If you love something, you are probably wasting your time.

She hasn't done anything wrong, but this isnt working for me and I don't want it anymore.

She can be wonderful for someone else. I can go back to being lonely because I'm alone, not because i feel unwanted.

All will be right in the world. As right as it ever gets, anyway.

Now to get it over with and get on with life.

"The cheese is named after the city of Gouda not because it was produced in or around that city, but because it was traded there.^[4] In the Middle Ages, Dutch cities could obtain certain feudal rights which gave them primacy or a total monopoly on certain goods. Within the County of Holland, Gouda acquired market rights on cheese, the sole right to have a market in which the county's farmers could sell their cheese. All the cheeses would be taken to the market square in Gouda to be sold. Teams consisting of the guild of cheese-porters, identified by differently colored straw hats, carried the farmers' cheeses on barrows, which typically weighed about 16 kg. Buyers then sampled the cheeses and negotiated a price using a ritual system called handjeklap in which buyers and sellers clap each other's hands and shout prices. Once a price was agreed upon, the porters would carry the cheese to the weighing house and complete the sale.<sup>[5]"

Gouda accounts for roughly half of all global cheese consumption, and according to wiki it's pretty fuckin' whimsical.</sup>

I wonder what happens when the views hit 10,000. Guess we'll see.

I was just re-reading shit from the last time I wrote here instead of in the notebook I've been using, and it's fucking amazing to see that pretty much everything I'm saying now is just a more refined version of the same shit I was saying a few months ago, which was a more refined version of the same shit I was saying what, ten years ago, which is probably the same shit I was writing back when I had piles of notebooks.

I'm glad I've evolved and developed so much in my life, really changed for the better and generally just been a dynamic, interesting person.

Fuck, man. Peak mediocrity.

Also, from a few months ago:

"I need one of them tattoo'd animal shelter chicks who cries about how mean people are to ants or something. A radical shift in the exact opposite direction things have been."

I mean that's actually pretty close, putting aside obvious exaggeration, lmao.

Turns out I have no idea what to do with one of those and what I need is a person sized pillow that gives you dreams about watching netflix with the perfect woman or something.

Or one that just shoots you up and makes you all warm for a few hours. That sounds much lower tech and possible to accomplish.

I bet there's a huge fucking market for that. Both those things, the dream pillow or the old blanket with some needles stuffed in it.

This is the worst.

There's nothing wrong. Work is ok. I got the girl and she's fun and normal and really just great. I'm unhappy with my living situation right this second, but it's objectively not that bad. I haven't really been drinking, just smoking a little too much, and smoking too many cigarettes, but all in all I'm pretty good on that front.

Pretty much nothing is objectively great. The job is shit and entry level, the girl is much too far out of  my league to stick around and it's pretty evident that she won't, the living situation isn't objectively that good either. I haven't been drinking only because it just bums me out, and I've been smoking just because it makes me a little more realistic and introspective on why I'm bummed out (which, I mean, is sometimes much better and sometimes much worse), but it is, in the end, probably making things much worse.

I have some good friends. I don't like most of them, or just can't deal with their dramatic shit regularly, but they aren't bad people and probably do care about me a little.

And so on and so on. I just fucking hate it. This is the worst. This is peak mediocrity and I didn't even think that concept could exist.

I don't want to do this anymore but I don't know what to do.

The real problem is that as a human, I just don't really fit. I don't know what else I'd fit as, but I'm just not like these people, even the ones I have things in common with.

And while I'm rational enough to realize a lot of people probably feel like this, it doesn't mean you can fit with those people, because that could well be the only commonality.

I'm tired of it, man. And I think everything else wrong with me in the sense of getting depressed really just stems from that feeling. Or maybe it doesn't. I don't know, I don't think there's anything more than just gut feeling to go with on that, or any way to be more sure.

I wonder if there's a pill for this somewhere. A little orange thing that turns you into everyone else and lets you relate and just kinda float around through life. I don't want to exist like this anymore, but it's not like I don't want to exist, period, and I think I'd take well to some kind of autopilot setting.

Actually, what I'm thinking of sounds a lot like opiates. It would be great to just be able to feel stoned as fuck and watching the show while your body just does everything for you.

Maybe I'll try some anti-depressants and see what happens there. Even if it doesn't get you stoned, maybe it will autopilot a bit.

I have a handful of real things to worry about anyway. I should probably stop being such a bitch and get to work on the affect-able things like finding a new place to rent.

The River of Dreams

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fo_vn_Ilsu8

Her name means River.

Things didn't work out. But I feel good. I'd say they might still, but that's not what I feel good about, nor to I feel good about those odds.

I did the right thing.

Anyway.

I realized I don't look at love the same way other people do.

I don't think you fall in love. I think you fall out of it.

The usual way it seems to work for people is that they meet. They spend time together. They build something, and they find something they love about that thing, about each other, that they put in effort and dedication to keep and protect. It's progressive, and I can see why it's the way it works.

But it doesn't make sense to me. It's not how I work, I guess.

