But lately I've been sleeping all alone.

I was supposed to have a nice night with the house to myself this evening.

Which is good. The week has been six kinds of shitshow. Seven or eight kinds, really, depending on how inheriently bad you take the events that term refers to to be - much of the week has just been really, really confusing.

I was going to put something else here, but let's maybe do that some other, cheerier day. Everyone is already having "fun" tonight I think.

I was supposed to have a nice night by myself, as it is Lisa's turn to go out with her version of the boys. Unfortunately, the girls are not as interesting as watching me sleep or play video games or something, because that lasted till like 1030.

Lisa is an amazing person, who I don't appreciate half as much as I should. But it's really, really nice to just be by yourself sometimes.

I wish I had some fresh pomegranates.

I'm lousy with advice. This is the wrong thing to be talking to me about, to be honest. My only knowledge of this particular topic is my interest in you, and while I feel safe in saying I'm not biased, it's pretty hard to tell you what I honestly think without seeming to be. I can also draw on my experiences and choices and tell you about them, but you've seen how my relationships turn out, right? And what would seem to be pretty obvious facts about you guys may not be at all the case - I really don't know.

You are more than welcome to, because hey, I'd like to think I could talk to you about that stuff too, and you'd listen. I just think it should be clear that I'm pretty bad at giving opinions on things like this.

Oh well.

I caught up with Mikey again today, and he says the party was all good and that I was in the right in the end. Seems pretty irrelevant when I think about it hard enough, but I did have a pile of fun running that show for a bit.

I'm surprised my head doesn't hurt. Actually, I feel pretty darn good right now, at least in terms of mental clarity. My lungs are killing me, but that's a different mess, really.

Well, that whole night took some very unexpected directions.

I find it just a little ironic who liked that status. From what little I know of them, they could stand to grow up a little too. One girl with no concept of how real life works and who really needs to come to terms with reality in oh so many ways. Another one who never has much of anything to say, but likes to act all emo and deep and make it seems like there is something more substantial underneath it all, all the while talking about how honesty is king.


I don't think I'm going to go out with the boys again, not for that kind of thing. Oh well, at least there were some fun parts.

I think I broke my middle knuckle on my index finger. It is sure strangely lumpy, anyway. But I can bend it just find, so I think it's ok.

Yesterday was a bunch of good example as to why I don't really like doing things with people anymore.

Ask me why I play myself, play myself for a fool.

Wow.
I am like fall over, can't type hammered.

I think it was a good night. I hung out with some cool people. I hung out with some shitty people.

Wow, yeah.

Despite tonight's bullshit, I think I feel pretty good about life.

I did a good thing tonight. It made someone who is very good to me very happy.

Or, at least, I think it did.

I also made a huige ass of myself. I know this was appreciated by certain people. Maybe some more than others.

I like the boys. In general, they are nice, good people who mean really well . In practice, I Have nothing in common with them, and really have trouble relating to them on in any way that seems important.

I don't like this. It all seems so clear right now.

What is wrong with me? Why am I even thinking about any of this.

I mean, I'm not stupid. I can see things for what they are. I KNOW what they are, and do not even try to delude myself.

Life is what it is, and that is what it has always been and always will be.

Fuck, I am in a cruel mood. I know it does not really show.

I am sick of looking after everyone. I am sick of being there to clean up and fix things and make everyone have happy endings. I don't even fucking like people, so why am I always so fucking worried and codependant? Why is it the minute I feel that I don't really have to be, and that everyone can just co-exist and have a good time, everything gets all fucked up?

I don't understand jack shit about things like this.

My best friend in the world right now is a fucking cat, who realizes how shitty I feel and who is nice and close and just fucking there and unconditional and not worried about anything. I don't even like fucking cats. They shit and shed and make a racket and are generally pains in the ass.

You know how I spent my fucking night?

i'll tell you.

I was woken up from a nice fucking sleep with my loving girlfriend on my comfortable couch while watching a show I like after smoking a nice, relaxing bowl.

"Hey dude, let's go pull this fucking douche out of the ditch. We're bringing some other person you really can't stand to be around. You can give me gas money and buy booze and it will be fun."

Well, ok. I am feeling off and shitty and could use a ride to the liquor atore. Yes, this douche is douchy, and I can't stand that other dude, and really, I had kind of a lousy day and would just like to sit with you, my friend, and play video games and not have to do what I know is inevitable.

But you know what? I'm fucking annoyed. I don't want to type all this shit out, because at the end of the day, this writing shit is really more for my benefit than yours, dear reader, and I have done this bullshit enough to know it by heart.

So let's just go to a little while ago. you promised some cokehaed motherfucker that they could come back and party with their douchbag brother, whom I was forced to awake from my nice comfy nap to go yank out of a ditch cause he's a shit driver. They, of course, had to show up with nine other fucking douche cokeheads.

