Dear Dairy Queen,

You gave me food poisoning. I now hate you with a passion.


Dear Lindsay,

When you are 50 and have fucked up your life, or whatever you think is going to happen, please go work at Dairy Queen again and teach them how to cook chicken.

Insomaniac, or I Really Actually Am My Own Favorite Person To Hang Out With Sometimes

And now, unrelated things!

In all seriousness, as much as I'd like to leave the evening off at what I think it's a pretty honest and pleasant thought, the simple truth is today's events have prevented me from getting my nightly bud. Not that this is a big complaint, as I'd say the trade off was a pretty good one, but still, weed is what lets me sleep without any overly fucked up dreams to keep waking me up.

I have a pretty bizarre form of insomnia. I get horrifically realistic and vivid dreams, which is great when you're just having a dream about a nice day at work or whatever, but really lame when you're having some kind of heart stopping lovecraftian shit going on in your head. For ever pleasant dream, there is a novel's worth of shitty ones.

So, rather than go to bed and spend the rest of the night scaring the everliving jeebus out of everyone and everything else in the house, I end up smoking a pile of weed and then immerse myself in something requiring output for a few hours, in order to make myself tired. I then fall asleep pretty exhausted, and usually have a dreamless sleep, or at least not remember them.

Usually, this works like a bloody charm, and I get a TON of stuff done. Mostly, I will clean the house, but sometimes I do something fun, like build bookshelves or read the Bible (lots of effort with the King James version), or learn rubberband tricks, or write an incredibly indepth dungeons and dragons tabletop RPG type campaign that I don't really have any interest in actually playing but was a GREAT timekiller, or whatever else can suck up a lot of mental energy and is remotely interesting. Generally, a few hours of straight on immersion in a task, coupled with a bit of bud, will put me right out. It also gives me the claim to be a rare productive stoner.

But some nights, like tonight, I'm a little late on the punch. And other nights, like tonight I do fun but stupid things like play 4X videogames, or give myself something to think about. Then I end up with far too much to do to sleep - I just NEED to play videogames, or sit and stare and scribble shit down furiatively as thoughts blaze past. Because, you know, I forget what the empire's doing when I save and the whole Selukid dynasty will fall turns after I load it up the next day, or because the thoughts will be long gone when it's not 3 am and I'm piping them straight from an Incan monkey god and I won't be able to translate his beautiful but simple language in the morning (usually a fuckton of scribbles and some leery drawings).

So, tonight's a doozy, boys!

As an aside here, I feel like I think wayyy too much at once some times. Sometimes I wonder if this is maybe what A.D.D. is, or if maybe I'm just wired really oddly. Everytime I tell some one I think to much, I think they kind of misunderstand what I'm saying. The response I usually get is "well, you're just smarter" or something similar. I'm 24 in a little bit, and have met all kinds of people. I would certainly not say I'm really above average in intelligence, but I do think I've got a really, really quick mind. It's like computers. Let's say I have a computer that runs twice as fast as yours. That computer isn't really any smarter, it's just quite a bit quicker. And I find that usually, this drives me nuts. When I'm in a good mood, or feeling well, or a little drunk or stoned, then I can organize everything and I think it's actually kind of useful, because I can usually do two or three things at once without going nuts. When I'm really drunk, or kinda stoned, everything slows down to what feels like is probably normal, and I can do a much better job of conveying myself and getting the general point of what I'm trying to say across. This is generally a great place to be during social occasions, because I'm actually pretty fucking charming in a "fuck you" kind of way, or at least am drunk enough by this point to think so.

Anyway, on most of these nights where I am thinking and scribbling (or, playing really interesting videogames), weed somehow stops putting me to sleep, and starts waking me the fuck up.

And then I start to get bored, but not tired. I can't express how shitty I start to feel when I get really bored, and there is nothing to do but just sit and think HARD. I honestly think I'm depressed some days, but maybe a post for some other time.

So I smoke a bunch more, which wakes me up more, which causes me to smoke more.