I fall in love with everyone, every minute of the day. I find something that just makes me shine, something that I see and go "wow, that's it. Right there." And that pushes me forward, it gives me this overwhelming drive to be around that sparkle, to be able to share in it. To be part of why it happens.

And usually, I get to. And it's always awesome. For a while.

Here's where love comes in. After a while, it seems like that shine usually dulls up a little, and while I usually try to polish it back out, it's difficult to make something old and everyday seem bright and novel.

Love, real love, for me, is always finding that thing novel, no matter what. Never not shining just because things are always shining.

Lisa said for her, it was like breathing. Despite our differences in what we want out of life, I think that's a good way of putting it, and actually pretty close to my line of thinking. She's a clever one.

Of course, both statements imply there's no work involved in this, which isn't the case. There's always going to be something. And people can always change.

But I think so long as you never lose sight of the glow, things work.

I don't think anything is happening with this, now, but I think if I'm wrong, and it does, things will work. I'd rather do things the right way, to try to make sure it plays out that way if it plays at all, than to just play around because it's a chance to be in the game.

That's what I think love is, anyway.

But here's what it actually looks like these days, because my beer is a little bitter, and it imbues a guy with that trait pretty easily. Let's turn to the more realistic side of this situation, and just the way existence allows for things in general, lately.

It sucks to even bother to worry. Or think. Or try. Like. What's the point?

Everyone can shine somehow, everyone can look right, not everyone, or rather, nearly no one, can keep it up. Not in the long term.

Anyone can keep it up for a night. Easily.

And that's amazing in it's own way. It's permanent. That one night light, it doesn't really dim or go out, because it exists alone. It's separate from reality. It's just a splinter of a moment that gets left behind when everyone is finished up and out the door. And it's all that gets left behind.

There's a beauty there, in what is left and taken.

When you let someone stay the night, or the day, or the week, or the year, you are opening a very different door for yourself. No one who is leaving is just leaving a good memory behind, and no one who enters is doing so just for that potential.

You're opening you. and anyone who comes in is going to see you, and everything that happens from there on out is going to, in some way, be about you.

When it's only one night, it's not like anyone actually really knows you. So they leave a shine.

When it's not, then you can't deny they did. And then they just leave you.

So really. Love.

Behind the building with Katie the Bartender doesn't seem like the worst place to find it sometimes.

The last couple posts have all been very preemptive.

I'm not sure why I have this anymore, truly. I guess because I'm just not used to not.

I probably could have helped you. I won't say saved, but maybe, just for this one moment, it might not be that far off.

But you're not one who can help me, and I don't think you really want to.

That's ok. I don't really want it anymore. I'm better this way anyway.

So, apparently that was a second to last post. Here's why:

Tonight everything worked out for me. See, there's this woman. And she is incredible, and always has been.

And I now know she's in to me.

And I'm so sure I will fuck it up and wreck things and lose her forever and all the usual.

But here's the deal.

After I found out she was in to me, all those thoughts flashed through my head. And then I thought "well shit, I can't even talk about this to the person I would usually tell it to, because that's her".

But then I realized I didn't. That's a big part of why I want this, and that's a big part of why it's incredible.

Nothing's changed, we just have a much better chance of sharing the same bed now.

Being into your best friend. Now that's amazing.

This one is about you, if you somehow couldn't have guessed.

So here's the deal.

you wanna know how things end for me?

I'm going to kill myself.

It's not a cry for help. The one person I've shared this with that I actually know has told me she doesn't read it. She was worried that would make her a bad friend. Not the case at all. I never impressed the importance of reading this on her. Nor should I expect some random fucking person to give a shit about me. That's really what it is. I'm ok with that.

This is going to be my last post, dear readers. It doesn't mean I've offed myself. As far as I can tell, that's at least five years away.

The simple reality is that I don't want to do this anymore.

I don't want this life anymore. You can say "it's never too late", but I don't think that's relevant. Let me present you with a problem you, and no one else, can solve. Is it "never too late" to solve the unsolvable?

You might think so. In that case, you don't get it. And that's ok.

Here's an easy way to break it down.

If I were to just dissapear tomorrow, here's the people who would miss me:

1. My parents. Dad would wish he could have given me something better. The reality is that he gave me the best he ever could. He's a great person and a great dad. Mom is a similar case. In the end, me being gone would be a bigger issue to her because it would reflect badly on her, though. I don't want to reflect badly on anyone.

2. Work. Because I'm fucking GOOD at it. Really though, they wouldn't care. I mean, as with my similar post a few months ago, they'd notice that I'd stopped coming in. Probably pretty quickly, as I'm easily the best worker there.

Otherwise. Nah. I mean. No one reads this blog. As mentioned, it's because I never stated such a thing was important. No blame on anyone else. But like. No one reads this blog because it's just not that important to them.

And I think that can be extrapolated into me being not that important to them.

Which is fine. But not something I want to live with.

