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.

The suicide prevention hotline number is busy, and the chat thing is full. Now THAT's depressing.

I didn't know where else I could put this, but figured it was an observation I'd like to look back on in the future.

I wasn't serious, just alone. I got fired. My girlfriend is who knows where. My family's all gone, and my facebook had a fake name, so I lost really anyone to talk to. I figured I could BS with some volunteer for a few minutes and probably feel better about things. No luck tonight maybe.

So instead, I poked around on dontoffyourself.com or whatever. I found this interesting:

A famous psychologist once conducted a study of Nazi concentration camp survivors, and found that those who survived almost always reported strong beliefs about what was important in life. You, too, might be able to strengthen your connection with life if you consider what has sustained you through hard times in the past. Family ties, religion, love of art or nature, and dreams for the future are just a few of the many aspects of life that provide meaning and gratification, but which we can lose sight of due to emotional distress.

I think, fundamentally, that's sort of my biggest problem at the moment. I don't have much belief about what's important in life. My last serious goal was to clean off the couch so I could lay in a sunbeam. It took me like two months.

I don't have family ties. I don't have religion, not in a traditional sense that brings a human network, or love of much of everything. I don't even have anger or hate for much of anything. I have what I guess you'd call "crushing ambivalence".

I'm certainly not clamouring to die or anything, but the anti-suicide site's actually done a really good job of kind of elucidating that I really have nothing to live for.

I kinda think this is the norm, honestly, simply because it's so subjective. I mean, what do you have to live for? Would you actually no longer want to live if you could never have that? I think really, people just go on because they do. This business of "things to live for" is simply a more attractive outlook than "well, it's all kind of pointless but that isn't really bad per se". It's also catchier.

Ya know, I'm ok with that possibility.

I mean, I like being with you. But I honestly also kinda miss not being with anyone. It WAS pretty lonely, don't get me wrong.

But I'd actually managed to kinda fix that by the time you came along. Actually, I'd managed to fix most of the things I wasn't happy with. You were the icing on the cake.

It occurs to me that I kinda like cake in general. Icing is nice. But if the icing becomes more important than the cake, it's maybe not so nice. If I'm spending more time getting the icing to look nice, then it's less time spent actually enjoying the cake.

So I mean, yeah, that's my failing. I don't want to put a bunch of effort in. I'm ok with that being my fault. But it's about all I'm gonna do. I'm really good with whatever, because you really are just my icing.

If you wanna do something about it, I certainly won't stop you. It would take all of about three minutes of action on your part to fix what you're not happy with - this is, after all, something relating only to you, that you yourself are doing. I don't comment on it, bring it up, let it bug me, or really care about it - it's YOUR thing. So I mean, if you don't like it, then... well, really, stop doing it. I've been pretty clear that in this regard, I can't help you. I can only really dictate my own actions, feelings, and thoughts.

This is Sil when she's expecting a picture to be taken. She might look at this one day and see I used the other picture. So here, here is one you like.

 

Anyway. I wonder how things might have turned out in a different universe. Not that they turned out badly here by any means. It's just an interesting thought.

Well, I guess I'm still doing this, yup yup. Oh well. She's still got the right stuff in many ways.

< This is Sil. She isn't as harmless as she looks.

I asked for a pretty significant raise at work a few weeks ago. The idea was this:

For what I usually do at work, people working other places, doing the same things, will usually make about three times as much as I do per hour, at least after they've been there as long as I've been here.

A place in town is hiring at $30 per hour to do this same work. That's a few bucks more than I make now, and more importantly, it would get me the fuck out of having to be here. I really, really am not a fan of here.

Of course, after you've been at a place for half a decade, most employers interviewing you will ask why you left. That would have been a bit of a long story - I hate it here because there is an official policy built completely for me. I truly, truly have a different set of rules than anyone else working here. Sometimes it's nice, often it's not, and I have no idea how it came to be in the first place.

But I didn't really feel like explaining that in an interview. A lot of the shit that goes on around here is, honestly, not the kind stuff I'd really believe happens if I wasn't here to see it and deal with it myself.

So I figured, well hey. I'll ask for this raise. I won't get it, and then when I go interview, I could simply point to my vast resume and all the things I do here, and tell the guy "I want to quit there and work here because I'm already doing all these things, think I have a future in them at a place like this, and because I'm not being compensated at a level everyone in this industry deems to be fair." Or something like that. It would have been a good justification.

