Sometimes my dreams feel more like reality than reality does. Sometimes they seem to be more important, too.

I don't like the sober, quiet moments. They are distant memories that haven't happened yet. They feel like a washy early morning T.V. show, something that is completely unrelateable and only vaguely interesting but really the only thing on. I don't like the speeds my thoughts bounce around at inside my head, or the constant alertness. Or really the subject matter playing out in the theater of my brain. I get over whatever sickness there is to have, and then things seem to slide sideways.

I did a bunch of stupid things in the last few years.

My friend Skylar once told me I seem to have good self-awareness. I think this is true, as I'm pretty aware of many of my qualities and faults, and tend to know how I will react to a foreseen inevitability well before it comes up. I think the big reason I have no claims to enlightenment or some sort of zen-buddah type shit is that I am either too apathetic or lazy to really change anything.

I haven't really figured that one out yet. Sometimes, I will very much so want to do something, but then I will realize it doesn't really matter, given how irrelevant it is in the grand scheme of things and not bother. Other times, I don't bother to do something, then realize that it didn't really matter, given how irrelevant it was in the grand scheme of things.

Sometimes passiveness is a good strategy. Doing things can cause trouble, and once again, in the grand scheme, it is fairly unlikely to matter too much. Conversely, while not doing much of anything is a pretty safe strategy, it tends to cause problems for everyone around you on a regular basis. But you're usually pretty good.

Anyway. It doesn't really matter much.

I am having a strange night. I have had quite a few sober nights lately, and like some type of fairytale full moon curse, this always seems to culminate in a series of very surreal days.

The nice people are all angry. The angry people are all nice.

My job description is "AJ", who was the guy I replaced. The person I trained is now "Steve". Our purchasing manager was recently transferred to receiving, while the shipping lady is on health leave till she can get over the fact that we did not make her sick, and she should die, quit, or simply be nicer and stop taking her myriad myriads of health problems out on us. He is starting to look a little sickly and has been a little bitchy lately. Much to his chagrin, he is now "Debby". Our jobs defining our personalities is an interesting concept, but has apparently worked well for the business.

My friends are all having affairs and falling apart and getting into identical messes. My basement has the potential to fill up with transient pals and co-workers. I plan to invest in Japanese sleeping tubes.

My McDonalds is crawling with bugs. They are not of the same species and none of them seem as though they would be native to lettuce, processed cheese, or all-beef patties. I suspect box contamination. This is supported by the fact that the june bugs in my fries are rarely deep fried and salted to perfection.

A former girlfriend keeps walking into my house, hammered and shoeless, forgetting she has not lived here in a year. I do not sleep as I must stay up to steer her away from the stairs and my bedroom, where my present girlfriend sleeps, and back out on to the street where she may eventually find her way across the lot to her townhouse.

Related, my locks do not seem to function as intended, as virtually everyone in a three mile radius has a key except my roommate, who enjoys staying out till the wee hours of the morning with an east Indian dude who says he is a Korean millionaire from England. He acts as a life coach to my roommate, who arguably can already do a better fake accent.

There are things living in the walls and the vents. They get in through the basement vent on our deck, which is essentially just a hole cut in the wall with a disintegrating screen across it. I have never seen them, and rarely hear them unless I pay close attention. They are skittery, climbing things that remind me of a Lovecraft story I once read. Or perhaps they are the house waiting to collapse on itself. Or perhaps they are synapses in my brain slowly reconnecting as my system clears out.

My roommate is unable to find a job, and the rest of us have been paying for his existence for nearly four months. He quit his last job to go to Saskatchewan with the KorEngDian for three days. As this was the third or fourth time he did this, he was not rehired on his returned. In retrospect, his inability to find work may not be surprising to people other than himself.

I don't really know what to make of life anymore. It is both drab and vibrant, and I do not understand it very well. I am losing my desire to. Trainwrecks, looking away, and all that. I guess.

Oh well. This is fun:



Well, I guess that's about it for now.