So here's what happened to me, long after I stopped posting here:

I killed myself after my parents, the only people it mattered to, died. It wasn't so bad. Maybe, dear random ass reader, we met on the other side. Maybe we didn't and that doesn't exist. I don't know. But you can consider this a final note on this blog, and, should someone read this in the future, after that has happened, you can maybe consider it part of many revelatory posts.

In other news, fighting with the kiddo's mom. Among other people. I'm not sure why things need to be that way. I'm basically trying to give you money, more money than you are legally entitled to, because I want to actually be able to help our kid, and help you get through school, since you seem to have a strange financial arrangement with your husband where you don't get to use any of his money (which makes me think you're probably just relying on my support payments and student loans for non-essential things in life). I could use a little bit of the benefit of the doubt here that I'm somehow trying to fuck with you or hide my income. Maybe once you're through school, and making three times what I do in a year, I'll feel it's more fair to not have to give you anything.

And I think I got the message, elsewhere and in regards to other things. Which is disappointing I guess, but ehhh. Other things will work out in other ways, I guess.

I don't know, man. Who does, really? It's been a long, downer of a day. I'm pretty excited for tomorrow, no matter how it turns out or what I end up doing. I won't be today, at least.

I went for coffee with a friend, and then had a beer and took a nap.

I keep having a recurring dream when I nap.

It starts off in this weird version of my parent's house. They aren't usually around, and it's always night time. They have this roommate who doesn't do anything but sleep and drink beer, and laugh lecherously at random things. Gee, I wonder who that represents.

Things take some twists and turns, described by myself in dream as "a shitty bizzaro version of Miami Vice" for some reason. I end up leaving the house, and it's daylight again.

The house is where Kin Park is back in Dawson, like smack dab in the middle of the big dip across from the middle school, except it sits on a hill in the center of the dip. The street across from it, where my grandparent's old, old house was, is all overgrown with little willows and birch trees. The house is still there, but nothing else is, just the street and then the start of a forest.

I go to cross the street, because I have to meet someone. There's a dude in an old red firebird parked a little ways down, and he calls me over. He's wearing a rumpled tan suit, is shortish and pudgy and balding. I don't know his name, but he looks like an Arnold. I'm pretty sure he's a cop.

"Going to Charlie's place, eh?" he says.

"Yup."

He gives me a cheeseburger and a screwdriver, and says "Here, you'll need these more than I do."

I try to give them back, but he insists he has extras. So I take them, but somehow lose them on the way to Charlie's.

Charlie's sits a little in the forest - it's this old, green, sort of bus looking thing with the front half of the roof missing. Sometimes he pulls in as I get there, making his way through the trees somehow, and sometimes he's already there. Either way, by the time I get close, he's parked and the shrubbery has grown into the bus, making it look like it's been there for 20 years. He pops out the side door.

Charlie kinda looks like Jared Leto in Alexander, but with a couple decades of meth in his system. He's scraping resin out of his pipe with a screwdriver, and then scraping the screwdriver with a big pair of scissors. I wonder if I'm here to buy drugs.

"About fuckin' time, man. Here, I got you a cheeseburger." He throws a huge McDonald's burger into the forest. "Catch."

I go looking for it, because I somehow feel it's maybe important I can prove I somehow caught his fast-pitched meat product, but it's invariably bounced open and gotten stuck in a tree. "Nice catch, asshole. Come on."

He goes into the bus thing.

It's much, much larger on the inside than on the outside, and looks like every single clapboard trailer in the world has been bolted together, and then filled with generic hillbilly junk that you usually see populating people's yards in low income areas. The sound of rain and thunder from somewhere in the front, as well as the lack of echo in his voice as he moves around in places unseen, lead me to believe the front roof really is missing, even if it's not actually a bus. He's talking about something, but I'm not sure what, though it seems important.

I catch up to him, finally, as he puts down his scissors and screwdriver on a yellowing deep freezer. "I'll go get them, hang tight."

I know this is my chance, so I grab the screwdriver, palming it behind my wrist while I sit on a floral print futon in the next "room". He comes back a minute later, and picks up the scissors.

He mumbles something, to which I reply, "sorry, what was that?"

"I..you..have it.." he mumbles again. I ask again.

"I KNOW YOU HAVE MY SCREW DRIVER YOU LITTLE FUCKING PRICK", he screams, and he turns on me, his face contorted with rage.

And then I wake up.

--------------

You got all unhappy that I wasn't responding a ton today. I just didn't feel like talking about your problems anymore. I didn't feel like talking to anyone, really, but I really didn't want to do that specifically. Find some new topics. Not literally everything has to be about how shitty your life is, or at least, it doesn't have to be how your life is shitty in the same three ways, over and over and over. There is legitimately just nothing else left to say about it on my end.

I wonder if I do that to other people. I'd like to think I don't.

Anyway, I then make a concentrated effort to talk to you anyway, and you just get mopey and stop responding, or send a bunch of GIFs. What am I supposed to do with that?

It's totally fine if you decide you just don't feel like talking after all, but maybe say that instead of deciding you don't, seeing as you've just complained for 20 minutes about how it seems like I don't feel like talking.