Let's skip farther, because fuck this.

So, two lines and 80 ounces of booze later, here I fucking am. I spent all night looking after your fucking friends. I get to come home to a girl who thinks I'm fucking cheating on her because I can't come back until three or four in the morning because I was busy looking after your ongoing shitshow.

this is my fucking life. Sometimes, I am Ricky. But mostly, I am fucking Julian. For those who don't get what I'm saying here, I am the fucking mom. Everything I do is mpotivated by some outside bullshit source. I'm sick of it.

So while I was planning and hoping to just be a bit drunk and happy and sitting at home thinking sleepy, happy thoughts, instead, I am sitting here annoyed, feeling like shit from the inhuman amount of had liquor I've poured into my body, and wishing that I'd just walked to the liquor store and gotten drunk with the one someone I always feel I can actually relate to - myself.

it's not nearly as fucking depressing as it sounds. After I finished fixing the crackshack, bandaging my fucking knuckles, and clearing the riffraff out of my "best friend's" little shithole before they burned the house down, I got to sit and relax and watch trailer park boys and giggle to some immature shit and just be alone and by myself and enjoy being hammered.

And that was fucking GREAT. I felt like I was being rewarded for making myself act all sober and responsible and looking after a bunch of shit I don't really care about all night. And even that wasn't bad - I think I made a new friend with which I might actually have some profound conversations with sometime in the future. Provided, that is, that I didn't scare him right the fuck off by bombarding him with my best saleman tirade about how coke is bad, despite the fact I'd helped him "dispose of it earlier".

I fucking hate coke. I hate the down. I hate the up. But it will tire you the fuck out. There's something I bet you did not know about me - I used to really, really do DRUGS. Not like, nice drugs like pot of booze, where it's not really that big of deal. I am being completely honest when I say that type of shit is a complete last resort and I have massive regrets about doing it tonight. I have not done that in a long time.

I just knew that the minute shit started getting out of control that I'd either have to relate to these people or just fucking leave. I couldn't leave, because I just can't take another fucking night sitting here doing nothing but talking to myself and writing shit and hanging out wit the cats, and I just can't, can't relate to people.

I think this is pretty fucking evident if you look back through some of these posts. I think...

Well shit. I think I got distracted here. Sometimes you get a curveball.

I think it's just really time to realize that none of this shit really matters, and that it does not need tobe part of my life.

there is more to write, but there's also a worthy distraction. So, this time, I think it will go to the distraction.

No. No no no no no.

You are not seriously going to let yourself have this whiney, emo scenester bullshit conversation with HER, are you? DUDE. LIKE. You would throw rocks at her, what the fuck?

Dude, fuck off. yes, this night has been ridonkulous. Yes, you feel like this and that and all the other.

Yes, you've got that burning, desperate need for SOMETHING, ANYTHING, that fucking MEANS SOMETHING and feels real and solid and can be counted on. I get that. But you HAVE things that your sober self can count on. You HAVE good friends now, even if they cannot hold their liquor. Please don't fall back into this same old shit.

I think I am more sober now. What am I doing? Why does it matter?

blah.

Aliis si licet, tibi non licet

"Hi there, sailor!"

I can't believe I still had a picture of her, and a very flattering one at that. Note that despite the fact she is standing in this picture and is not much taller than the bed, and generally presents a pretty innocent air, the crazy eyes are quite evident.

I do not have the time to tell this story right now - the minute the boys get home, I'm heading over there and enacting my plan of getting "make mistakes" hammered. They are great guys to drink with. But more to come tonight.

In a little more direct response to your blog, I'm not sure why you always find yourself on the end of affections. I mean, I can speak for myself and feel that I could put forward a few good theories as to the others, and could maybe share why I think certain people find me somewhat appealing for perspective, but perhaps you're just a very likeable person. Sorry, I guess.


Netflix is so full of weird shows right now.



Smokin' crack cocaine make you crrrazy.

I think of far too much far too quickly at times like these. The worst part is, none of it is really important or relevant to life. It's just thoughts. Trivia and theories and hypothetical situations, each of which could be a blog of it's own and at speeds that don't really even allow much reflection on why I am thinking about whatever at any given time. Sometimes, I think I have these really deep epiphanies and interesting thoughts and it's actually kind of worthwhile. Other times, like now, it's just neverending goofiness and song lyrics stuck on repeat.

I would kill a nun for some sleeping pills right now. Or a drink that isn't more goddamn awful gingerbread Kahlua.

