Disaster Mature content No. 232 Published March 17th, 2021 9:54am pdt read ( words) Past entries "3-15. At least now I know. Bad, but I know, finally. Monday morning and in the quiet. I have little to do today, so the other ideas and projects will be considered. One auction ends later, too. Lots of money, that one. I shall put it to good use. You may notice the images are not of requisite quality, however I could not secure anything better. They are the last two since hitting the one-thousand mark down the page. I included these particular forms due to Cindy carrying pretty much everything about which I have written in the six years since 'Darkest...', and the unknown face below which resembles Andrea in too many ways to go into right now. That kind of thinking hurts these days. It really does. She was the angel from on high. Like everything else in the world which has caused protracted thinking, she is quite gone for good. Upon seeing the image for the first time, I considered Alicia. Maybe her? Doubtful, yet very close. Each image defines the current period. So, they are here as a last-ditch effort for displayed beauty. No more of it. I am not spiraling, though. I am fine. Thoughtful, but fine, despite seeing the closest approximation to the angel of the universe. The issue of my heritage has been in mind too much lately. I cannot shake the idea of no longer taking pride in the past or any relationships to the same. This is too difficult now. Each second which has passed since first learning of the paths back into the old world has the facts shoved so deeply and permanently that disaster is right behind my eyes. It is a constant. No matter the media, conversation, or activity, the shitty life-altering facts will not leave. They have affected all of me. Nothing is good anymore because the heritage follows every Goddamned step. Pride is gone; dissent remains. Disdain. Dis-everything. I am distant. Dis. I have no illusions any longer. The path has straightened and the end result known. No surprises, nothing different, and no more looking forward and hoping for good. The discovery was the end of it. The end of everything. Just a shell, a fraction of what I was. As mentioned in the previous entry, the walking with head held high is forever gone. I will hide. Today. The usual. Very windy outside, too. Cold, like my world. Like the last few months, the idea is downsizing. The auctions have gone pretty well and other items are gone. I will continue to reduce myself. Smaller footprint, just in case of a scrape. The work today already appears simplistic, calming, and exactly what I need in order to maintain quality of life. The little steps, breaks here and there, and the road to each evening. As I have stated far too many times, this is all I have. Any other control is both absent and disheartening. The control is important enough to force the realization that without it I am finished. Shell. Pause. Image number 999. Cindy is amazing but she doesn't matter anymore 10:46am. The day is now wide open. Routine finished unless I decide to hook up the washer drain. Perhaps later. The fourth show is on yet again due to issues with the gangsters. Stop. 3-16, 6:05am. Tomorrow will be a year since the first shelter-in-place order and nearly the end of me working. A fucking year. Yesterday's auction turned out to be the best part of the day. The price went nuts in the last few seconds, the purchase was paid immediately upon completion, and I had the package at the post office within thirty minutes of ending. Unreal. These days I don't have much going on so I try to focus upon getting things out the door as quickly as possible. The sale is facilitating more downsizing. Big items out, small items in (if indeed necessary). In this case I am adding two nearly-matching knives to the small collection, and honestly two I did not believe could be found, ever. One more soon and the lot is finished. More downsizing of things will continue today. Rosalind is fantastic sometimes. I lost track for a little while during the afternoon and barely got it back. The day turned into a toughie due to a lack of direction again. The last of the hardware for my retractable clothing rack arrived on the porch late yesterday, so hopefully I can get the thing rolling later this morning. There is also laundry and some dry cleaning. On top of the typical crap, this is good. I need things to do lest the sofa becomes too inviting for my tired self. I just cannot have the stagnant shit during weekdays anymore. There are already enough piles of shit loaded up there. As I stated at the top... We know. There is that. And the heritage rears its ugly fucking head again. I had the gangsters on while simultaneously reading a bit about the production and became overly sensitive to all of the names. I was so fucking proud of hailing from that part of the world and now it is gone. Nothing can be done, just like issues three and four. But I will not begin calling this latest stab in the heart 'issue five' because labeling and categorizing will not do any fucking good. Other problems during the past year have been numbered five and six and then I completely lost track of everything. Now? It is over. I still cannot believe such a turn at this age. I embraced it all the