Once this happens, my little lizard brain pops over into addict for addict's sake mode, and I get stuck in a horrendous loop. Oh, things still get done, let me tell you, just not always good things. It's one thing to joke about the 3 am Incan monkey god. It's another thing entirely to start to take it seriously, and start to build little shrines and appoint your cats high priests before sacrificing a pomegranate to feed your gods, then like six more because YOU ARE THE INCAN MONKEY GOD, AND YOU ARE HUNGRY!.

Or, being stuck so awake that you develop a sport based around the buttload of empty cans your roomates have around the house, some dull toy katana swords, and some really conveniently positioned windows.

Or, you know becoming so bored with insomnia that you draw up intricate plans for survival and gradual rulership of every century from the year 0 onwards, because you never know. I'll give you a hint - avoid Poland, don't be Jewish, and live about as far west as you can, and you're likely to avoid anything really terrible happen to you. Then starting to think about gathering supplies to inact these plans, because you never know when you'll somehow get accidentally sent back through time and a bunch of shit and trival knowledge from 1231 might be useful (hint: seriously, avoid Poland).

Or, worst of all, you get so wired, burnt and foolish that you record yourself playing an assortment of instruments made from shit around the house to the classics of the 80s and 90s.

Really, as much as the whole thing is almost always a little immature, it's actually pretty amazingly fun to go to work in the mornings knowing you spent the evening lording over some cats and looking up really old maps and playing beerskeetball and generally just kind of fucking around in a way that you just can't when people are around watching.

There are a couple pretty big downsides, though. For one, beerskeetball is a sport of only the finest of gentlemen and is quite exertive, often leaving one tired and exhausted. Planning the ultimate chronological survival guide is ALOT of fucking reading, checking, and occasionally even crosschecking if I'm alert enough. It WEARS A GUY OUT!

So, usually, I will pass out on my nice, big couch, which is quite frankly far nicer than anything I've owned bedwise in quite a long time. I will wake up an hour or two later fucking exhausted, late for work, and previously, with one or more of my roomates asking me why I'm shirtless, wallowing in my large mammal-hood, and covered in red juice. The second question is usually why the cats have leaves and shit taped to them, and why RCR is on instrumental repeat. Or, where the fuck did all these latters come from? Or, etc. etc. This is of course not exactly always fun depending on what exactly I was doing at the moment I shut down, and leaves me exhausted all day.

So, thusly, rather than just do the smart thing, knowing full well that much had be thought out before I could sleep and that I should smoke the bowl and write or something for a bit, I decided to smoke a bowl and TAKE A FUCKING BATH.

Now, something you should know about me and baths, just so it doesn't surprise anyone when it turns out I've drowned someday. I do not take baths in the sense that a mere common mortal "takes" baths. No, my baths are the baths of men, nay, of great bearded men, nay OF GREAT BEARDED MEN OF YORE.

My baths are not baths. They are fucking events, with a full band, chocolate fountains, and three course meals. My baths are so fucking awesome, that one time, I shit you not, my neighbour's propane tank exploded and blew up a good chunk of forest, rocking the ground as though I was under the feet of titans, and still, I did not move, such was the glory of that bath.

In all honesty, my baths usually only have a one course meal, unless I really feel like TAKING the bath around the house and making a mess. But they certainly are epicly long baths in which I tend to lose track of time reading or thinking or sitting in the dark pretending I'm in a sensory deprivation chamber. There are indeed musics, as I have a mo-fo'ing speaker system in here, and there was both a vodka fountain, back when I drank steady and loved stinking like vodka, and a variety of tasty chocolates, until I realized that it's just a fucking terrible idea the minute you spill it into the tub a little.

Anyway. So here I am. Like six fucking hours later. And you know what I'm doing? No, goof, I'm not sitting on the couch or in bed writing this!

I'M STILL IN THE GODDAMN BATH, WRITING TO YOU STRAIGHT FROM THE MOTHERFUCKING GODDAMN 3 AM INCAN MONKEY GOD!















So yeah, that plan fucking failed. At least my pot roast is nearly done!

You couldn't see foreshadowing, because there has never been any. So here, this one is for you.

