Spit And Scotch Tape

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I'm trying not to feel sorry for myself. I'm trying to find happy. I'm kidding myself mostly on that one. It's not that I'm unhappy. I'm not. I know unhappy and this isn't that. This is different. I'm not sure what you call it. Loneliness? Emotional limbo? I'm here but want to be there, there but I want to be here. Then again, I'd like to be nowhere at all, but somewhere all at the same time. It makes no sense. Numb? Am I numb? No. I wish. Well, I kinda. I want to feel. But I want to feel good and I'm not quite there. Okay? Am I okay? Barely, if at all. That's honesty. I'm holding it together with spit and scotch tape. Truth is, I know exactly where I'd like to be and what would make happy a whole lot easier.

Needless to say, that's not where I am. I'm drinking surrounded by many yet alone (just ordered another one in fact) and I'm lonely. Horribly lonely and I'm trying very hard to find enough faith to find enough happy. They are elusive, faith and happy. I'm waiting for a little Grace (eventually). At least that's what God assured me was coming last night. So, I'm trying to give over rather than give up. I'm trying to find happy and not feel sorry for myself. I'm trying too stay sober enough to drive. Aw, hell... I'll just dig out a CD with some Michael Bolton and be just fine. Fuck it all anyway.

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