This is like when you go on and on about how you aren't sure things are working in super incomprehensible terms (I don't know if you think it's super artsy or some shit, but it makes actually communicating with you super impossible because I never have any idea what the fuck you're talking about and really rarely feel like asking, since you won't ever clarify), and then just don't come online for a few days, and then get upset that I have actual real life things to do here that I try to talk about and explain concisely in regards to why they may make me unavailable for a few hours.

Here's a legit excerpt from tonight's conversation:

Me (talking about a cat, like one of the few other things you talk about): Oh. It's good you got some snuggles, then

You: *gif of a wall*

Me: Was ist das?

You, 20  minutes later: A wall and the world between and away you're on the other side mustn't you be on the other side

Me, who, while enjoying deep thought on occasion, doesn't feel like doing the Alice In Wonderland dance tonight: Who says?

You: My nightmares, the bears are directly ahead and devour me and it all seems to be because I can't paint you as in my world. Fixing different problems I try to repaint everything else around me around where you were


Me, because even though I get what you're saying, having had this exact conversation every night for months now, don't feel like talking it through anymore: So, what are you planning to do about it, then?

To which I'm sure I'll get some more bullshit about living in a tent.


I am getting angry and bitter and I don't like it one bit.

I'd rather find out if Charlie stabs me to death or not, or if I get him first.

Man, I don't know what I'm doing anymore.

Most things are good. Some important things are not.

Some important things seem like they could be, but it's not really worth taking the chance and making other people sad to accomplish.

I think more than anything, it's all just very frustrating. I know what I want, but I'm so uncertain of the reality of it that I'm not going to bother to actually make a play to go get it.

I hate feeling like this. I sort of have this feeling I'm going to get hung up over nothing, and that's just stupid.

On the plus side, I've started drinking again and that's pretty nice. It's not like I have some reason not to anymore.

Well fuck it. This booze isn't even making me feel drunk.

What a fucking lame night. I mean, the best conversation I had was about how everything sucks now and used to be better when we were kids, with some random person I don't have a ton of interest in ever talking to again. I have one beer left. The wine is gone, the vodka's gone, and the shit, super sweet whiskey is super shit.

I think I'm gonna ride my bike down to the beach after all. Waterbottle of this shit whiskey, and the fucking beer, I guess. Maybe I'll meet someone interesting. It happens. Shame the water is so fucking cold.

Shame everything is so fucking cold sometimes.

Man, you know what I actually really need?

I need a big old bottle of T1s and a screwdriver.

That fixes shit well enough more often than not, and worst comes to worst, I'll just fall asleep for a bit and wake up tomorrow, maybe feeling more like I want to be alive.

Shame I don't have ten fucking dollars anymore. I need to go collect my money from the neighbors tomorrow. It's been a few months and I'm betting I could knock myself right on my ass quite satisfactorily.

Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat.

Right, so.

I think that was indeed a good example. Me having dated two friends really doesn't seem horribly relevant to me, and, perhaps it's simply due to that, but I have trouble seeing it as relevant to you.

It's just a lack of interest in that sense. Which, hey, I'm good with. It might shock you to know that that some kind of romance isn't really my motivation here, or why I'm interested in talking to you. It's a pretty thought, but not a realistic one. If I had a dime for every pretty thought out there, I really could spend the rest of my life drunk. I don't, but I'm still pretty good with things remaining like that.

But I think as an example, it illustrates my point pretty well. I get pretty old, pretty quick. There's a certain sort of person that I'm simply never going to have much luck with.

But I really don't feel like talking about that. I've talked about enough shitty things tonight. And like, what's the point? Rehashing shit I already know about myself, telling it to someone else in the hopes of what? Like, what's the ideal end game with something like that? Who gains anything?

What's the point of rehashing it all here? I've spent 20 years knowing what the deal is here. I know the score, yo.


I'm not sure getting drunk is going to do much to cheer me up this evening. I don't know what would. I think I'm gonna get fucked up and go ride my bike until I puke.

Oh christ. This is why I can't be drunk all the time. I remember now, I'm old enough to get hangovers.

Have you ever talked to someone, and wondered if they are actually a real person, or obsequious to the point that they seem unbelievably real?

Like.

I don't know. I'm off balance right now, and that's incredibly rare.

But if you're real, if this is how you see life, if this is how you feel and react and just.... if this is how things are for you, I'm so very, very glad to count you as someone who is in my life.

I don't know.

This one is about you, dear perhaps reader.

Ayyy it's april and 27 above

I'm fucking exhausted. I'm about to get pretty smashed, but I think I've earned it. And I also made the mistake of drinking with my new Portuguese buddy at like 3 PM, a bunch of lame craft beer, so I'm pretty sure I'm slightly hungover. One of the beers was called Nut Dark, which sounded to me like tanning solution for your testes. It was pretty shit.

I've been pretty less than positive on this thing lately. I think it's more interesting to read, but it's also kind of depressing.