Tonight was a really, really good night. I'm still left thinking maybe I'm misunderstanding something. Maybe it's just trained in there. Or maybe I'm still seeing what I want or don't want to see. Or maybe a pile of other stuff. In the end, I'd like to think that I'm not the only one going to bed with a pretty blown mind.

And in the end, it's a little sad. I'd like to show you some passion, because maybe you deserve it and it's been a fucking long time and I'm really a little tired of being so fucking jaded, and see where that all goes and so on, even if it turns out that nah, all a bad idea, etc.. Don't get me wrong, I think we're pretty clear on where things sit right now and agree it is good, for a whole whack of reasons that I quite honestly don't think need to be as clearly laid out as everything else, and I do think we're both pretty capable of maintaining that as it sits. Doesn't mean it can't be just a little unfortunate, or maybe even a little ironic.

But right now, in this minute, it feels like the snow's softly falling under a streetlamp somewhere a lifetime ago, and in this minute, life is good.

Anonyme sucks as bad as google

So, I've had a massively shit day today. I figured hey, I don't want to deal with any of my shit today, so maybe I'll go see what problems other people are having.

So, I pop on one of my favorite blogs (that isn't written by me), read up an interesting post on the nature of friendship, and then proceeded to type a very long, take-my-mind-off-it comment that I think actually had some relevant, decent insight, or was at least a little interesting.

When I went to post it, I was brought to a registration page asking I sign in to the "anonymous" blog site to leave my comment. I hit back, to find that my comment was now gone, and couldn't even be posted here.

*sigh*

So now, I'm really fucking frustrated with the day.

Sometimes, I wonder if I will always feel like this about life. I think there's pills I could get to make things happier, but I've finally got a group of friends who actually seem to kind of like the full range of "Steve" that they get, and I don't really feel like screwing that up.

Plus, I've found I can't smoke pot when I'm on pills, and while I may feel this sort of sedated peace in my chest, I just can't slow my brain down or make it lighter.

So I don't know. Maybe I just need to be happier with life, or toughen up, or simply make better life choices. Or maybe I am always right and the world's just really shitty and pointless to anyone with half a brain. Tough to say.

Wow. That matches the word count of my comment. Maybe I should have retyped that instead of bitching, who knows?



Anyway. ANYWAY.

Sometimes having cats is really, really fucking frustrating.

I think I have loving, awesome cats most of the time, but sometimes, I think they are vile, odorous little bastards.

For example, sometimes, my cool, loving kitties come cheer me up when I feel sick by doing cute things, coming for belly rubs, and just being awesome and mellow and cuddly.

Other times, like today, they only come within five feet of me to puke, shit, or wake me up after finally falling asleep after two days of to-the-wall insomnia. It's been a rough day, guys! I know it's hard being a cat - picking which couch to scratch up, puke on, then nap for 18 hours straight on is probably really HARD SERIOUS SHIT, but cut me a break.

I can't wait till the summer. I think I'll build a kitty plow and use them to till my massive backyard into a garden. Then they can contribute, and also have plants to eat that didn't cost me $100 and are supposed to be for my girlfriend to look at, not eat.

a little more guilt

Ok, one more addendum.

While I think I do live my life the best I can, sometimes you do need to say sorry when you meant to hurt someone. I've been maybe a little late in doing that, but have spent a lot of time recently trying to make amends - both Sam and Kristi have gotten sorry letters, though I would not have seen that coming when they were still in my lives. Sometimes, when you really mean to hurt someone badly, then you really do deserve to feel like shit, and should try to fix it. While those moments are pretty few and far between for me, I've found the best way to deal with it is to just lay it out openly and honestly. Do not expect a reply or forgiveness - in the end, you'll feel better, and that's why you're doing this.

I do not really know how reliable the sources for some of the things I've been reading lately are. They are talking about building a giant dome over Houston, Texas. Apparently no one in Houston, Texas has read The Dome. I wonder how much your property taxes go up when you now have to pay for a several-billion dollar dome. Must be fun to pay to live inside what amounts to a massive experiment. There is much talk about how it will be oh so excellent for the environment, because hey, hasn't the environment always wanted a giant dome in the center of it?