time, every day, felt connected to something special and historic, and now have been reduced to nothing more than the average, pathetic slice of a culture I never even liked. The other side of everything, the bland, the dull, the shit. The worst part of it now is that no one can know how much pain and difficulty this is now causing. And don't fucking start with the 'same person no matter what' horseshit. That is untrue. The associations have disappeared and all of the wonder ripped away. Lies, bullshit from too many angles to recall, and the feeling that I no longer have an identity. Just don't give me any shit or I will explode. Not kidding with that one, either. I am more pent up now than ever in life, so if you wish to twist the handle and cause further problems, understand the consequences. I will no longer discuss anything even remotely out of sorts with another person, either. Nothing. Leave it. The blinders have been removed. 'Some sorta Goddamn trouble here, Jerome?' The knives help. They are small, beautiful, wondrous, and they remind me of a time gone by the wayside in which there was still forward thinking; I felt that there would always be something around the corner to draw attention and discover. Well, that time is gone for good. Now there is just the same shit packaged differently and shoved down everyone's throats. So, I look at the little knives and think of those discoveries which I can never get back, yet still there is a fondness. The first time I saw a particular model which drew me like a gun was not long after we moved east in seventy-nine. A little shop with all sorts of cool stuff which appeals to craftspeople. The knife case was near the register. Really something to see back then. Something similar in the Midwest, but not cutlery. I hesitate to go into it, however. All those items are gone save for very few. I made a massive mistake shortly before and after moving to the coast and continue to berate myself for it. Describing too much here will only press me further down, so it stays inside. The Midwest period came up because it felt like an adventure, just as Colorado. Nearly the entire remainder of my life has been spent in California (except for the military), and upon leaving twice more than two decades apart, there were similar emotions attached to the new places. Anyway, the knives bring some of it back, for whatever that may be worth. Third show on the television just after seven in the morning. The entire day is ahead, and as I have stated before, this is the time when everything feels possible. Light coming up. Sometimes I think forgetting bad things is necessary for letting go enough to find joy. Honestly, forgetting wonderful things seems bad, yet the more I dwell upon those times the more I feel disconnected from everything and very little good on our horizon. I don't see it. The same shit just keeps rolling along and we embrace the 'smaller faster cheaper better' horseshit from the nineties, meaning the entirety of an array of wonders has been compressed and packaged in a very small space. Consumed. It's the whole coffee/bagel analogy which keeps appearing at each exit along an otherwise barren highway. Nothing is surprising. Now, I realize I've gone into this before -- at great length, most likely -- but the point returns over and over because much of what has disappeared actually drove life. Now what is there? Well, there is one glaring positive, and that is the advent of methods for acquiring the past, like auctions or some other sites which allow for buying or trading. The knives, for example. One is nearly three decades old yet still new, and the other is slightly newer and never left the box. Without a way to connect with the items, I would not find the excitement of opening packages and casting my eyes upon things which mean much. So, there is a positive. The problem with thinking back to those years is that I honestly feel different now due to learning from where I hailed. I won't bitch more, though. I'm just saying that it makes me less than happy to be questioning everything after all these years. Hence clinging in one way or another to the long past. I have to hold on to something or the fall will take place. Not happy, to say the least. And unlike some fucking injury, this cannot ever go away. Think about that. This is bad. Actually, it is disastrous. Everything turns to shit. I honestly believe it. Another half hour and I'll get up and prepare some things for the morning. I may hit the garage a tad earlier than usual, too. A head start on things. There has been very little going outside the norm lately. A change is necessary now if I am to remain stable. If my evening does not feel deserved, the entire day becomes shelved as crap and a waste of time. Currently, wasted time is worse than ever. I am here every day and there is always plenty to do, so if I fail at that I am finished. For years I wished for more time and now I've had tons for almost a full year. Aside from dumping the social media and becoming very angry toward everyone last spring, nothing close has taken place. I'm still angry, too. Perhaps not enough to really attack anything. Whatever. I guess I'll just have to try. Pause. 