Floating On By.

I think too much.

More importantly, I think too much of myself.

I doubt anyone else thinks so much of me, and yet, I find that people always ask for my advice. While the possibility of my ears being the closest in range is likely, I always let myself think that it is because I know best. Why?

What makes me the expert? Who the fuck am I to tell you how to live your life?

Yes, I do think that I live my life to standards that a lot of people should follow, but, as I was saying, that is just something I do. The key word was THINK. I THINK. I think too much. I think too much of myself.

Given the knowledge I have based on the experiences I've taken part in, I can tell what I know. However, I throw in my opinion on situations that I have absolutely no personal connection, empathy, or experience in. Why must I do that? I'll tell you why, but you're not going to love the answer. It is because I am always right. I can always give out the best advice while standing as a completely third party member with absolutely no personal interest in the matter. It is easy to be your guide.

It is, however, less than easy to guide myself. I have found, for the most part, who I am and who I want to be. But that isn't because I have made the decisions I would advice, but rather the opposite. Chronologically, I advise based on the decisions I've made. I know, now, how to deal with problems because I've faced them before.

I guess the only thing left to say is.... Well, prove me wrong. Or right. Or just show me that I should stay out of peoples business and just nod politely. I can nod. I am good at that.

Throw your best, life, and see how we end up.

I hear you scream it, but I want to hear you sing it.

I want to meet a boy who can sing. I want him to sing to me and I want him to sing with me. I think that having a good singing voice is such an attractive quality. He can write music for me and play it on the guitar, or uke. We'll sit around a campfire and just sing. The only care we'll have is what the next verse in the song at hand is. Thats what I want.

Tired of drowning.

It doesn't hurt. Not anymore. These are the words I keep tellimg myself. The longer I say it, the more it becomes true.

Life goes on. They were all right. It was not the end. Existance doesn't suddenly cease just because one boy is gone. Or two...

I like to think that I've become more independant these last nine months. I've taken a rather rocky approach to words of confidence, but I believe I've reached my destination just the same. I'm happy to just be me. but that won't stop me from my mission of finding us.

My expectations and reality are so completely different. That is to say that my expectations are really more like day dreams; dreams that I alone cannot make come true (my dreams involve a second half). This is becuase I'm not dreaming the proper dream; I dream of us. So far, every fish has succedded in snapping my line. That is okay, though; I hate fishing. What I am doing is just living my life on a boat (mother fucker), while trolling an invisible, sturdy line behind me, without attention. This means, If someone bites, neat; if not, neat. If no fish takes the line, at least I'm on the lake. Or in the lake...

Don't look at me.

Some times I feel like I'm a bitch. I am aware of the idea that I am an attractive person. I like to think I am more attractive than I probably am, but that is just me being the narcissist I am. Anyway, the point is, I spend time trying to look my best, as everyone does.

It used to be that I saw myself as the ugliest, biggest person in our group of friends. Now, after I've changed my body image, I feel more confident. I don't have to wear a t-shirt under all my clothes to soften the weird bumps my body had, and I am completely comfortable taking off my shirt to go swimming with my friends, now.

Chelsea and I have talked about how when we are sexy, we're not going to use our powers for evil; we'll only use them for good. This means, we're not allowed to be a bitch to ugly people, etc. Something that I do, that I've contiplated whether or not it is okay to do or not, is looking in the direction of girls, smiling, and flirting with them a little by winking. I know that I am gay. I know that I am not going to ask them out or anything, but they don't. They don't know that I'm actually not interested. As far as they know, I am just a cute boy who has taken notice of their image. The key to the concept, is I usually do it to the girls who look not as confident. To the self conscious girls who look like they worry about what other people think. Who look like they don't get very much attention. I know it is rude of me to be able to pic those girls out, but when you're not confident, it shows.

The girl that wrote the post from Six Billion Secrets could very well have been one of the girls I've given the confidence to feel beauty to. Maybe I don't actually have that effect on people....

But maybe I do.

Do not collect 200 dollars.

