good advice

i once heard that the worst vice is an advice.
recently i've received plenty of - good - advice. admittedly, good.
on a different note: i stumbled across the fourth edition of 'the elements of style' and bought it. what the heck. maybe i will improve my style, he! wouldn't that be sompin!
let's get back to the point of this story: adVice.
add to the vice. gimme some advice.
sure, that's only and only because I am kind of asking for it. When you complain be prepared to get the whole package: new complaint material included. I am at the point now where I start complaining about the reaction I get from my closest friends to my complaints. This shouldn't come as a surprise but it also comes to no avail. Just shut the eff up if you don't want to hear them. Seriously. How about a round of beating myself up? There we go. Huh, feels good. The little masochist says all the things I thought I could never feel.
It's like a digestive. They need to pour their wine into my glass to be able to deal with my tears and rants and moods.
Talking about being your own queen, sovereign. Yeah Right!.
Music doesn't really help either.
I drive down the dark streets, with the wind in my hair and I laugh into the clouds and say aloud to myself: Why in the world do we always what we can't have?
For example, I really wanted this life with you. This foggy track that disappeared in the future like an indecisive journey, so alluring and so seductive with all those adventures lingering around unknown and blurred corners.
But there was always this other track, that led into the bright clear future as I have it envisioned since childhood days. Ever since I was a girl I knew I would go down that track. And it seems as if despite all the self-determination and stuff life has set its mind on racing me down that road, no matter what.
Because, no matter where I am, there I go.
I was chasing a book today. My wife ignited that fire in my heart, my old love for myths and legends and I wanted a good book to read. So I went on a raod trip on my niece's bike to West Hollywood where I saw a city light bookstore. Turned out it was a DIFFERENT light book store and all about gay issues. Yeah, West Hollywod, I should have figured. So I came all the way back, thinking of that second hand book store, the cosy one at the 'bird' strip on Franklin. It was closed. In front of a store with books and candles I met two guys who turned out to speak russian. I found 'To Kill A Mockingbird' and bought it. And said style book. And wound up talking to those guys. Gave me a boost of self confidence.
On my way back I remembered that book I found in the gay book store by an atheist questioning Christianity. And how I thought, yeah, I want to give that some thought too. It's my private issue whether or not I'll pray at night but I still want to give it some thought and read that. And that's the point. That's why we can't be together. Because with you that wouldn't work. It would just create useless discussions. You have your faith and you know it because it saved you. In a way you have found what I am looking for.
But it's not mine.
And our life isn't mine.
And yet, alas, I want it so bad. Still, somehow. And music doesn't help. The doors really suck. They make me want it even more. How ridiculous. So I guess the good advice
I might as well give myself now, talking to myself here on this midnight screen:
Is:
I do not want what I haven't got.
Be free.