Of course, there probably is some truth to the statement that a controlled environment will save on electricity, as millions of Texans will shut off their A/C. Of course, there is that implication that comes with the words "controlled environment" that kinda makes one think that there is probably going to need to be a massive, cartoon-sized air conditioner around somewhere in order to keep the giant, three-mile wide dome from becoming a giant, three-mile wide magnifying glass in the middle of summer. Maybe it will run on happy, left-wing thoughts, and will infact save power. Or maybe one of the dome's many features is a self-contained nuclear reactor, which will not only be clean, but without sarcasm, also likely safer than a coal powered plant. Who knows?

And of course, at least according to the people presenting this idea, this will help Houston from maintaining the dubious honor of having the U.S.' second highest greenhouse gas emissions. They don't explain exactly how reduction this will happen, but this is likely because it seems pretty obvious: All the dangerous pollution will just stay in the dome, which I guess will be good for the outside environment. Imagine no wind, wouldn't it be nice?

One of the little docudrama things I watch actually did go into addressing what happens if the air in the dome heats up too much and acts as a hot air balloon, floating away and knocking over nice, tall buildings. Turns out, they have REALLY, REALLY big ropes to tie the thing into foundations, which seems somewhat more mickey mouse than placing a band around the base of the dome to me.

It should be noted that a band is indeed also placed around the base of the dome, but it doesn't appear to really be of a design to stop floating problems, at least in the concept art I've been able to find. In fact, at least as far as I can tell from various design descriptions, the base band is there to keep the dome from springing out and flattening the city.

In all honesty, I actually fucking love the concept behind this. These sort of things were originally thought up by the exceedingly brilliant Buckminster Fuller, who not only sounds like a totally fictional cartoon character, but developed some of the coolest concepts in modern architecture, design, and many other things. In fact, he is so awesome that he actually invented a word to brand all of his wicked inventions, habits, and concepts with: "Dymaxion". Of course, some ideas, like this dome, are maybe not quite solidly thought out, or perhaps were, but are not well presented. As some more examples, what happens to the birds? If the dome is easily visible, what happens to the sunlight? What about those who have to live in the shadow? And, back to birds, how exactly are you going to keep the inside and outside of the thing clean? Despite how inherently strong a geodesic dome is, it's not like you can use water bombers to clean off the birdshit.

I think what really bugs me are all the motivations presented for doing this. IT IS NOT GOOD FOR THE ENVIROMENT! It's really actually a terrible fucking idea on many many levels, at least as far as this implementation seems to be going. But it's certainly really, really cool, and a neat "what if". I think the world would be a much better place if we could admit that sometimes, we do things like building a giant, awesome, death dome big enough to have it's own atmosphere just be cause fuck you we can.


In other news, Salon magazine and several other similar rags are givin' props to that chick who played that rags-to-riches girl in that one movie that was adapted from a book based on a true story that someone made up. The tradepaper had a teal cover, originally, with the ipod sillouette of the aforementioned heroine. I want to say "Sapphire", but that may have been the author. I cannot for the life of me remember what it was called, but if you're the kind of person who reads Salon or Us, then you've probably seen the movie or read the book (I haven't), and know what I'm talking about.

Anyway, the whole story frustrated me to the point where I'm not going to look up the book for the sake of my potential readership despite having plenty of internets right in front of me. Essentially, she is morbidly obese, and, in the eyes of many, has a ridiculously terrible fashion sense. While at some awards show, she decided to stop for a photo op in some horrendously awful outfit. This of course, caused many "negative comments". From the very little I've looked deeper into this, it seems that many comments at least mention her being morbidly obese, but that far, far more of the "official" ones were bashing her shitty fashion choice.

In reply to the hatez, yo, she said something along the lines of "To the haters, I want you to know I spent the whole night crying about what you said while on my private jet on my way to my dream job".

So of course, all the peeps had to be like "OH NO SHE DI'NT!" and give her the mad props for being such a witty, offbeat girl who is rightly proud of her body.

