Too much banging around in my head. I need this page. Break is done.

I've spent a good majority of the past few weeks locking myself in my room. The power went out due to the universe forgetting about us up here in the mitten again, and left us without the necessities for a couple days.

We take shit for granted daily; friends, beds, clothing, computers where I can sit and let my fingers scream. But its been a while since I've had to think about water. Or heat. Or light for me to read by.

I woke up on a Tuesday to a text saying , "Just wanted to let you know that consumers energy says we wont have power back till Friday at 11:30 pm. I'll get water for us tonight. Try to stay warm." All my responses were whinny and bitchy but mainly because... I really had no clue what to do. Then, after a good thinking session and realizing my age, I sat on my bed bundled up, three layers deep in sweatshirts and pajamas, and said "You know what... I'm hungry. And there's water everywhere. I think I've watched enough Man vs. Wild to know what to do in this situation."

No, I didn't go make-shift a bow and shoot a goose. I also didn't jump in a lake just to see if I could make it out alive. But I did build a fucking fire in the garage. Grabbed construction shards, Kellogs boxes, and junk mail. Went out onto the deck, got a pot and filled it with as much snow as I could. Apparently, snow turns into less water than one would think. So I decided to empty the entire ice tray into a few pots and melt all that nonsense too. I got a can of spaghettios and put that in another pot and sat... in this garage... over a feeble little bonfire... hands full of cooking utensils... making water to drink and food to put in my body.

That water was disgusting. But it was drinkable. And I'm pretty sure I messed those pots up more than I cooked my food; I just ate those spaghettios as is. I was hungry, what can I say. But when all was said and done, and I had all my necessities and my calories... I didn't have shit to do. I'm so reliant on technology; for my writing, for my entertainment, for my communication and my life essentially. So for a few nights, I just got used to locking myself in my room with two or three books and just reading everything my eyes could touch.

Being an English major, this gave me the opportunity to actually feel like one for once. Not to sound hypocritical, but I am a walking contradiction. I look like a rabid sewer rat but I have the heart of a puppy. I wear every style and make it my own. I fight on the page and on my feet. And I'm an English major... who watches more documentaries and reads more blogs then I do classics or novels at all anymore.

I was finishing 'Sound and the Fury' for the second time, while at the same time reading snippets of 'Fear and Loathing: Campaign Trail '72'. I dont know what it is about Faulkner, but I swear to god... he was having a seizure when he wrote that book. I just can't read it all in one sitting. I had to compensate for all the confusion with some gonzo politics. Oddly, it was a good time.

Then the power came back. I ran outside and did a praise chant ( that sounds prettier than "I ran outside and screamed 'fuck yes! take that you god damn weather!). Took a much needed shower... and then sat again. With everything back to how it was days before... I still felt lost.

Its the same feeling I've been writing about lately. That feeling of having enlightenment brush against my finger tips, teasing me with a smile and then suddenly, I regress back into some dark emotional pit. Its like life keeps pulling me back to this bed room, even when I have the rest of the world to go out to.

Fusing my head to my heart didn't work as I had planned. If anyone knows how to do that, please let me know. The majority of this 'break' was horrible for me. This page is an addiction of mine, I'll admit it. But its one that's okay. Its one that I need because without it... I just pound thoughts against my eyelids till they bleed everywhere and I'm sick of having tissues as a best friend. They don't give me anything to look back at and think on. They just blot up the pain for a second until the next day comes and its exposed again.

I don't really know what my triggers are yet for this wound. I know certain thoughts push me down. I know certain wishes and wants hit my stomach pretty hard. But I've gotten pretty good at just feeling this feeling. I dont like it. I want it to leave and never come back. I just know that when ever the feeling comes up, and I feel sick and want to break everything and yell... to do just that. Get sick. Yell. Put some gloves on and some music and beat on a bag for a while. I'm hoping this practice of staying within the emotion instead of escaping from it brings me closer to healing in the long run...

On a more positive note, I did get back up on stage for the first time since my ego got raped last year. And that's not a metaphor. It got fisted. Hard. The thing about the stage in this city is it knows me. And I dont like that really. I always get these intro's like - " And this next guy needs no introduction. I want you all to open your ears for a second and take some of this in. He knows whats up. Get up here man."- and by the time I make it up to the mic, I just want to say 'Alright, well I can't live up to that soo... I'm just gonna sit back down.' I need to go elsewhere, further than Chicago because they even knew me there. I need to just go... to Kentucky... or Nevada and just walk into an open mic and see what a true reaction feels like. I think that's partially why I choose to not use my given name in this blog is because I dont want people saying 'Oh well (blank) wrote that so its going to be awesome.' I want to see if people like me not because of what they know me for, but because they respect my words.

I did have a piece of mine chosen to be performed this weekend at a college forensic tournament. That kind of feels good, even though the person who chose it... is still someone who knows me 'for what I've done and what I've been a part of'. Regardless, I hope she got scored well. For her sake and mine.

Anyway, this is the result of not writing. Massive amounts of words and really no direction or moral. I'm just gonna go back to my room.