “fuck you” at the exact same time. If this happens, I can happily overdose on whatever different medicines I have in the cabinet at that given time.

I understand these five things are quite lofty goals, but that’s kind of the point. As long as I haven’t checked off these five things, I will always have something to live for. And that? That’s just insurance, baby.

I got dumped a few months ago. By now, I’ve gotten over it. But, I was pretty devastated at the time. I’m not even sure why. It’s not as if I hadn’t seen the end of a relationship before. But, this time, it knocked me down and kicked me in the gut.

I feel sorry for my friends most of all. They had to put up with me moping around for a few weeks, bitching about this and that. I’m sorry, guys. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that shit.

I think the problem was that I got way too invested in the relationship. I had spent the first 27 years of my life without any real aspirations to settle down. I liked being single, and I still had decades to find that special someone. I was in no hurry. But, last summer, that changed. Something broke inside of me and I decided that I’m ready. I wasn’t about to just go out and ask the first girl I saw to marry me. Though, thinking back, that would have been awesome. I was just ready to stop messing around in relationships and start examining each one to see if there’s a future.

This last relationship was the first I had been in since that decision. And I honestly thought there was a future there. We loved to talk to each other, and even three months in, we could still lose track of time and end up embroiled deep in conversation well into the early morning hours. I thought that was what you looked for, so I gripped onto that friendship-first concept and pushed it forward.

I truly thought she might be the one.

Up until that point, I don’t think I’ve ever been in love. And even after she dumped me, I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t actually in love with her. But, looking back, I think that was bullshit. Clearly, I felt something for this girl beyond the normal “dating” shit that had existed within all of my previous relationships. I think it was actually ‘love’.

I could be wrong, though. Hell, I don’t know.

So, when it ended, it hit me really, really hard. And I think I ended up feeling pretty foolish, looking back on it. Of course, they say that love makes you do foolish things. And I think that described me to a ‘T’.

I remember talking to my mother about it, not long after it ended. We were eating Mexican food–a sort of tradition when my dad’s out of town–and I was talking about the break-up. I was convinced that this girl was going to change her mind. I was convinced that it was only a matter of time and we would be back together.

God, I was an idiot. Needless to say, she never changed her mind. We aren’t together now. We said we would end it amicably and still “stay in contact”. But, I think we both knew how stupid that was as well. Aside from a couple of birthday texts, I’ve barely talked to her–and she to me.

I’ve long since gotten over her and I like to think I’ve returned to my normal self. But, I don’t think I have. I don’t think you can go through that and come out the other side the same person you were. I think something changes inside of you–and I think something’s changed inside of me. Nothing major–I mean, I don’t walk around cutting myself or anything. But, there’s definitely something different in my outlook on relationships.

I haven’t given up on finding ‘the one’. Though, the first time I asked a girl out, after the breakup, was probably even harder than the first time I even asked a girl out. She said ‘no’, by the way. She was married, apparently. Or gay. I don’t know. One of the two.

I don’t know why I’m writing all of this. I don’t really have an overarching point to this post. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about lately. This is the first time I’ve really talked about it since it happened. I wish I could say that I’ve learned from the experience, but I don’t think I have.

I think it’s just something that everyone has to experience every now and then.

I’d like to say that next time it happens, I’ll be able to anticipate it, but I don’t I will. So, I apologize for any future whiny posts about broken relationships and shit like that.

After all, I haven’t found her yet. But, I never will, if I don’t keep looking. And failure is just a part of that…

Nine years after release, Is This It by The Strokes is still an amazing rock record.

Where did the misunderstanding come from?
Demanding that we be outstanding and then some.
Perfection never was a requirement.
Although, some might say we desire it.

Man, if marriage is the prize for playing the game. I sure hope it’s worth the shit you go through to get there…

Does it exist?
This concept spoon-fed to us, by Hollywood, of that one perfect person for us.
I’ve never believed in it.
To me, a relationship has always been about finding someone you feel compatible with…
Looking at what you have, and deciding if there’s something worth pursuing.
I thought I had found that person in you.
But, now, I’m not so sure.

You told me a few days ago that we could never be more than just friends.
But, we couldn’t go more than a day without talking to each other.
You’re confused, I can tell.
So am I.
I’m confused because I thought we had something that was worth pursuing.
I love talking to you.
I love being with you.
I love hanging out with you.

How can you tell me what we have is only friendship, when we’ve talked to each other every night for the past four months, and we still want to talk to each other. To me, there’s something there that’s worth pursuing.

You say, you don’t get the warm fuzzy feelings when you’re with me.
But isn’t a relationship–a real relationship–about more than warm, fuzzy feelings?
Isn’t it about comfort and stability? Something I thought we had?

I’m giving you space.
I’m letting you decide what you want.
You know what I want. I’ve told you.
If this doesn’t work out, I hold no ill feelings toward you.
You are a truly awesome person, and I only hope the best for you.

You deserve to be with someone who will treat you right, and make you feel however it is that you want to feel.

Even if that person isn’t me.

The golden calf stands tall above us.
We dance in front of the idol, proclaiming devotion to whatever god has taken our focus.
The focus has changed, so we say.
We aren’t praising a heathen god, we tell ourselves.
Our focus is on the one true God.
But, is it?
The shape is different, that’s true.
It’s not a calf, but a solid gold pulpit.
We beat our bibles upon it, proclaiming our righteousness and humility.
Smugness exudes from our faces, as we stare out across the boardroom…
and our eyes find the same look of self-satisfaction on each person in the congregation.
The line between church and corporation continues to blur.
Or maybe it was never there to begin with.
We take an offering, and ask for donations…
Which we then use to buy a luxury car for our CEO…
For status dictates he can’t ride around in last year’s model.