Ok, so yeah, I think that's fair enough. As a fellow large mammal, there's nothing really socially wrong with being fat, and in this day and age, it doesn't really seem to limit your ability to experience many aspects of life in the day to day. I was a little horrified, however, at how many people in the comments section of the article seemed to think that being fat, really, truly fat, is somehow actually healthy, and that obesity-caused illness is a total myth. The general tone was consistently "she should be ok with weighing 350 pounds because it's good for you as long as you are happy with it". Maybe phys ed. has really just sunk in deep with me, but I find it really inconceivably stupid that anyone could actually think eating nothing but recycled cows and being large to the point that moving your arms makes you tired is somehow good for you just because you've accepted it. It's like saying smoking is good for you because it makes you cool, or that it's completely safe to light yourself on fire, as long as the heat doesn't bug you and you feel good about it.

I do also have a little problem with the comment itself, or rather, the incredibly overblow gleeful response the media has given it. Think about it this way: How would the media have reacted if it wasn't a fat black chick who said it?

Reporter: President Bush! Some of the people who voted for you twice now think you are infact a mentally retarded infant who is controlled by some larger conspiracy. How do you respond?

GW: Heh. I'mma cry on my private 747 all the way back to my airfield in the quarter of Texas I own. Heh.

I mean, yeah, she is obviously a little more defendable than ol' G.W., but it's really not the fantufuckotabluously amazing witty smart comeback that it's being portrayed as. It's a somewhat exaggerated "Who cares what you think?" (she is no way rich enough to actually own and operate a jet, and charter jets aren't that impressive when you see how cheap they can be), which is something her mom or friends should be congratulating her on, not the global media.


Bah, the world is a stupid and silly place.

It's taken me three days to write this - I started it, then Lisa got home (I don't like people reading over my shoulder), and then I forgot about it. But I think I was going to end this with a "People are goofy" thought.

Instead.


Hi Lindsay,

I don't know if you read this any more, but hey. I appears you are going through some fun stuff, and while I do actually have what I'd consider to be some valid input, I think I will refrain from giving it.

I really, really feel the need to say something here, as you've been trying to contact me recently, I just feel like perhaps some new parameters need to be established in our relationship.

Kinda hurts my feelings when you say "Oh gee I miss you how are you", when you haven't bothered to come see me in the numerous times you've been up to Dawson. I don't know if you realize this, but you never said thank you for driving you to Edmonton. You never really even tried to clean up the new years mess - I get Edward is weird, but he is a person too and that really destroyed his life for a while. Honestly, what I am getting at here is that I've really felt like maybe we have not been friends for a long time.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter or angry or anything. I would not count anyone from the old days, even Sophie, to be anything resembling a friend. And I'm aware I've made some mistakes too. Half-assed hitting on you all the time was probably annoying. Leaving my going away party for a while to go get stoned was kind of a dick move. And bringing Bri on the aforementioned Edmonton trip was likely not cool, though I would have loved to have been able to get rid of her at that point if I could redo it.

And I do appreciate the late night, cheer me up talks we had sometimes back then. I appreciate you bringing me Tim Horton's while I was too sick to find clothes and not minding my laying on the floor in a blanket. I remember thinking it was a pretty damned perfect day that time we snowmobiled to the rimrocks when we were dating, way back when. I really did and do fondly remember a lot of the more human, open moments we had.

So, I guess that's my thoughts. I don't know where I am trying to go with it, or what I am looking for by saying that. I guess in the end, I have some resentment I'd rather not have, and thusly feel the need to lay it out. I don't think resentment is quite the right word, but I am incapable of thinking of a better one. Don't take as a dismissal or a "hey, fuck you, we aren't friends" - it's not. I think that if I still knew you well, I'd likely find you as charming and interesting as I always have. But I don't think I really know anything about you that wasn't part of you half a decade ago, and I've just found as I've grown older that people aren't really worth it if you can't say these types of things to them and have it be a cause for dialog. So now that I have said them, I feel better about things, and perhaps we can be new old friends, or something.