So some good things about life before I go get drunk and rant about crap:

It's beautiful here. Like, so, so sunny, all the time.

I did get a job. Nothing fancy, which is how I wanted it. But I think it's very well thought out in terms of my pseudo-long term plan.

I can get anywhere by bike, and there's lots of good places to go. Today I went to the beach and made friends with this really chill duck. He just kinda stood around next to me while I sat and listened to music.

It really is always beautiful here. I've been riding the bike around a lot, and going to the beach alot. The one picture up there is from last night. I stopped, had a smoke and a beer, and talked to this very nice homeless lady. We had an interesting conversation about.... well, she had an interesting conversation about something. Then she invited me to live with her. I declined, but it was nice to think I made the lonely homeless person a little less lonely for a little bit.

Anyway, that's all the positive thinking I can do for the moment. Shortly, I'll be drunk, and you can bet I'll be back.

This was a beautiful post, but nope. NOPE.

Kisses, and the stars in your eyes.

OH MY FUCKING LORD.

So yeah, some things never change.

You, of all people, show up in my messages, and start asking about things that were put to rest a decade ago.

Fuck off, dude. I literally JUST started the director's cut thing on the blog, and spent like all of yesterday correcting myself on how much you've changed, and you're here fucking around and trying to get me to validate you behind your boyfriend's back. That's not my job anymore, and it's not something I'm huge on doing either.

AND NOW I'M DOING IT ANYWAY. WHAT THE FUCK.

Though to be honest, this has perked me up. I mean, it's obviously just crescendo time, but hey.

So I'm going to turn this around on you, yo. If you wanna talk about a bunch of super intense shit that hasn't mattered for years, and act like there was some point or meaning there, while I'm coincidentally writing about how nothing has fucking changed, you can tell me about how you deal with nothing having fucking changed for you either.

Oh man. Miss me with that soulmates shit. Maybe the joke is kinda over for me? It *is* still a joke, no? You reeally want to get into that? You reeeally don't think that's maybe something we should have outgrown?

Here you go then, have my soul.

And then try to find an appropriate response to it. Because you know me so well, you truly do. And you know that there isn't going to be a response you can provide that works.

But I'll give you credit where it's due - you did pretty good, even if we both know it's meaningless. The meaning doesn't matter. Maybe I was right after all in saying you've changed a bit.

Either way, despite the shock and shudder that I initially felt, I wish nothing but the best for you, luv. Me? Well, I'm just going to fall in love and die every minute of every day.

All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain.

Anyway, different frustration. Since that's what I'm full of tonight.

You know what's pretty fucking goofy?

For all that's changed, nothing really has.

When I was a kid, I would sit alone in my room for hours, hiding from reality. Getting drunk and writing, and listening to music and staying up late. Consuming whatever was around me, wine, and vodka, and just utterly pointless knowledge, trying to just slow my brain the fuck down and bury myself in a warm layer of dissociation.

Now I'm just about thirty, and what am I doing? I'm sitting alone in my room, hiding from reality. Getting drunk and writing, listening to music and staying up late. Consuming whatever is around me, even if it's awful rum, and even more pointless knowledge, even though I know none of this actually fucking works. It's even pretty much the same fucking music.

But what else do I do, dear reader? I can't just go through "the motions", so I created my own movement, and I go through that instead.

This is the beginning, the build. I sit, and I sip, and I absorb. I chase the feeling, that wonderful feeling that tells me things I already know - everything, of course, will be ok, because it's not that bad. It's been 28 years of not that bad, and it will probably be another 28. And that's not that bad.

Soon, the second movement comes. It's not that feeling, because that isn't how this works anymore, and no matter what I consume, it simply never works like t

No, that's not true.

The happiest night in memory was when I found something stronger, and it did work. Disgustingly so.

But ignore that. It's a story for another time. This, this never works. But the feeling still builds, and the music flows through me. The world is poetry, soon enough. And comes a creshendo where I ask myself

Why can't I just do this all the time?

And you know, I still don't have an answer to that. There's worse ways to be.

My reality is simply that. I know it can be modified, and I work towards the modifications that will bring me fulfillment. But the simple truth of this, my simple, irrepressible truth, is that nothing will compare to this.

I have experienced so much. Things that I know most others will never dream of. Stars fighting on the shoulders of Orion, so to speak. I have done so much. I have lived.

But none of it compares. I'd rather spend every minute, of every day, of the rest of my time, be it finite and ending, or stretching beyond the realms of imagination and knowledge, doing exactly what I'm doing right now.

And as the poetry climaxes, as this crescendo falls around me, I know that this is how it should be. This is the ultimate. The magnum opus of my life is contained within this glass, and though it should be horrific, a waste, a sad reality rather than a thing of ecstasy, it simply isn't. That's the perception of others. That's the expectation of those around me. That is not the reality for me.

But then comes the

Well, the part where I get distracted and lose interest in writing. Some things really never do change.

But you know, I'm in this beautiful place. There is that.

I think I'm going to finish this rum, go down to the beach, and look at the stars.

