Sweat it out (warning to a lover)

One hundred hours or more
To sweat out this fever
you see in my eyes

I am spider bitten
I am poison smitten
With a heavy tongue
and black inked veins

Lost as I am to this sickness
I give you my warning

Lover, keep away
keep far away.

the neon lady

no sigh of relief insight.

Why is it that there are times when we should be happy, ecstatic about an experience we were privileged to have, but instead we find ourselves harboring the strangest reactions, such as guilt or anxiety, or even jealousy.

Last night I was extremely lucky to be able to attend (after a four year wait) an Anberlin show at The Door in deep ellum. It was an incredible show, the band was literally the best live performance I've seen, ever.

After being practically massacred in the mosh pits up close to the stage, we managed to escape to the back for an ice cold Dr. Pepper, and were contented to sit at the back and just listen and enjoy the chest vibrating sound of the band. It was probably the best part, as soon as we sat down they started to play our favorite song from the new album, *New Surrender (Breaking). So we got to just lean back on the steps and cool down.

Later we hung out over at the merchandise table and talked with some of the band members from There For Tomorrow (who we were thoroughly impressed with).

Finally at the end of the night, we lined up and met the band at the merchandise table. They were all radiating energy, and genuinely interested in meeting everyone.

Hand shakes*

Awkward laughter*

Hug/Photo*

It was very pleasant and really nice to get to meet them. I have really admired them and their music since the release of their first album *Blueprints for the black market in 2004, so it was really a privilege. They're music just seemed to be exactly what I wanted and needed to hear at that time in my life.

After we left though, instead of being hyped and excited as my cousin (13 and endlessly energetic) I felt oddly disjointed over the whole thing.

I started to feel my own procrastination over my writing, and suddenly stunted by coming face to face with a group of people who are living out what they dream of and what they believe in.
I, on the other hand, feel like graduation is never going to come, college is a prison, and I can never seem to get writing the way I want and need to.

To write, it's the thing that pushes me, nearly the only thing I'm willing to work hard at, stress and lose sleep over. So why is it never finished?

I wish I could take more of Kendall's attitude, whose graceful indifference to self-comparison and stress is at a level I don't think anyone else is going to reach in this life (it must be genetic).

What gives man? Seriously, if you figure out, let me know.