Perhaps later I will put out my thoughts on your problem, though I don't think you'd find they help you come to any real conclusions beyond me being far slimier than you. But for now, I think that's really what I'd like to say, so we'll leave it at that.

Hope all is well elsewhere!

Steve



Aw, hey, one more thing, just cause. Guilt is tough. I think a lot of people who've known me for a long time think that I'm incapable of feeling it. Sometimes I've thought this too, and it's scared me - who wants to be a sociopath.

But I've come to a conclusion in the last few years. It's actually something a therapist told me many years ago, that I did not give much cred to until recently.

I am, as she described, an empath. I get these hugely overwhelming feelings from people, to the point where I have trouble telling the emotions behind statements apart from the statements themselves. For example, if someone is really mad at me, I do not hear them saying "Well, hey, that's not right", I hear them feeling "WELL FUCK YOU YOU LITTLE SHIT".

Thusly, when I cause someone pain, I am more than capable of realizing it.

Besides that, I am somewhat convinced that as long as you do not need dates or lengths of time, I have a frighteningly good memory. I can remember being in the womb, and hearing conversations my mother had before I was born. Hell, I can even tell you what she ate. I know this seems unlikely, but I have had the luck to actually collaborate this with her, having met her in the last few years.

I remember being born. I remember my new parents getting me. I remember pretty much everything from that point on, really. In fact, when I was a kid, I spent so much time talking about possesions I've never owned, and travelling to places I was too young to have even heard of with excellent clarity. And when I was really young, I would scare myself so badly that I'd get taken to emergency, because I remember suffocating to death with an umbilical cord around my throat, being killed during what I now believe could have been the firebombing of Dresden, and falling from a roof and impaling myself on a fence. I remember the last words I may or may not have been able to say to my family before I died as an old person with some illness. So I'd go on a limb and say I can even remember past lives, if such a thing exists and is or was not simply misfiring neurons or dreams confused with reality in my childhood brain.

And with that, I remember all the bad shit I've done. I can quite clearly recall kicking Kevin Derfler's baby sister (like, 4 or 5, not baby baby) in the head just cause when I was really little. I remember the first thing I actually did really really regret, which oddly enough was breaking a little laser-pen toy I had because I didn't work - you can always get the legomen who wouldn't stand up right back out of the vacuum cleaner, but it turns out you can't fix a laser reader after you throw it down the stairs. I remember making up a vicious rumor in order to try and get a teacher fired in elementary school. I remember going a little too far in an argument with someone I'd still like to be my best friend in grade 7 and losing that friendship. There are really, really very few things I think I've forgotten, at least in terms of the narration of the story of Steve.

So, I guess to me, not feeling too bad about things is just how it is and has to be. There are some things, like ditching someone on their prom night, that I will probably always feel bad for, but by and large, I simply cannot afford to let myself feel too bad about much of anything, or I will become even more depressed and unstable.

I know this is something that likely would not come easy to a more normal person, so here's three tips:

1. Remember: They would do it to you, given the chance. This applies to everything. What friends I have are good ones, but are more than happy to let me pick up the tab, or use my stuff without asking, or generally do stuff I'd consider to insensitive. No one is perfect, and forced into the choice, everyone is indeed looking out for number one in the end. Does this mean everyone out there is mean-spirited, hates you, and is spiteful? Not at all, see tip three.

2. Realize that in the end, it really doesn't matter. So something's fucked up. Or broken. Or whatever. Who cares? In 20 years, it would likely have fucked itself up, or broken, or whatever. In the end, there is really no point to anything in life. You live, you make some mistakes, and you die. Within 10 years of that, it's really likely that no one will have even remembered who you were or give a shit about your little life.

