Trying To Belch It All Out

Does it even work that way.

Is there any purpose in having an expectation of a thing, does anything ever work out the way that one intends it to...? I will not feel guilty or weak for writing this right now, this is my blog, repeat it to yourself.

I had written myself a note in mid-June, "There were myriad chances for things to change, work out differently. There were so many opportunites, but none of those changes ever came to fruition. Never forget that." A warrior for myself, why did it so often [in my mind] mean feeling like I wasn't giving enough, caring enough? So I gave more than I could afford and eventually the bank went dry. You can only be a rock for yourself, emily. It's not catastrophes or infidelities that end relationships, it's the way that people stop saying "I love you," with any pause, the way things get taken for granted, the way the considerate-ness stops mattering. The way I waited to say anything about it. The way that things crumble even after. And on and on, life is not always pretty, but it is always magnificent. I digress, and it seems that I've lost my train of thought.

Underneath all of this dead skin is so much happiness.

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.