Another Nervous Breakdown

Something has got to give.

A book I read recently is the saddest story, but has the happiest ending. Melissa finds the love she sought in all the wrong ways, and ends up happier with a man she'd met at a bar. But the most touching aspect of the story is the story about the beggar who kept bringing the king melons. The king detested melons but took them to be polite. One evening, the beggar dropped the melon in front of the palace, and it broke into a pile a jewels. All those pretty melons broken open into mounds of jewels.

I keep waiting for my own garden of discarded melons, which I guess meant mistakes, to crack open.

But what does that mean, exactly? Is happiness a good job? A drink on Saturdays with my closest friends? Falling asleep next to the most unexpected of adored? A self-confidence that no one can reach?

I have no idea. I really don't know.

Sometimes I dream I'm reading. No action, just words. Pages. Pages and pages of vivid, beautiful tales of who even knows what, I tend to forget them once I wake up. But it's never a first hand experience, never tangible. Maybe that's how I live, on the sides, reading the words that make up some assorted plan I should have been into. I worry I'm too distant. J tells me I'm cold, I'm only nice to her. I know she;s right in some aspects.

I feel I'm letting it all go.

Something has to give. Please.