I can't express how hard it is for me to imagine a world outside the one we're in. I live an everyday life; I go to work, I come home, I go to sleep. Everyday. I live an ordinary enough life. I go to church on Sunday. I pray, I worship, I read and I try to stay awake. Just as any one else will do on the Lords day. I live at home, still, with my parents. I moved out once. To Europe. About a year out of high school I got called on my LDS mission to Europe. It didn't work out. I was sent home dishonorably. With the promise of returning if I straitened up, and acted according to standards. The only thing I want in life is to make my mother proud, so, without a second thought, I accepted the second chance. This could have possibly been the worst mistake I have ever made.

I am not happy. I do not look forward to my life nor my future. I don't want to return to my mission. I don't want to return to anything. I am so miserable. So very miserable. I live a life of melancholy, but that is normal enough.

I haven't dreamed in a very long time. Not because I am unable to, but because it hurts too much. I used to spend so much time in my thoughts, thinking about everything magical and beautiful. I loved escaping to my mind. I'd find that things were different. Things were perfect. I could be happy, free and loved. I know it sounds great, but bliss is so wrong. I don't deserve to be happy. I knew this, and the second I came to terms with it, I stopped dreaming. It is all for the best. Dreaming a beautiful dream and then returning to reality sent waves of pain across my heart forming a mark I have come to know as nothing. When I know that tomorrow is a simile to today, I move forward. I would like to say that I wish for yesterday, or a different tomorrow, but I don't wish either. Right now I just go.

I've heard that a man who is fifty that lives his life the same he did when he was thirty has spent twenty years waisted. He didn't learn anything. He didn't gain anything. He just kept living the life he always had. I do the same. I'll probably return to Europe. I'll probably die in my sleep. No. The sad thing is I won't.

My name is Bradley Johnson, and I dream of electric sheep.

The man behind the curtain.

I wasn't supposed to know it existed, after all, he never spoke of it while we were together. He always wrote in his journal, sometimes telling me that I was the subject of conversation. I never meant to find it, but I did. I stumbled across his blog. His online journal. I was looking at the profile of a mutual friend, and saw that she (possibly they... I haven't found out if they're keeping it as a couple, or if one just has guest entry's) was following. It was called "Captain Oats" or something similar. Thinking it was a reference to the Captain Oats featured on the "OC," I pondered. Looking almost immediate to the side, after noticing the dull and boring back drop, I saw picture that sent shivers down my spine. There was no mistaking it, this was his blog.

After taking a few seconds to contemplate if I should read or just go back to facebook, I start looking for my name. I didn't do it on purpose, but something inside me kept searching. I soon found that there hadn't been too many posts. I find one, fourth from the top, submitted at the end of September. Thinking back to when We broke up, I find that this was while we were still together. Looking for a more recent post, I find what I'm looking for. I had just started reading when I realize it is what I don't want to be reading. It isn't a happy memory, nor a sexy one. It is the only memory I have with him that made/makes me cry. As I continue reading, I find that this premeditated thought had been rehearsed. I find that he was forced to pretend to be enjoying my company. I find that I don't like this anymore than I used to.

My heart begins to pound as I read. Each little memory of the night coming back to me. I correct him in my head, saying things like, "I didn't say that." "That didn't happen." The point was that the story is right on, it is just told slightly different. Each letter I read brings painful sighs back. My breathing gets louder and my arms begin to pulse. He was worried about what kind of cryer I am. Not the fact that I was about to have my heart broken, but whether or not he was going to get wet from tears or have to plug his ears as I sobbed.

I force myself to keep reading, all the while thinking, "I don't want to hear this." Despite everything I've led myself to think about our relationship, I draw back to the perspective that our relationship was just fun for him. Why am I hurting so bad when he just saw it as another silly old experience.

I feel like a fool for having cried in front of him. He didn't earn that right. I should have never showed my heart to him. And although I didn't exactly say that I loved him, something along those lines sure showed as I cried in his car.

