I wish I understood myself better.

I wish I knew why I have always wanted to write a book and why I have always loathed the idea of writing a novel, of sitting back and growing disgusted with my inability to maintain my own interest. I wish I knew why I sit back and want to stay but feel like I should go and because of that why I feel like want to go but should stay. I wish I could stop acting so logically and rationally and acting quickly and I wish I could quash my demons of indecision. I wish I knew why I have a tendency to fall pensively into a self-effacing melancholy on weekend nights when I have overexerted my mind and underappreciated my emotions. I wish I knew why Saturday night talks to me like this sometimes.

If I had three wishes, I'd wish for a job that made me happy and paid me well enough to live comfortably and support my parents and my family, comfortable shoes and a better understanding of me.

Rock stars have kidnapped my son.

* * * * *

I have a heart murmur.

Apparently I have had this ailment for quite some time, though my mother only saw it fit early this year to inform me of it. As heart murmurs go, I gather mine is not very serious; I have lived actively to this point with no problems. On the other hand, the disclosure of my heart murmur came during a conversation I had in talking about my old plans to join the Navy and my mother wondering whether I could meet the physical fitness requirements. I would guess that my mom hoped to cling to any halfway legitimate excuse to dissuade me from becoming a sailor, but in the back of my mind, I have to question whether something more might exist in her thoughts, that she thought she might have found a valid reason why I could just continue on my path to white collar happiness instead of putting myself needlessly at risk. As a naval lawyer.

I've never felt a sense of invincibility, and the remembrance tonight that my heart murmurs robs me of the feeling that I can do whatever I decide to do.

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thh ump. Thump thump.

* * * * *

My three favorite books are The Brothers Karamazov, my Webster's College Dictionary and my professional translator's version of Oxford's English-Spanish / Spanish-English dictionary.

I started reading The Holy Bible (again) over two years ago and I'm still not through the Old Testament. I used to be an atheist. Now I don't know what I am and that troubles me so much I don't care about it.

* * * * *

I had an abbreviated period where I met my penchant to fall pensive with solitude and homemade vodka tonics in a 45 cent blue pastic tumbler. After a few drinks the mind shut down and only the melancholy remained. It stopped mattering that my guitar had fallen out of tune and my vocalizations never held the same key as my instrumentations. Late into the night, I sat in a folding chair centered in a relatively unadorned apartment, one overheard light. As I think of it now, it probably rather looked like an asylum room, but at the time, I think it more seemed simply more comfortable than any other place in the world.

I sometimes stupidly think that I should try my hand at alcoholism. Such a simple little cycle: when life turns shitty, I seek refuge in a bottle and I blame the bottle for making life so shitty. Of course my thinking is ludicrous, and I mean not to diminish the disease and the difficulties it poses. Pondering things that will never turn to reality because my life is really good and my imagination is overactive just sometimes seems like an interesting exercise.

* * * * *

I'm not a depressed person, nor do I feel particularly depressed right now. My problem is that I spend too much time in my head. I think before I open my mouth, and I get myself into trouble by keeping it closed. 98% of the time, living like this works to my advantage and helps me better see the world in various shades of gray. The consequence of this innundation of thought is the inability to escape, to shut it off on weekend evenings when the night wanes and a simple smile and action of impulse would provide all the necessary catharsis.

In moments like these, I should simply put myself to bed and watch a little golf the next day.