Obligitory Melancholy

There hasn't been much melancholy here lately, or moping, or existential crisises, and not any angst at all in ages. I must be terribly behind on my quotas. Clearly you can see that bgcolor=000000, so angst is mandatory. We'll work on that a few paragraphs from here.

I realized this derth of dirges while skimming through the archives tonight and thinking about what to write for the day. This is an important task, because as anyone who's been keeping score knows, I failed last week. Although perhaps I can be forgiven in the larger Saga of things, you know? Wink wink, Nudge nudge.

I don't keep a journal. This is the closest thing that I have to one, and it's not really supposed to be. But even when I'm doing what I'm supposed to be here, I can read old posts and remember what was going on in my life when I wrote them. I can trace entire relationships, from shy infatuation to ridiculous happiness to inevitable rejection.

I can remember how it all felt, each time. The sad parts make me want to cry, but it's the happy parts right before them that are really miserable. I'm not sure I can actually cry anymore, not like I used to. There have been a few times in the last year or two where I really wanted to just cry it out, but I feel like I've used up all my tears. Was that emo enough? Do we need another take to capture it?

The thing that gets me now though, on nights like this, reading through the archives, is all the things that haven't really changed. If I read post from years back about heartache and loneliness, what's better now? I've loved and lost and learned, but I'm still not with anybody. If I read an old post about struggling to become an author, am I really an closer after all this time? I'd like to think my writing's better, but I haven't had anything new published. So what? So what...

By All, that was depressing. Am I at quota yet? Honestly...