8:41am. Alone. I already have shit going. Thinking of the feeling yesterday in which I was very disillusioned and down, out of energy and generally dissatisfied with my progress in the house, I had to get up and roll with it this morning. I just can't have that fucking feeling again. Plus, I am looking forward to my little trinkets coming in the mail. After piles of work they are like a small reward. Compact and enjoyable. Gangsters, as long as they last today. Imagery and conflicting information slammed me yesterday late in the afternoon. I didn't fall down much, yet none of it left until watching the evening episode. I don't even know how to deal with this after so much bullshit throughout the last year. Fabrications again. Bullshit, as I said. Clues. The entire situation is akin to a part of me which needs to be removed, but I can't. Stuck with all of it. Yesterday's issues in the afternoon were partly my fault, to be honest, and I knew it at the time, although the bulk of shit is most decidedly not my fault at all. Others don't understand. Some of that is due to my being closed off about things which are sensitive, too. I closed the doors for good reason. The fear and the other fear. You know. Society had a hand, as well. There is no way around that, really. I just have to take all the shit which flows into my head and sit on it, like last night. Still there can be no resolution. This is turning into another fucking smack in the head like the heritage. I can't do fuck-all about either of them so I remain as I am right now... Alone, sitting with too much thought, and concerned over where I may end up in the future. The imagery last night was merely a facet. Too bad I'm not a gangster. All the problems could be eliminated and buried in the fucking desert. Not kidding. The only real option is to seek counsel. Nope. I am stuck this way for the rest of my days. 9:20am. Several items out of the way this morning. Oy the cold outside, though. It may limit my time spent in the garage. At least there are always chores inside. I need to list another watch to keep the money flowing, there are photos to print, and the office adventure of streamlining can continue. So far, there is lots more empty space. The office looks nice now. I must keep going in this direction. The living room, too. Laundry is part way finished. One fear outweighing another. Not good, but safe. I must protect myself from ridicule, condescension, and any possibility of further bullshit. I know what takes place, too. I know it because I do the same fucking thing sometimes. It's natural for a person. The difference between myself and others is the idea can destroy me. Any fucking issues brought to light have an overwhelming chance of ending in disaster. Not good. Still no choice, still no outlet, and still nothing which can fix this. Eventually I will stop writing about such a subject. After? The entries will be very short. Again I have to state that I've repeated so much for a very long period of time that I feel these writings are going nowhere. But here I am. I suppose the slender hope in hell is that one day I will either think in a new direction or discover a realization which helps. No guarantees, though. I suppose keeping busy is the only thing I can do to maintain myself. Head above murky waters. Right? Wrong? Maybe people near me need to hear it. Pause. 12:31pm. All of the laundry is done. Dry cleaning, too. The routine is finished and I have rolled straight into the bad time after lunch. I need to get busy with something soon or my time will diminish. Pause again. 1:18pm. Maybe a visit to watch the show later. I don't know yet. I have pretty much everything done and keep coming back to the computer to maintain pace with an auction for one of the rarer knives. I also took digital images of the other wristwatch so it can be listed for auction today. The cards have to go a couple at a time, as well. If the watch ends high enough, the sale may facilitate on of the most sought-after knives imaginable. I owned a version some years ago and sold it, although the coloration was very plain and simple when compared to the yellow OEM version. I suppose I'll end up with one at some point. And stop. 3-17, 6:07am. We are now one year from the day of the first order from the government to shelter. Unbelievable. An entire calendar year has passed. I believe I only worked about four or five days after that took place, and soon after gave up completely in order to remain safe. Now? Holy shit. What a fucking anniversary. Where from here? And how many times have I asked that question? No answers other than remaining on this track as I have for the last few months. Things changed when I decided to avoid driving each weekday. It was good and bad, although nothing is easy anymore. I secured an additional knife to match the one coming from Switzerland. Both versions plus one extra so I can carry it in my pocket yet still have a new one put away so I can stare at it every now and then. The funds keep rolling in, so doing something enjoyable did not feel out of line. Two more watches to sell, maybe. Sometimes I see something special and grab it quickly. I cannot get rid of everything, either. Some stuff must remain close. Yesterday demonstrated to me that the situation need not be the end of the world... Yet. I can deal with