3. Realize that morality is not black, white, or grey. Right and wrong as infalliable concepts is kinda bullshit. Hitchiker's guide to the galaxy makes a good example - aliens want to destroy earth and all life on it to build a highway. Does this make them evil? Well, maybe, as they are killing billions of people. But at the same time, not really. They aren't doing it out of spite, they are doing it because they want a commuter lane. So when you really back up and look it, the concept of "bad" and "good" does not really apply to general life. I can do bad things with good intentions, and vise-versa. In the end, I feel this: Did you do it because you wanted to hurt someone, or because you thought it would make you feel better? If you aren't trying to hurt someone, then it's pretty hard to feel bad about it. I will let myself feel bad if my actions cause pain, but in the end, I can safely place that in the hands of the hurtee - I'm sorry I hurt you, but I didn't mean to, and frankly it's your problem, not mine, that you feel like this.

I think the other reason I find three to be very easy for me. Admittedly, it's not the way to win friends and influence people, but in reality, most people are unintentionally pretty rude and cruel, even without meaning to be. I will not take the time to delve into this right now, but it's somewhat proven that subconsciously, even the way humans have of talking to and interacting with eachother on a day-to-day basis is pretty harmful. While I think I'm pretty good at being much more aware of the feelings of others than a lot of people, I really don't see any need to CARE about those feelings - really, do other people care about mine, even if they aren't as obvious? No, not really.

I am tired. My hands hurt. I think that's really, really it, though I'd like to sort of explore this a little more sometime.

New Years Eve. It feels like it's been a long time since I've had one.

I only distinctly remember five new years celebrations.

The first was when I was very young. I went with my parents to the Happalas. We ate lots of crab. I drank a little wine and passed out on Anne-Marie and Pete's waterbed, to the original series of Star Trek on VHS.

There is a fuzzy memory in there of eating a horrible Finnish dish called lutefisk. I suspect many of these memories, horseshoes, and sand, and old polka music have all blended into one.

The second is of my grandfather, and a new-years spent in a comfortable chair built for the elderly. My grandmother was somewhere else. I ate lots of popcorn. I had a little bit of whiskey, and fell asleep to John Wayne. All I can think of when I remember this is how much more alive he seemed then. My grandmother is not well, and for every thing she forgets, he must remember, good or bad.

The third is Happala's again. I remember going there again when I was older, with a girl named Tylar. She was beautiful then, and things were happy. We ate a great feast, lit candles on the traditional fire-hazard tree, and drank some wine and passed out to Audrey Hepburn movies, on DVD.

Of course, I got bored. She told me once afterwards that her parents had thought we would get married. I wonder sometimes where things would be if that had happened. There is no lingering sentiment in this, just a curiosity that is driven by a current boredom.

Sometimes, I wonder this about many past relationships. I do not think I'd be happier. I wonder about many things, most of the time.


The fourth memory I have is of the first new years at my house. We were hammered, and naked, and in the hot tub and on the beds, and on the trampoline. It was the best kind of freedom. I think that when I am old and die, this is the place I want to revisit before I pass. Nothing was right or perfect, but for a few months, while my parents were gone, and the bank account was full, life was really, really just ok and happy.

The fifth is of a new years at my house again. I don't remember the night - I remember what happened after. I suppose that likely should have been a bit of a heads up. but hey, for some reason, I still write these. And I'd like to think it's not solely for my own perusal. So what do I know, anyway?

And that brings us to now. Where I am drunk, and very stoned, and smell and feel like shit. I have spent the night cleaning puke, and looking after the friends of the girl I like, and generally doing a bunch of absolute bullshit I had hoped to avoid having to do tonight.

I feel as though I have done my penance in life. Yes, I was a shitty person when I was younger. And now, my life is pretty darn shitty by the standards of today's living. There is certainly good, but I cannot help but look around and feel like this is just a cheap, terrible way to live. I do not like that I will never accomplish anything significant in my life. I do not like that I am now a pretty nice person for the most part, but still repel people. I do not like that the few people I find worth my time do not find me worth theirs. And I do not like going to stupid fucking new years parties, where I am not welcome until my previous alchoholism has rendered me the only one capable of standing, and a bunch of immature fucking pedants need my aide. And regardless of all that, I get it - fair enough, I guess.

So that's my thought for this new years - I hope all the best in the world to the people that want it. I don't, and haven't for a long time. Just let me die, already.