Like some junkie cosmonaut

I am angry, and I think I'm gonna get just ripped.

I shouldn't have decided to drink a few days ago. It's been on my mind persistently since then. Usually, or rather, recently, that hasn't really been a problem - on the typically rare occasion I do drink, I don't really feel a requirement to repeat soon afterwards.

But for the last few days, it's all I can think about.

I don't really want to be angry, but I don't have anything else to replace it with. I don't really want to be trapped in the tedium that permeates this place either, but hey, same deal. So I'm thinking drunk it is.

"But why are you angry?" you say.

Because I don't really know what else to do.

I finally heard from my lady love tonight, after messaging her again. I said I was worried about her, which is mostly true - obviously, despite my detachment, I'm a little concerned with her just dropping off the map. I'm not sure that it's really because I care what she's doing - I lean more towards it just seeming like things are a waste of my time.

Which seems counter-intuitive. What else would I be doing with my time?

So time is maybe the wrong word here. It seems more like all the time (yes, sure), effort, and money I've put into this is pretty much for nothing.

And it's seemed that way a lot. Someone asked if her disappearing was a normal thing - it really is, even when we lived together. She'd just vanish for a few days, and present a bunch of half-true excuses for it that never really added up when she came back. I'm not sure how I expected things to play out any differently now.

Anyway, she messaged back almost instantly, and was upset that I was worried about her. Don't get me wrong, I think it was a pretty non-aggressive "I'm worried about you" message I sent her - nothing veiled or angry about it, just a "hey, are you dead" kind of thing.

"I thought we agreed not to get upset or worried if one of us disappeared for a while." was the summation of her issue.

Massively frustrating, because no, we kind of agreed we'd try to talk at least once a day so that we didn't just drift apart, as is apt to happen with these kinds of things. That we even had to agree to do so is sort of a bad sign - there's people out there that neither of us have an interest (or at least an admitted interest, depending on how you want to look at it, I guess) in that we both enjoy talking to daily. I'd like to think if everything is as it should be, your significant other is going to be someone you want to talk to all the time.

Instead, it feels like it's just been a stupid, mountainous battle to keep in touch.

Anyway, I finally get this reply, and then she goes to have a smoke for 45 minutes, and I say "well, I think I'm off to bed, hope you have a good night, maybe talk to you soon" because I don't really know what else to say. She responded a minute ago, and I'm 100% it's going to be something about how I shouldn't be annoyed and a 45 minute break in an important relationship conversation is a normal thing that usually leaves everyone feeling as though they don't need to be worried about everything.

And now I'm left wondering what the hell to do. Do I just say "you know, I have some serious issues with this"? Do I go back on there and read whatever message she's sent about how I should have no interest in why she's acting so distant and uninterested? Do I just act petty and not go on facebook to reply to her for a few days? Like, what's the win scenario here?

What I'd like to do is be able to calmly address the problem and talk it out, but I *know* that doesn't work, because it never worked in person. I had to do the "dude, if you keep just disappearing and having these weird, secretive conversations, and whatever, I'm going to dump you" thing, which is just pathetic. And then I had to hear about how horrible ultimatums are and how she doesn't respond to them.

The whole thing is just exhausting me. I was just about to start listing all the sketchy aspects of all this, but no, that's even more exhausting, so I won't.

Someone also asked why I keep her around. It's not really unfair wording. Or at least it sure doesn't feel that way at the moment.

I've been thinking about it. I think my response at the time was fairly accurate - I've given up on a lot of people who tried very hard. I've been unworthy of any effort for a lot of my life. I've thrown a lot of things away. So now, pathologically, I can't even throw something away that might be the right thing to get rid of.

There's always a dark little doubt - what if, counter to all logic, everything is completely legit?

But there's more. Like:

Why should my happiness come before someone else's, especially when that person is literally incapable of doing such things on their own?

What if I'm just being paranoid?

What if there's some far ranging consequence to making the wrong move here?

And

What do I do next, then?

I don't want to meet another person. I think I have a lot to give, these days. Maybe I also want a lot - it's hard to be objective about something like that - but I think that with the right person, I could easily return the favor in giving them the things they need from a relationship. I am willing to go a pretty far distance and put in a lot of effort, and I've proven that to myself with people like my current lady, and my ex-wife, and so on.

My vision is projected through a mirror, darkly, but I don't see the issues here really having anything to do with me, much like I don't think the issues in the last relationship had to do with me. There are some diagnosed, or diagnosable instabilities with these people, and I think a third party looking at the situation would have trouble not understanding why I'm feeling this way.

The advice literally everyone will give is "take a break, be by yourself for a while."

It's not bad advice, and it's well meaning, and I appreciate that people are willing to take the time to offer such a thing. But it just doesn't work for me.

I don't have people in my life, in general. I never have. When I was younger, it was because I was pretty terrible to be around. Now it's because I don't know how to gain the right kind of people. I'm weird and not good at being social on a meaningful, connective level. It's just the reality - yeah, I can bullshit with people pretty well, and just the right amount of alcohol makes me come across as a pretty fun person, and I can certainly act like everyone's friend in a sales capacity, but I'm just not capable of connecting right in a way that counts.

