soul.

Dear not-diary-but-public-accounting-of-my-life-that-anyone-can-read-bur-probably-doesn't-but-that's-okay-because-I'm-mostly-writing-to-you-to-let-off-steam-or-exorcise-irritating-emotions,

I'm not having any epiphanies of late,
not that I've ever had any at all, certainly not in a manner that would suggest it's odd that I haven't had one recently.. But still, I haven't had any period, and while it's not odd, it's a little annoying. Why? Obviously the reason is because I want to have one, isn't that how it usually works?
I mean, clearly there's some kind of great emotional disconnect and discontent within me at this moment if I'm reaching out for something that I don't usually, if ever, have - that being an epiphany - and I'm more than casually aware of what the problem is. Oh yes, indeed I am, I know every reason why I'm feeling every single feeling that's coursing through my body.

On a separate note, I like to refer to my soul and other peoples souls often in my expressive and documentary writing. I'd like to make it clear, I don't really know what to think of souls or their soulfulness, just that it's an idea I'm constantly reaching back for. I don't believe it's some kind of freudian subtlety in conjuncture with my self-proclaimed atheism (or aforementioned circumstantial disbelief), so much as it's a comfort word that I pull into my word-spillings to define something that has no definition.
I suppose in my hip, and now disreligion, a soul would be a mixture of ones conscience, subconscious understanding, morals, and overall convention of feelings. A soul is the best available word in a metaphorical symphony of boredom and patched-together letters that don't stimulate the proposed (let's underline proposed) reader.

Now, back to the silly things I was talking about before with a little bit of tie-in from the in between.
My soul is feeling uneasy, like my stomach feels queasy, my breath is wheezy, and my mind is breezy. My soul is expressing my hearts, well, heartache. It's giving me a depthy feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling that is often times toeing a fine line between sexual stimulation, unceasing depression, feverish guilt, giddy excitement, and overpowering joy to an extent where they're sometimes indistinguishable. And I'm sure it's the bit about unceasing depression.
I'm stuck in a pit of pathetic sadness, like a Jedi who has lost touch with the force, or a first-time convenient store clerk that just got robbed on his first night. It's not unbearable, not the worst pain I've ever felt, not by far - and I realize how young I am. I realize these feelings will all pass, regardless of any clinical aspects.
But it is sadness, and I think the worst part of it all is how undeniably confusing it is, because by definition, I'm just not even certain how to begin describing why I'm sad, or depressed. Reaching back into this post, it has to do with my subconscious understanding, I subconsciously understand why I'm upset - but I can't consciously grasp that idea and work it out.
Honestly, I was going to put a Star Wars reference here - but decided against it because it really didn't flow well, and it felt a little redundant what with my previous Star Wars analogy about a Jedi losing touch with the force. Anywho..

I have these feelings. Feelings that won't go away, and are more than likely unrequited.
I've always liked the term whirlwind romance, defining an event in ones life that is quick, and fleeting. But I think most people forget that there's also an aspect of destruction in this term, as it's quick, and fleeting sure - but it leaves you wondering and confused, picking up bits of yourself that you'd left open to the experience.
And I think these romances are so startling and profound, because they end in odd ways - often without closure (not that you'd want any in this case, it'd probably make things more difficult), and with an abundance of confusion, discontent, and great many what-if's.
However, I think as great as my whirlwind romance was, life could have pulled a few punches this time. Demitri Martin sang in one of his songs about how fishing should be called what it really is - trickin' and killin', and as inelegant as quoting a comedian is, this term feels sufficient.
I was in a state where I wanted to remain as an emotional Fort Knox, because I'm so used to disappointment and a great many adjectives that feel very.. inadequate in describing how I let people treat me in relationships.

Anyway, there's some thoughts and some emotional exorcising for my soul.
Tomorrow we'll tackle people who lie to themselves constantly, and certain corners of humanities foolishness. Or I'll be so completely excited about the new episode of The Guild that I'll forget I even have a blog for another few weeks.

Adios.