Just Another Late Night (June 28th)

                 Today was a long, uneventful day until a friend stumbled in. But now he is gone; I am lying in bed, aware of the fact that it is much too early to sleep. I have a choice of three CDs that I have yet to listen to. One of them I know will be too loud and the other I am still having trouble saying the name of so they are both put aside.

                The last choice is “Plans” by Death Cab For Cutie. I search under my pillow for my CD player that has been forgotten since I listened to a mix tape that a good friend of mine. The CD player is gone so I climb down the ladder and search for it behind my bureau knowing that that would be the only other logical place.

                Sure enough, it is there, but I am back in bed by the time I find out that the batteries are low on power. I just take the ones out of my digital camera that is not working because it is full of sand and replace them.

                I get through Marching Bands Of Manhattan and am impressed by Benjamin Gibbard’s talent for writing lyrics, but not so much his voice. I have no idea why.

                Moving onto Soul Meets Body, I forget about reading the lyrics and focus less. I am supposed to be sleeping after all. But a series of lines catches my attention better than any other probably could.

               

                ‘Cause in my head there is a greyhound station

                Where I send my thoughts to far-off destinations

                So they have a chance of finding a place where they’re far more suited than here.

 

                Inspired I grab the blank notebook beside me and start searching for my favorite pink pen. Pink is my least favorite color. Finding only a broken pencil, I        give up and look at the time. Its 11:12. I send the already written text message of 11:11 <3 anyways. I can’t wish tonight but I might be able to make a good friend of mine smile because I know he is not in the best mood.

                I continue searching but only find my Green Day pen that was often used by a good friend of mine. He hates Green Day.

                I try to write something about my thoughts being suited better somewhere else but instead I start to write something about an experience. Today was such an empty day with no emotion, I can’t do anything else. No thoughts are going to sound right without the emotion to go with them.

                I realize I am contradicting myself because I have so many thoughts and they are better suited somewhere else; constant worries that have been there since Monday.  A good friend of mine tried to talk me out of these worries but failed. He has more serious things to worries of his own but he is too caring to leave mine unattended.

                I go to turn the CD back on but Jack’s Mannequin is playing in my head and it sounds to perfect to be disturbed by unfamiliar sounds. But Fall Out Boy also intrudes and I give up on any hope of listening to any form of music.

                 I was hoping to achieve something tonight but I find all I have is 4 pages of black (not pink) chicken scratch, a head full of more worries, and a very confusing playlist on repeat in my mind. And I am still nowhere near falling asleep.

 

Reviews

[Ben Walton]

"I continue searching but only find my Green Day pen that was often used by a good friend of mine. He hates Green Day."

Victory is mine.

[Brandon Hontz]

To tell you the truth, I think this is a good piece.
It's worded well, and I can feel what you were feeling.
I'd love to see more of what you have to offer, but I can't if you don't show me some of it little miss Cortney =).

"I realize I am contradicting myself because I have so many thoughts and they are better suited somewhere else; constant worries that have been there since Monday. A good friend of mine tried to talk me out of these worries but failed. He has more serious things to worries of his own but he is too caring to leave mine unattended."

I'm curious on who that is. You should tell me =P.
I know what you mean by contradicting yourself because you have so many thoughts. I hate that.

I like how this just kind of explains a normal night for you, as you said. It's not really a story of sorts, or a poem, but it's a part of your life, and I like how you wrote about it.

That's all I have to say, but as I said, it'd be really cool if you'd add more to here, i'd love to see what else you have hiding behind your hands. It's a good piece, keep up the writing, and i'll talk to you tomorow.

Peace