I miss always being drunk right now. I don't when I am, I didn't when I was. But right now, it would feel really nice and help me relax, and make it not matter how lame work is going to be tomorrow, dealing with a bunch of pissy people while even more tired and pissy myself. I want to just get fucking sloshed off of some really nice vodka, and go for a walk, and make an ass of myself. I want to stumble around and ramble to myself and feel all warm and fuzzy and happy with the world. And then, I want to go to sleep.

Unfortunately, gingerbread Kahlua tastes like regular, syrupy Kahlua with bits of gingerbread man asshole ground up in it, and is going to make me feel shitty. Obviously, I'm still going to drink it, and now that it's half done I'm starting to feel better.

Well, there's some good contradiction.

Writing slows everything down and makes me tired. The problem with it is that when I stop, then I start thinking.

I think what started all this was re-reading through some old blog posts because I was horribly bored and doing another director's cut. yay!

I got onto getting real nostalgic, and thinking about Tangerine. Fucking Plan A Alanna, who is possibly the most insane person I've ever been with. I did not stumble on the bulk of posts alluding to her, because I don't know that any have ever existed, but it got me remembering.

Thinking about it right this minute, I've reached a conclusion: Honestly, I think a lot of my nightmares could probably be traced back to that crazy motherfucker. I'm only partially joking about them. Just like a day with Tangerine, lots of my lighter dreams feature a short drive, some mildly disturbing shit I don't care to relive, and then some even more disturbing shit involving a little bit of blood. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking or how I got into that shitty place in the first place, but, with the exception of her last little facebook message to me before she gave up or lost interest or whatever motivated her to go away, my time with her was undeniably the most fucked up series of bizarre experiences in my whole life, and something I have never really told anyone about.

I probably should sometime, but it's too late now and I'd rather just sleep and forget about it.
Don't trust people who can know you in an instant, and don't trust really tiny women.

Right now, I can think of two or three things that would either help me tire out and collapse, or help me get to that point of perfect comfort where you fall asleep even if you don't want to.

This is frustrating. By the time I enact any of these plans, it will be much later than it is now, and I'll be worse off tomorrow.

I feel like I'm beating a dead horse with the sleep thing. I have not been getting much lately, and it's foremost on my mind. Blah. Blah blah blah. This is most unfortunate.

I forgot how much I liked this guy's music. I think the cats like it too - they joined me in dancing around the kitchen and making noises that could pass for singing all night to the oldies. I guess it's possible they were just trying to bite my feet and were making the I'M FUCKING CRAZY noises, but I'd rather take it as a nice sentiment, personally.

Gads, I'm bored. You'd think I'd be a bit tired by now. It feels like there is something I'm forgetting here that's rather important. I don't know if it's something I was supposed to do today, or something to do tomorrow, or something else entirely that doesn't matter a ton, but that is still driving me crazy because it won't come to mind.

Anxious. That's maybe a better word for it. I mean, I'm bored, in that I have nothing to do and am kinda just sitting here feeling off, but I'm also a little wound up and I don't know why.

I've been writing a lot about all sorts of stuff lately. There are many a page in my little den room full of ramblings and scribbles. Maybe I'm feeling the need to write, because I've been writing so much.

When I talk about the Incan Monkey God, this is kind of what I'm meaning. Why am I writing? Because I'm not tired. Why am I not tired? Well, duh, because there's things to write!

I think, fundamentally, I am really bored with life right now. I don't know why, because lots of absolutely, unthinkably insane shit is going on all around me right now. I just feel really detached from it.

Maybe I'll blame Sophie. Seems to be a common thing, and it would sort of make sense that that's why I'm feeling all reflective and annoyed.

Sure. That seems easy. Let's go with that.


You know who looks like they suffer from truly frightening dreams? Bear, my preferred cat. He goes into convulsions and screams in his sleep. I feel really bad for the little guy - he's my buddy and very affectionate with me. We did not used to get along very well, but that's changed over the last few years. He does not sleep a lot either, so when I go to bed, he will usually come with me and snuggle up under the blankets. He knows I'll keep him safe, and I always sleep better with him there - cats are supposed to ward off evil spirits, and as much as I really don't subscribe to that kind of thing, my subconscious probably does. At least that's my theory. It could also be because I know if I have a shitty enough time of it, I'll bump him, then he'll have a shitty time and claw me, then I'll wake up and we can both go have some nice warm milk.

Simon, the other cat, is stupid as a bag of fucking pretzles. All you have to do if you want to cuddle with him is hold him down for three of four seconds, after which he forgets whatever else is happening and that he wasn't already cuddling you in the first place. I have not bonded with him as much because of his malleability, despite the fact that he is a pretty loving cat.

There are a bunch of severed deer heads in a bucket behind the store right now. I'm not sure quite how I got here from "cats", as usually the associations there are "hairy", "smelly", or "tasty", but I suspect it has a lot to do with the Monkey God. Anyway, buckets of severed deer heads, still bloody and probably on the verge of rotting. No one knows what they are doing there. I spent the day asking if anyone knew what to do with them, and suggesting that maybe we should just give Johnny Fontaine a part in the movie.

