That last post was a little presumptive. Last night was vicious. I busked in the bus tunnel and made 9 dollars for 4 and half hours of playing. I get so sick of people walking by like I'm not even there when I'm doing my best to sing my heart out. It is hard to not think that their coldness is indication that I suck and it's easier for them to pretend like they don't see me than give me so phony smile or compliment. Maybe they are just stingy and the best way to avoid feeling so is pretend I'm not there asking for there money. Maybe I am the abomination they treat me like. I wish I could know.
At any rate, I came to the end last night. I was more screaming than singing by the end of it, and I just wanted to shoot arrows out of my mouth and kill every cold body that walked by ignoring me. One of the strings on my guitar started unwinding so bad that it wouldn't hold a tune, and I swore and packed up.
On the walk home I fantasized about someone trying to jump me so I would have an excuse to swing my guitar into their skull. I was mad.
Home. In the bathroom, feeling like I would pass out, I scream as loud as I could muster "GOD, I'M FUCKING MISERABLE!"
Storm to the couch, sit there with head in hands, too tired to move or speak.
Finally I muster, "What do you want to say to me?"
"I love you."
"Ugh, I know."
"I'm sorry. Please help me. I'm so sorry. I'm so hungry...please help."