I don't attract the kinds of people I want to attract. I don't just mean in a relationship way, I'm speaking in general. There's no one out there who is excited to visit with me, or considers me a close friend, or to whom I'm actually all that interesting beyond being something of a curiosity.

I get that there's perhaps readers here again that would disagree with that, but I don't mean it harshly or bitterly or as

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hAFuD-S-e_E&index=6&list=RDTDkhl-CgETg

That comes on as I write this. Man, there's my sign for today, eh?

Anyway, I don't mean it as something that's an issue. I get it, and I appreciate that both of you have been in my life in the capacity you guys have, dear readers. You are good people, patient and tolerant and kind and beautiful in the way that actually means something. I'm glad that I get to have people like you in my life, and I'm even more glad that both of you have been a constant in that regard.

But you can't say that's not exactly true, and that's ok. It's just who I am, and how I am, and I completely understand it. I know who I am, and I know why I'm that way, and honestly, with some exceptions (I'd like to think you guys fit the bill), I get that it generally makes people incredibly uncomfortable. Even within this post, I get that it's weird and unusual to proclaim such an appreciation when it's probably not something that's completely normal in relatively casual friendships. I'm not saying this sort of thing in in an effort to change that dynamic by any means. No one has a commitment to fix me feeling like this, and no one has a commitment to fix me. I don't think anyone can, including myself, and I'm sure that knowing me, it seems pretty plausible that I would be bitter or angry or whatever, and wanting to blame someone else for it. But I don't, and that's not it - it's no one's fault, it's just the reality. It's just how I'm wired.

But I am saying it to try to illustrate a point.

I don't have people in my life, I don't know how to get people in my life, and at this, point, I'm not sure I even really want more  people in my life. At least not in the romantic relationship part of it - I don't know how to get the kinds of people I'd actually enjoy, and I am so, so tired of pulling things together all the time for people I don't enjoy.

"But wait," you say, "Isn't that just saying that yes, you should be alone for a while?"

I don't think so. I don't think that's how this works for me.

If I stop just crashing forward through this forest, I'm going to lose the trail. I'm going to forget how to find it. I have so much trouble relating and conversing and just being human as it is, and I know that if I don't keep pushing forward regardless of the results, I'm going to stop being able to do that some day.

Maybe I'll write a post up about my real mom some time. That's what happened to her, so it seems relevant. She's not the reason it's happening to me (I fucked her over long ago and we don't talk anymore), but I recognize that embittered, inhuman aspect inside of her, and I can see all too easily how she got there.

I'd like to end on a higher note - I get to see my number one girl, the best thing in my life, in a couple days. But unfortunately, I'm on the tangent of family now, and I can't help but wonder if she's going to turn out like the rest of us fuckups when she grows up.

At least I'm less angry now. I think I'm still going to go get drunk though.

It's been two days since I've heard anything from my lovely lady. Not wanting to jump to conclusions, but it doesn't seem like it's much of a leap.

Oh well. I got to contribute to supper tonight, so I'm making my utter favorite.



I don't know what it's actually called, but we call it Japanese chicken. It's utterly terrible for you, being mostly brown sugar and soy sauce, but it's something everyone likes enough that I got no grief. Still have to pair it with weird purple rice, but hey.

I think I'd take the chicken over having some awkward conversation with someone who doesn't seem that interested anymore, anyway.

They don't love you like I love you

Rereading this blog bums me out.

Today's actually been a bit of a bummer in the general.

I've been doing too much thinking lately, I think.

Oh well. I think the current issue is self resolving. I was right a couple months ago when I decided things will take care of themselves. I've got enough other things to do to be worrying about this kinda stuff, and I'm just... I'm just not interested in worrying about it anymore.

I have distance, in many ways. I have distance enough to not be too bothered, and I should take advantage of that. My future is here, not having a part of me trapped somewhere else. I'm not going to rush to free that up, but if that's what ends up happening, then I don't think it's going to be the end of the world either.

I need one of them tattoo'd animal shelter chicks who cries about how mean people are to ants or something. A radical shift in the exact opposite direction things have been.

Not really, but. Blah.

Anyway.

A frustration about this place, which is more germane - I'm going to go utterly fucking bonkers living with my parents.

I appreciate that they're letting me stay here, and aren't charging interests on loans, and are generally helping me handle my shit. It takes quite a bit of the load off. BUT THEY DRIVE ME NUTS.

I've been trying to cook, for example. I planned out to make spaghetti, because it's super simple, and I do it super well, and I can make enough to feed the six other people who are here for supper on Thursdays. So I go and buy all the spaghetti stuff.

But then it turns out that everyone can't make it tonight, so we're doing supper with them tomorrow night. Which is less work for me, so hey. But mom wants to make spaghetti tomorrow night, so I can't do it tonight.

