My life feels as if it has turned a corner. Things seem just a little different. I'm working at a job I am actually going to have to admit I like. I had a very good interview for a job that I'm actually going to have to admit I want, with another interview looming in a couple days. I am slowly beginning to find my way, in my way.

In the same vein, I am letting go of some things. Things that were a part of "Brendan the College Student" and do not factor into my life anymore. Friends with whom I no longer mesh with. Feelings I no longer have the energy to feel are important. Life has simply begun to narrow down what I find acceptable and worthy of time and effort.

Digital Iris is one of those things that needs to be let go. Not blogging in general per se, but rather the volumes of my life recorded as "Digital Iris." Five years are archived in it. From Waubonsee through Columbia and graduation. People I know and people I knew. Friends lost and gained and everyone in between. But that chapter's over. It's time for something more.

Something new to write to, between the days.

It's hard to make the good things last. But, that doesn't mean you shouldn't.

People fight for things that aren't important. I fight for things that are unimportant. But occasionally there is something important, that's worth fighting for. That's worth acknowledging all of your fears and insecurities for. In and of itself, having something meaningful to fight for, is beautiful and special.

But then, to fight and win?

Humans are really wired for failure. Think about it? I often gives squirrels shit for having not learned that running out in front of the big steel moving things is a bad idea. But humans are exactly the same. Children molested by adults grow up to be sluts, or child molesters. Instead of gravitating away from the thing that has hurt them so profoundly, they go towards it. Girls whose fathers abandoned them seek out asshole guys and unavailable guys who will treat them as badly as their father did. We're all fools. We're all masochists. We don't learn ether.

We're wired to perpetuate and continue destructive behaviour.

Why else is it that we don't know how amazing, or valuable or special something is until it's gone? Suddenly all the stupid things that seemed so important and significant at the time are completely meaningless because at least at that time you felt what was behind all of it. Then it's gone, and suddenly there is nothing behind it. You only have memories and feelings, and nowhere to place them to.

People say that it's better to know than not to know. But some times that's not true. At all. Sometimes not knowing is okay. Because you get to have one very comforting thing in the period of not knowing. You get to have hope. When everything else is dark, when everything else has fallen to pieces you have hope to hold onto. For now, for a day or, I have hope. No matter how faint it is. No matter how small the sliver.. it's still hope.

What happens next... well, it'll be okay. It's always okay. I know what I want, I know what I would do. But now it's not up to me. Nor should it be, I suppose. Everyone is okay. Or, at least, will be okay.


I forgot my ipod before I went out today and so I had to resort to listening to the radio. As I drove home, I found it painfully hilarious how much music is about one thing: love. Falling in love, being in love. Breaking hearts. Having your heart broken.



Already I see things. I hear things. I read things. And the first thing I want to do, is pick up my phone, and send a message. Share a giggle at amusement and absurdity. But I can't.

It's all so fragile.

Is the way we are. And I really ought to stop worrying about the "were" and concern myself with the "are." At the end of the day, are the pennies really worth it? I don't think so.

Here's to NYC. A kiss in Times Square in an ocean of neon lights. A sea of strangers, but in that moment only the two of us. Blurry, and tired and cold. But still good.

Yeah. Still good.

It's hard to write this. Harder than other stuff. I feel a responsibility to someone else this time. A responsibility to a girl at that. It's the hardest love letter I've ever written, because others will see it. Others will read it.

I'm dying to start it, but I am afraid of it. The other things I've had brewing in my head have been completely pushed aside now that I can write this - but I'm still dragging my feet. Not because I don't know what to write but because I don't know how.

I have a secret.
I only pretend to be positive so that other people don't worry about me.
But I'm tired of pretending that I'm optimistic. I'm tired of putting on a smile and saying "It'll be okay." or "It just takes time." or "Something will come around."

I just want to give up. But I can't. Because I still want these things.

Maybe I'm not pretending after all.
Sometimes it sure as hell feels like it.

After almost a week, I feel good again. At one point I wouldn't have dared dream that I would feel this way so soon. At one point, this feeling seemed months away. But somehow it all came through. We came out the other side.

I have to admit, tonight I tried to find words that were written someplace. But I couldn't find them. So I remember them - and they make me feel good. Words like I wrote, but she found those. I hope that some nights they make her feel good - when I cannot be there.

You pussies.
Maybe it was just because I was afraid I'd end up just the same.
Now I stare at my phone.
Message from the desperate. That's me.
Broken beautiful things.
Lets sleep now. The morning will be here soon.
It's not the light, but when you leave without me.
I'm still here.
Building our sickness.
And cure each other.