most of what has been happening and stave off disaster as necessary. I must admit that I feel more alone now than I did in the beginning, and when combine with being completely disregarded soon after, the result became my pushing against pretty much everything which approaches my sense of distance. And I am not referring to social distancing, either. I am talking about being closed off so that no one knows what may be going on inside me. Short, cryptic messages (if any), the bullshit front that has now become permanent, and my penchant for speaking for long periods and leaving other people completely unaware of what I may be saying. This whole shitaree is necessary for my survival as I have recently concluded that there is really only one way of me getting through all the shit and plowing along to keep myself comfortable, and that is to shut it all off. As I said, not the end of the world, though. If the isolation of eleven showed me anything, it is that I am most decidedly better off completely alone (or mostly, as it were... I have to live somewhere). From the point a few weeks ago right up to this morning, everything I do will be toward that end. The only variable is if I run, however that is not very likely. The idea of demonstrating my dissatisfaction with people in general has been brewing inside since the early nineties when I first drafted a plan to get the fuck away from as much society as possible while still having the necessities nearby. Back then I had no idea of the Internet and product availability all around the globe, either. I was younger and willing to give up certain aspects of life just to get the hell away. Now? Much of it would not need to be cut off. I feel the same as back then -- even worse sometimes, too -- yet somehow the idea of taking off alone is not quite so dire these days. I can stay in this house and both accomplish things and easily remain distant from others. In fact, the feeling this morning is that of when we were completely isolated last year and looking around the neighborhood so quiet and still. This feeling may drive me to create the mood again and for the next several days. I recall the idea of a sign in the front yard which was to display 'do not approach', and even before the summer when I became completely pissed off. We were trying to be funny, like placing a line six feet from the sidewalk to show those passing by where we would stand if they wished to pause and chat. Well, it was funny at the time. Now I don't want anyone coming by. Just the guy with his motorcycle because we have an agreement. Plus, he is juiced in after almost a year. The dissatisfaction will continue to drive me away from everyone. No running, though. Not right now. I have to stay here. One year. Unreal. Now? Disaster approaches. Today will be a continuation of yesterday's foray into imaging all of the small items I wish to list for sale. The older knife has worked out well so far, too. Two watches, the cards, and perhaps a few other items in the coming days. As I said before, too many auctions at the same time ends up compressing the shipping process. Not good. I need everything spread out to avoid heading to the post office. Light is coming up. The weather has been very cool for this area. This morning we are in the thirties, I believe. Yikes. Hopefully the sun will heat us a bit in a couple of hours. Yesterday I did the laundry and dry cleaning, meaning today I can focus upon other tasks. The auctions are enjoyable, plus I have everything for the clothing rack. If it's warm enough in the garage I can get the project going, and when completed there will be one more large item off the floor. Very good. I also need to thin out some crap out there. With all of the clothing finished yesterday, this morning is now freed up for whatever seems most pressing. I also received the new furnace filters which FINALLY fit the opening properly. It's running right now, nice and quiet. That was a pain in the ass, too. Plenty of people out there in the world have trouble because all the companies make standard filters with stated dimensions, and then the actual unit is smaller. Some are smaller than others, to make matters worse. I believe mine were half research and half luck. Heh. Whatever. I'll have to get more so we can be prepared. More light now. I am going to do my best to kick this day in the fucking ass. Yesterday was fine, I suppose, but I can do much better if I just put my mind to it. Nothing here is terribly difficult, just not very exciting. Housework is its own reward. Above and beyond it should be at least a little more enjoyable. Rewarding when finished is one thing, motivation to earn the reward is entirely different. If I am going to live within a sphere of disaster, the surrounding rooms may as well be comfortable. And the disaster is already partially here. The show yesterday was somewhat of a trial. That does not always happen, although it could at any moment because I do not recall much detail from watching the series in the past. Too much went by and I can't remember shit anymore. But the last two episodes (I think two) slammed me pretty well. Now, the issue yesterday was very interesting, to say the least. Instead of turning inward, I ended up pissed off. Different? Yes. Fuck