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Some Nights

Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck
Some nights I call it a draw
Some nights I wish that my lips could build a castle
Some nights I wish they’d just fall off
But I still wake up, I still see your ghost
Oh Lord, I still don’t know what I stand for…

-Some Nights, Fun.

I started writing this post – or a post much like it – some time ago.  Months, at least.  It has been a while, after all, since I have felt the desire – the need – to put down words to paper.  (Or photons, as the case may be.)  This is not the post that I started writing months ago.  That post was about why I wasn’t writing.

This post is about why I have to.

It’s strange to one day wake up and realize that you’re no longer broken.  That whatever was taken from you is suddenly there, like a misplaced treasure from your past you stumble upon incidentally in your every day life.  So that’s where I put it!  There is familiarity, there is happiness, there is completeness.  “At last!,” you might belt out, “my arm is complete again!”

I guess, you might say, I have found my muse again.  Or something, I’m not sure.  Does that mean that life is okay?  No.  But it means that it’s getting better – that whatever was fundamentally wrong with the universe yesterday no longer stands that way.  My perspective has evolved beyond the self, into a kind of peace-in-war.

I found a martyr in my bed tonight
She stops my bones from wondering just who am I?

I have hurt some folks in my wounded pride.  I don’t know if I owe any apologies – certainly most who walked into that dark place inside of me were given plenty of warning (some weren’t, I fear, and if this were a better world I would even make it up to them somehow, but I fear that time and opportunity is long past.)  If you’re reading this and I hurt you in some fashion, then I am truly sorry.  I should have been a better man.

But that was yesterday (and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death…), and today I think of the morrow.  My mind blazes as it expands outward, scanning the possibilities and probabilities, seeking the how instead of the why.  I begin to scheme again, to plot, to plan.  I want to make the world – my life, at least – a little better.

Well some nights I wish that this all would end
‘Cause I could use some friends for a change
And some nights I fear you’ll forget me again
Some nights I always win

I always win.

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