grasshopper (unedited)

I'm on the verge of a new job, with the promise of better pay and nicer prospects...

...so why do I feel so down?

Something inside of me is dying. It is the Spirit of the Grasshopper that is fading away.

You all know the story of the Ant & the Grasshopper, don't you? The Grasshopper spends his summer days lazing about and being careless while the Ant works hard and toils away, storing food for the upcoming winter months.

Come the winter, the Grasshopper freezes and starves while the Ant stays warm and well-fed.

I have been the Grasshopper for so long that now-- faced with the Ant path that lies in front of me --I am not sure if I am up to the task of being industrious and hard-working.

I can do it-- that's no problem. The actual work is nothing. But, will I fit in?

Right now I don't seem to fit in anywhere.


*/*


I am trying to meet new girls but it isn't working out. And the girl that I do love wants to be only friends. She loves me so much that (get this) she has stopped being affectionate with me.

Yeah, makes me wish she didn't love me at all. Maybe if she hated me, she'd sleep with me or tell me what I want to hear.

I'm sick of backwards definitions. Rich is not poor, love is not hate, war is not peace. That's a bunch of Orwellian Doublespeak.

What was that nine-year stint with Dick? Anything but love? Funny, it looked like love to me. It was enough for you to stop being my friend. You chose him over me, and now that he's gone you can't bear the thought of knowing you were wrong about him. So now you say you don't know what love is. I say you did know, and it's too painful for you to think about.

You love me, Eve? Then love me. Don't deny me love and dress it up as "caring" because all that does is allow you to have your cake and eat it too.

If you keep loving me like this, one day you're going to find that I'm not around to love.


*/*


I have gone back to referring to myself as a "loser".

How else to rationalize the small failures that punctuate my everyday life?

Some thing is dying inside of me, like I said. This is the last nail in the coffin for the Old Me. The New Me is emerging and I am afraid of what that represents.

No one ever said growing up was easy.

I end up in the slow lane, or the slow bank line, or I end up behind the person in the "10 Items Or Less" line who happens to have 11 items in their cart.

I put my trust in the wrong people, and when they let me down I cannot blame them for their inconsiderate ways. I can only blame myself, for trusting in them.

I open my heart to people in exchange for creative input, and instead I get shut down by so-called "artists" who are too afraid to put their ideas out there, for fear that they will be "poo-poohed".

I am sick of people being afraid. Don't they realize that I am afraid too? Only difference is, I refuse to give up.

Well, maybe I should give up. Maybe I should just throw in the towel and say, "You were right, world. I'll never amount to anything. You won, I lost. I'm a loser, after all-- I lose. That's what I do best."

As the late Johnny Thunders once sang, "Baby I'm born to lose..."


*/*


I had a dream last night, that I met Mischa Barton from The O.C. and we hit it off. She asked me to call her "Mishta".

I think Mischa Barton is fine and all, but I don't think about her that often. I think of the porn starlets in my DVD collection more than her. And yet, there she was, at a cafe on Ventura Blvd., telling me that she has never met anyone like me before, and that she wants to spend the rest of her life with me.

Sad, ain't it?

Fucking pathetic.

Even my dreams are smeared with loser juice.

I thought about suicide last night. That's what losers think about. But I would never go through with it. Never. Ever.

But I do think about it, during times like these when no one wants to understand what is going on inside of my head.

No one wants to hear or read my misery. And that's fine, because I have become acclimated to other people's cowardice. Everybody is cursed with an inability to act upon the very things that will solve their problems.

Meanwhile, here I am taking a huge risk in the hopes it will pay off both literally and figuratively. Everyone else is tucked away in their cozy cocoons, and I'm out on the edge as usual, wondering why everyone else is not near the edge like me.

At least I am sure of one thing: I may be a loser, but I am no coward.


*/*


I have my list of songs for Roman's wedding. I had to settle on optimistic, cheesy love songs. All the songs I really wanted to play are about breaking up, losing love, and being heartsick.

I will put on a brave face this coming Sunday. It's the same face I've been putting on all month. But my face on Sunday will be the bravest yet, because I won't be doing it to spare my own dignity.

Instead, I will be faking happiness in order to not spoil Roman's special day.

I've gotten real good at it in the past few weeks. Shit, maybe I'll win a fucking Oscar after this weekend is done.

This summer will be one where I store up for the winter. For the first time, I am thinking of the winter in advance.

It was fun being a Grasshopper. But those days are over. Now it is the Age of the Ant.

Goodbye, Grasshopper days. I will miss you every time I look out the window of my new office.