Instead, I got the fucking raise, and my boss said "well, now you're all in, eh? Gonna be sticking around!"

I guess on the flip side of that - they can't really fire me now, either. In my very persuasive argument as to why I deserved more money (I should have maybe half-assed it, but hey), I think I finally made them realize that without me, literally half of their business just falls apart. Unless, of course, they're willing to bring in people who will accordingly demand the aforementioned two to three times what I make fee.

I don't know. On one hand, I'm making more money to basically fuck around all day (I'm vital here, but don't really have to actually put in much effort just to keep things running), work on my vidya game, read, etc. On the other hand, I'm now kinda stuck here, and I'd be shocked if I get another raise pretty much ever. Not that it matters - I already have wayyy more money than I need.

Which in itself is maybe a weird complaint.

It turns out that the vast majority of my spending doesn't actually come from me. The only reason I've ever bought or rented a house is because some girl wanted me to. The only reason I've ever really eaten take out or anything is because I hate being the only one who cooks and cleans. Etc. etc.

I don't actually cost much. I live in a quiet, little apartment. Before I met Sil, I always cooked, quit drinking, drugs, and smoking. I didn't drive because I really don't need to.

This is a fairly recent picture of my place. I have nicer couches and a bunch of fish and stuff in there right now.

It also turns out that I'm really not good at saving money. Well. I try. But then I meet someone. Or want to do something. Or, as has happened many times over the last few months, someone that someone else, such as Sarah, owes money to, will track me down to get me to pay her debts. I usually do because I feel some sympathy for those suckers.

Whatever happens, it usually fucks my delicate budget. I'm used to having a few thousand bucks free at the end of the month. When something comes up, that stops happening, and suddenly, I can't afford my nice FO internet or a month's supply of tocino, or any of the little things I do usually splurge on.

I can't help but think that if I was always more broke, I wouldn't be so broke when this kinda stuff happens.

Meh.

I am an idiot.

----

Oh well.

I had a dream last night. We were at this big show of some kind, in this giant semi-open air mall thing. Most of it was fairly unremarkable, looking around, whatever. We were fighting, because hey why not.

My old pal Lucas was there, playing guitar and stuff, and there were drums, all just sitting in this big hallway, so I jammed with him for a while. Afterwards, I had some really big fight with you about something, and basically said "alright, that's it". You stormed off up the huge staircase, all sad and crying. I went and played drums and laughed and had a good time, and made sixty bucks some how, and generally kinda forgot about you.

Then somehow, the kids from the simpsons showed up, and I had to look after them. One of them ran away, but I couldn't go find him while dragging the others along. So I left them playing on the edge of the roof (which lead to some interestingly weird world moving vertigo when I got near it. Anyway, they're cartoon characters, I figured they'd be fine.), and ran off to find the other kid.

Then, somehow, the place caught on fire. The nearest door was locked. I was pretty tired and didn't really want to deal with it, so I went to bed. Let me burn, whatever.

But no. You kicked down the door to my room. Smoke poured in from the hallway, and I could hear screams and shit as the whole building started to come apart. You were wearing this suit made out of soaked rags. I guess I'm only assuming it was you, since you looked like a pudgy version of the scarecrow from batman. Anyway.

"Hi," you said, like we were going to talk about shit and work it out or cuddle.

"We have to get out of here!" I cried. If I wasn't going to burn to death in peace, I didn't really want to burn to death.

"Why?"

"Because the building is on fire?" I motion around, incredulous.

"Oh."

I notice a door at the end of the hall that clearly says "Outside". Somehow I missed that before.

"Look," I jump out of the room, "We can get out right over there."

"Why?"

"Uh"

"But it's so cold out there."

Then you grabbed my arm, trying to drag me back so that you didn't have to die alone from your own actions.

I woke up before it happened.

----

I think it's actually a good parallel to what's happening here.

So here's my plan. I'm just not gonna worry. Que sera sera and shit, you know? Worrying gets me nowhere, as does actively trying to do anything about things. I think I'll just not pay attention. I don't really know what else to do and don't give enough of a fuck to think of a better plan.This is something for now. It doesn't mean forever, and for now is good enough.