No one got it, which is pretty fucking typically. I guess it helps confirm that not only are they not a staff member's or a customer's, they weren't put there by the Goddess for comic relief either.

I should go to bed. This whole week has been pretty shit in terms of getting well rested. I never sleep a lot, but it's not often I will not sleep at all for a day or two. I miss waking up all alert.

I don't know what the problem is tonight. I am a little high but not really stoned. It's late, and I'm relatively warm and comfortable. I can't see any solid reason why I should not be ready to go sleep well and calmly. I have my guesses I suppose, such as feeling like there's something off and so forth, but I don't see any real solutions.

Oh well. I think I will go make food, then watch some Lilyhammer and go to bed.

A tight, tight tight dress, she was a psychedelic mess.

Dear old Sophie is back in town, "this time for evas", and we had lunch today.

Here's how I think this is all going to go. Rather, he's how I know it's going to go, because this is how it happens every fucking time she decides we should hang out.

We will go over to her place, as Lisa doesn't want her over here. We'll sit and smoke and get fucking plastered, then go watch some movies.

She will fall over onto the couch, and slowly edge over to me, then be all cuddly. Sometimes this is an issue, sometimes it isn't.

Should I be in the mood to not find it an immense problem, either because I'm quite drunk and know that it's not really hurting anyone, or because I'm incredibly pissed off, we will cuddle up a little bit.

Then, she will make a move. Usually, it's pretty damn easy to see this coming - usually into the four bottle of wine, she will start giggling like a schoolgirl at everything.

I'm pretty happy to say that I'm very good at rebuking these moves.

Once or twice though, it has kind of gotten away from me, and suddenly she will be half naked and begging to go to bed.

Of course, this is where it all stops. I really, really have no interest or attraction to her. When I was attracted to her, way back when, it was because I couldn't have her, not because we have anything in common - I mean, I'm a mess, but she's a fucking shitshow and kind of a dick at the heart of it. I don't outright say that of course, but I do always make it really, really fucking clear that I'm just not interested, and even if I was, well hey. She certainly had ample chance for that kind of shit when we were kids, and I the whole concept of "now it happens, because now it's convenient for me" actually fucking irritates the hell out of me.

Don't get me wrong. I get the hypocrisy here, as most of my relationships have started out of something that was convenient for me, then elongated by guilt at the concept of breaking a heart or because it's a really secure place to be. I mean, look where I am now. Not all that different. BUT, it should be noted that with the present glaring exception, I don't keep people on a hook and am very, very final about things when the time comes. None of this prancy, maybe-maybe shit that has defined me and Soph's relationship. So I think it's cool to find it a little irritating even if I'm not much better.

After I make this clear, she will become immensely pissed off in that "I'm really mad but can't actually say anything because you're kind of right" Sophie way. I will leave, and within a few days she will be back off to Vancouver to smoke meth and hang out with homeless anarchists.

I am always left kind of drunk, which is nice, and really, really glad that I dodged that whole fucking bullet back in the day.

I think eventually, she will realize that all she really wants out of me is some self-affirmation and to have someone who's opinion she respects make her feel better by choosing to set aside their whole life for a bit and cater to her emotional and physical needs. I believe it also reminds her of an easier, simpler time, when this sort of shit was no big deal. I think she'll figure out that, hey, that is and almost always has been the basis of our friendship - she would give me something to chase after and be sad about, and I'd make her feel good by constantly letting myself get caught up in her life.

As of last year's debacle, I realized that all I'm really looking for out of her is free fucking booze and someone who can keep up ok.

So, I think after this time around, that maybe that will be that, messages will be gotten, friendships will likely be done, and the rest of the world who has to constantly watch this fucking train wreck will breath in a big sigh of relief.



I think I've posted this song like twice this week, and have plastered my facebook with lyrics from it and other sublime songs, but it kinda works out here. I wonder if I will ever out grow this band - it sometimes seems there's a lyric for everything in life.

I'm supposed to go over to Rocco's tomorrow. He wants to watch monty python and get baked. The guy is 44 years old and has spent a good chunk of his life in one of the most liberal countries on the face of the earth, and he's never tried weed. Must be the East German upbringing - the Reds don't like the Green. Should be fun, as Rocco is the shit - in fact, I have a strong that we will likely end up getting a place together eventually, as we are both excellent at getting kicked out of our houses by the women we are with and could really stand to have a crash pad. After all, he can't always be sleeping on my couch, and me on his, if neither of us own couches anymore.

Maybe no one really ever outgrows anything. Maybe I'll see if his guitar's in tune, and teach him sublime songs. Lulz.