So I decide hey, I'll make some toscino. If you haven't had it, it's kinda like philipino bacon - right after Sarah and I split up, I decided to buy some because it's this super appealing red color. It turns out it's also very easy to fry up, and super tasty.

So I went and got that, and some white rice, and some celery and stuff, as it's supposed to be a nice, light, refreshing meal.

BUT. Turns out that that's far too unhealthy for these guys. So, no white rice, because the toscino is apparently bad enough. And then, no celery and lettuce, because we have leftover veggies from forever ago.

Instead, here's what I got to do:



Best part is that I was so busy trying to defend my veggies and non-purple rice that I burned the fucking meat, the only part I was at all interested in.

It's a little frustrating.

It's all been a little frustrating lately. I don't really know what else to say right now.

<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1sZKP6h41MQ" frameborder="0" allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen></iframe>

Apparently you just can't imbed that sumbitch on blogger for some reason anymore without writing the whole post in HTML. Which I'm not doing tonight, I don't think.

I guess someone maybe reads this again, so I was thinking I should post.

Then I realized I don't actually have much to say right now. As I haven't for a while, apparently.

But.

BUT!

But, dear reader(s?), what this motherfucker needs isn't new posts. No, it needs that Spielberg shit. It needs that Oliver Stone shit. It needs the re-release, better than before, director treatment.

You got it, it's time for....

BARFLIES AT THE BEACH
Director's Cut: Round Three

In case you don't know what that is, which I expect you don't if you're just tuning in now, or, realistically, even if you've been here from day one:

Once ever few years I go back to the early days, when my bloggery was naught but that of a wee, exceptionally angry laddy, and I add a commentary to all the posts laughing at what a superb fucking nob I was whenever I wrote the post. You can see this in the comments.

I don't think I've ever gotten more than a year or so done before losing interest, and I always start at the very start, but I'm thinking it's maybe that time again.

I might also go through the couple hundred posts that were never finished or posted, and edit them until they're worth posting. It would be nice to start writing again, and this all seems like as good an excuse as any.

I also noticed, while reading back through this here and there, that I really, really need to not have Alana posts on here or anywhere ever. The "funny" story is, as my former dear reader summarized, kind of "holy fuck", and the latter story is nearly felonious. If I'm going to write about things that make me feel like a pile of trash to re-read, it should at least be things that had some kind of point or that I was the sole party to - her being massively fucked in the head isn't something I can go back and change. Neither is me running along with it, but I simply have enough bad memories as it sits.

All that aside, I think it will maybe be nice to start writing some more, regardless of if anyone ever ends up reading this. Wasn't ever really the point anyway.

I wonder why half the last post turned all white. Weird.

Bored, bored, bored. I don't think anyone reads this anymore. I barely write here anymore. I'm sorry blog, I've neglected you.

I'd like to say I've been busy, but nah, I just attract batty women who don't like me writing things. So I stopped. And it's quite hard to get going again, it seems.

But it's been what, ten years since I started this thing? Seems unceremonious to just abandon it forever.

This blog has survived longer than just about anything else in my life, at least that comes to mind. It's been more of a constant than anyone I know, or anything else I've owned. Weird and neat.

Anyway. What am I up to.

Well, I was gonna work on my book thing. It's not really a book. More of a fanfic. But not really a fanfic either. I don't know. Basically, it takes place in a universe someone else made up, but which has no actual characters or anything. So I guess you could say is based on fanfic, or something. Hard to explain, really.

Pretty simple story, and nothing too interesting - just an action-y thing kind of like Clive Cussler. I've found any time I try to write something clever, I just lose interest in it. So instead, I figured something stupid and simple would be good.

The basic story is pretty simple. Like I said, it takes place in a borrowed universe - one from a clever little game called Airships. About the only established facts in this universe are suspendium (an anti-gravity device disguised as something else, basically), it's roughly a steampunk universe (everything uses coal and is all late 19th century-ish), and there are giant airships that rely on suspendium rather than lighter than air mechanics or aerodynamics.

It's a pretty blank slate, and while I have a lot of trouble taking steampunk shit all that seriously, it doesn't need to be taken seriously to make for a good story.

Anyway. The story is about this dude who discovers the enemy is producing a wonderous new lighter than air gas (helium, which, by the way, has a fascinating extraction process probably I won't get into here), which would turn the tide in a war the dude's side has been slowly winning, because a helium ship does need coal to stay in the air, and isn't as hazardous as other lighter than air gasses. There's a little interlude because I got tired of writing about him, and wanted to do some C.S Forrester shit instead with an airship captain, but still, pretty cut and dried.

I've been trying to write a page a day, since I'm outta work for the next few months, but it's been a shit day. I'm really just waiting for the liquor store to open, because it seems like a decent fix, so I decided to do this instead.

I have enough saved up to not work until march, but realistically, I'm probably going to blow it all by the start of feb and go running off to my parents.

Oh, that's new, blog. Come the end of march, I'm running off to penticton regardless of money. I miss my kiddo, and she's gonna be down there.

I'm gonna ramble, I know it. No rambles today, blog. No rambles today.