Promises, Promises

If there's one thing I can't stand it's broken promises. Yet here I am, having promised not to sulk over my current melancholy, about to do it again, unable to save my honor through sublimation, and thinking of suicide quite seriously. So should I just stop writing here until my mind is in a better place, or press onwards towards what is sure to be an ignomious end? Away we go. I got some sleep this morning, but I need much more, and my cousin Vanessa kept hounding me to wake up, while her girlfriend threw away my newspapers. A small thing, to be sure, but it's the small things that seem to trigger these descents I dread. After all, there are principles involved here, about family caring about each other, but whereas I am willing to give her money when I have less than $20, she can't even be bothered to hold onto some newspapers that she knows I want, then gets upset that I am upset, because it's not the first time I have complained. Again, I have myself to blame, because all I could do was sleep, and I should have known to secure my papers when I had the chance, since I should've known that I am nothing in her eyes, and that nothing I want matters in the least. Lesson learned, but it doesn't help me right now. Meanwhile, I have begun playing more games on my phone that promise no ads and money sent directly to PayPal, in just another example of how fraud is allowed to flourish on the internet. I am supposed to get $1000 tonight from one such game, and I look forward to their excuse for shafting me. Maybe my account is abnormal, or they have too many people they are paying to pay me. I suspect that everyone is told that, and no one gets paid, while they pull in money from the ads that they claimed not to be showing, which is why I signed up in the first place. Pure fraud. It's time for legal assistance I think, but I doubt I'll get any, and just sigh and let the world shit on me some more. Nobody knows you when you're down and out is how the old song goes, and it is so true. The few good people are outnumbered by the uncaring and the thoughtless, the vain souls who judge a book by its cover and never bother to open the book. My cover is frayed, unadorned. I think it's been crumpled somewhat as well, not a good situation in a world so obsessed with appearances. Even though I only got 3 hours of sleep yesterday, I was in such a good mood, the dark swings being brief and easily broken by some transitory pleasure. Right now the darkness is oppressive and has a weight that feels like half a ton laying on top of me, but then Louis Prima comes on my song list, and I can't help but smile. Prima was a trumpeter and singer who specialized in upbeat music, with sly lyrics and a boundless energy that just chased away the blues with a joyful ferocity. That's what music is meant to be, but then that's not what I play. My music is obsessive, ranging from frantic to resigned over the awful fate that is currently unfolding. I am trying to reach out to the world for help, but if I got it, wouldn't I just sink further into despair? There have been so many chances for joy I've blown, when I just roll up in a ball and sit alone in the dark corners of my mind, without Louis Prima anywhere to save me. In the future, when the darkness comes to swallow me, I should just sing 'Just A Gigolo/I Ain't Got Nobody' and give myself at least 4 and a half minutes of sunshine. It wouldn't last, but it would be one of those transitory moments of joy that I rely on to maintain my sanity. In my current state, I consider that a monumental achievement.