When we were together, I made a bracelet. I used the rope that I found back stage, and I tied it to my wrist. I thought it was so cool, despite the fact that it was so simple compared to the other bracelets I make. Loving it, I made him one too. I gave it to him and he said he liked it. Reading his entry, he writes about how before leaving his car as a goodbye, I removed the bracelet and stuffed it in my pocket. At the time, that was a symbol that things were over. By putting that black rope in my jacket pocket, I was letting him know how much I cared about him. I was telling him that every time I looked at my wrist, I would think of him. And when I removed it, he finally understood that. As told, the thing that went through his head was no longer guilt (as it had been the feeling after seeing me cry) but instead justification. He writes that he had never put on the bracelet. Showing that it is just another testimonial that I am not/was not that important to him.

I thought that was what separated him from Nick. I thought that he was the guy who actually took notice of me, who appreciated me. That was one of the things I loved most.

I was wrong.

Moving on.

It is finally time. I've spent too long being attached to the idea of still dating Taylor Horn. I miss him and will probably always miss him, but most every time I think about him I get sad. Therefore, I have decided to part ways with him.

I sent him a text to ask if he missed me or not. When you break up with someone you often wonder if they miss you as much as you miss them. While he says that he does in fact miss me, I'm confident that he's happy without me. Which leads me to my next point... I need to be happy without him. Yes, I have my friends. They're the real love of my life, but even as they try, they can't be the one you truly fall in love with. They're not the ones that leave smiles on your face every time you wake up. They are wonderful, but they're not that person. They will hold you when you're sad, as best friends should, but they don't hold you when you're happy, cold or just for fun.

When asked what makes me cry, I had to think about it. I hadn't cried for ages. It used to be the lack of attention that I got. The strangling situations my brothers put me through, and just other highly emotional middle-child bullshit. Now... Now it is different. Aside from movies or sad stories that leave tears in the corner of my eyes, the only thing that can get them running down my cheek is a boy. After Nick and I finally broke up, I cried for as long as I could before I had to actually get out of my car and get ready to go on stage. When Taylor and I broke up, I cried in his car, and then in my car. And then in my bed, and everyday for a week or so. Even after that, after the recovery period, I had my occasional slip. A song, an image, a thought. Anything that reminded me of him would send a signal to my brain telling me that it was time to open the flood gates.

After asking if he missed me, I had to tell him what I thought. I think that he and I aren't friends. We never were. We never will be. We never really had the opportunity before we started dating, and after. Well, after he told me that he would continue talking to me because I told him that I would feel like I lost one of my best friends if he didn't. Did he? Obviously he didn't. If he had, I would've been able to move on long before. I would have had the opportunity to see him as only a friend and nothing more. Instead, I see his name and break down.

I didn't just let this happen. I tried talking to him. Quite often for having had my heart broken. He never made an effort to return the favor. I personally don't understand how you can go from dating someone to just not talking to them at all. So quickly. It isn't like we broke up over a fight. We simply stopped dating. Against my will. If I were to work harder to be his friend, what would I find? Would I find that he is doing very well in school, that his social work dreams are coming true? or would I find that he has done poorly, so so, or dropped out of his dream completely. If that the case is that he is doing well in his field, then I would see no hope for ever being able to see him again. After all, the reason we broke up was because I wasn't the number one seller on his mind. He wanted to focus all his energy on one thing; School. That is great. I completely understand. I was supportive and I didn't fight it. He will change the world someday. He already has. But changing the world doesn't include me. However, if he is doing poorly, then I would resent him for not trying to see me again. With all his spare time, he should be able to fit me back into his life, shouldn't he? Or maybe I don't deserve that privilege.

Honestly, I hope he is doing well. I hope that all his actions and my heart ache is justified. I also hope that I can move on. I don't want to be hurt anymore. I don't want to find someone, if finding someone just makes me cry. What I really want is to be ok. I just want to be ok with wherever I am. Right now I am lonely, but that is only because I miss the feeling of someone caring for me. I miss someone holding me when I'm happy. I miss being happy enough to be held.