I need a remedy;

Its these damn late Redlands' nights that always get me thinking. I swear there is just something prevalent in the air the second that sun drops behind the horizon that's created from the trees and homes that lie in front of my house. I'll never understand why the most thought provoking location in my life is right here on the edge of my late 1990's oak framed bed, (the one plastered in lavender flowers and fitted with the black-barbie sheets that my mom picked out, she always wanted me to be cultured, or so she said. I still think the sheets were on sale at Mervyn's so she got what was left.) I can never exactly explain myself too well, so once again I ask of you to just read my blog, and maybe you can see my heart's story pour out between the lines.
Lets begin at the beginning, shall we? Although there isn't really a beginning middle or end to my story, because after all this isn't really a story. I could make it one! Then you readers could figure out the theme of my writing! Or how about motifs and character struggles! NO. I'm really not that sort of writer. Forgive me. I'll stick to my usual. Flamboyant, edgy, ambiguous thoughts of my meandering, late-teenage mind.
I'm feeling very unappreciated by my #1 these days. Its the first time in a long time that I've had a handful of companions that I could rely on, but with that positive addition I feel like I've noticed Jon slipping quickly into his dreams of stardom and fame. I am overjoyed with the fact that he is finally accomplishing his one true dream. I wish I could say the same for myself, but I fear that soon enough this so-called passion is going to latch onto him like an ancient indian ritual of blood-sucking leeches. Music is becoming his number one thought. I'm almost as jealous of the music as I would be any girl that stepped in between me and the wonderful Mr. Giordano. So in the case of this blog, we'll refer to "the music" as skank. I felt it appropriate. I really don't want to elaborate, I only wish he supported me the way I supported him. I wish he held me in a similar way that he plays that guitar. I wish there was a bit more fairy dust in our love and most of all I wish he would read what I write, without query. That skank took my Jonny, and I'm afraid the only way to win him back is if I engulf myself amongst his passion. If I can't beat them, I'll join them.