I don't believe in painted roses or bleeding hearts...

I've been moody this weekend and not that much fun, with the heat and disappointment and a good night's sleep eluding me.

my neighbors set off fabulous fireworks. everyone's blowing off some serious pyrotechnics and I walked to the corner where the ice cream stand is and there was a few of us hanging out in front throwing firecrackers, watching the fireworks from downtown coming over the trees and the people on 44th sending up one after another. It was so beautiful out and it made me feel a little less lonely because it sucks watching fireworks by yourself.

And it sounds like heavy rain, thunderstorms, the third world war with the flashing lights and the smell of burnt chemicals and the way that it echoes like it's striking twice. And I think about how these explosions are fun here, but that this is what people fall asleep to every night but it's sounds that could kill you.

I dug out my copy of "The Joshua Tree" for the first time in awhile and wondered why I was listening to all these songs about sad eyes and crooked crosses and how every day the dreamers die.

But that's where I'm at, trying to figure out what to do now that I'm no longer full of youthful idealism yet still want to have a meaningful life, not expecting fulfillment in another person but finding extended periods of solitude unbearable, trying not to think about the future, wondering how to get that sad feeling out of my insides.

and I can't sleep, with all the car stereos and the noise so I'm listening to music and hoping that sleep comes like a drug...