it, anyway. As much as I can sit here and believe nothing will change who I am, the idea of the heritage swinging my sorry ass from one part of the world to another, and then I realize the future may do it again. I have to remain angry so I can deal with whatever else is going to come along and screw me to no end. The show had a quick effect and then faded fairly soon after, yet I still see and feel much of what took place at the time. I suppose the worry will never go away (or any other fucking aspect of the two), but I may be able to deal with it more easily if my stance toward other people does not change. I am not happy, to say the least. Hmm... Maybe I just decided to treat this anniversary as last spring. The show may be in my head a little ways, but the garage just might alleviate all of it completely. Again, hmm. We shall see what the late morning breeds. Pause. 8:38am on St. Patrick's Day. Whatever. Heritage, again, but I am not Irish. With the morning preparations out of the way, the day is now all mine. Very nice. This is always a good feeling, no matter what may be going on inside. And when I say 'what', I mean there is much. I cannot believe how much the image below resembles Andrea. Walker was the only woman who came so close, but this one is unreal. Do you see? She was unique in so many ways that to attempt a description would be an exercise in futility. I still miss her and all we shared. The flights and everything else felt as if we were on another planet... Our OWN planet made for two. Damn. And I have not clue one as to who that woman is, although it doesn't matter anymore. So, here I am in the quiet. Chores soon, whatever else I deem necessary, and then the auction listings. Time will tell if today will prove good or bad. Gangsters on the televisions. A cōmāre at the dinner table is fucking stunning. Image number 1000... She could be Andrea Valentina is rather disgusting. Thinking of Andrea brings to mind the disaster of her departure from the Venetian. And that, in turn, brings up the other disaster when I arrived home after languishing in the loving arms of the kitten. And then Natalie. I was floating between disasters, all the while creating yet another. Moving to the coast resulted in disaster, as did that short period before the apartment. Living in that little cave was a continuous disaster in my head. See a pattern? Ugh. Walking disaster, to be sure. I'm going to attempt a recapture of the feelings last spring when the shit first hit the fan. Some work in the garage, the listings, and maybe a bit of staring out the garage door at the world as it goes by without me. I did not wish to be involved with the world then, and even less so now. A year has passed and there is more disdain today than at any time last year. The 'Caverns' entries summed up much of my dissatisfaction and rancor toward people, but nothing ever seems to be enough. Another fucking disaster, this society. Thank Christ I separated myself from the social media when I did, otherwise I am quite certain life would be much worse. I do not like people. Today I can head out there if the sun shines. The only thing which has the power to keep me inside is climate. I have to try, though. Alcohol helps. Disaster. Maybe 'Caverns and Wind IV' was not enough. Hmm. The morning has moved along, just as this crap needs to move to production. The time has arrived for me to get things done. One watch has been listed, too. Hopefully the bidding will equal its value. We shall see forsooth. The disastrous, diminishing number is now 289. She is inside." Copyright ©2002-2024 comainterrupted.com All rights reserved All other trademarks, logos and graphics are the property of their respective owners Created by Brandywine Engineering using Microsoft Visual Studio 2022 and .NET Framework 4.8 Questions? Comments? Anything? Gather your thoughts and compose a message to the psychos in charge
Disaster Mature content No. 232 Published March 17th, 2021 9:54am pdt read ( words) Past entries "3-15. At least now I know. Bad, but I know, finally. Monday morning and in the quiet. I have little to do today, so the other ideas and projects will be considered. One auction ends later, too. Lots of money, that one. I shall put it to good use. You may notice the images are not of requisite quality, however I could not secure anything better. They are the last two since hitting the one-thousand mark down the page. I included these particular forms due to Cindy carrying pretty much everything about which I have written in the six years since 'Darkest...', and the unknown face below which resembles Andrea in too many ways to go into right now. That kind of thinking hurts these days. It really does. She was the angel from on high. Like everything else in the world which has caused protracted thinking, she is quite gone for good. Upon seeing the image for the first time, I considered Alicia. Maybe her? Doubtful, yet very close. Each image defines the current period. So, they are here as a last-ditch effort for displayed beauty. No more of it. I am not spiraling, though. I am fine. Thoughtful, but fine, despite seeing the closest approximation to the angel of the universe. The issue of my heritage has been in mind too much lately. I cannot shake the idea of no longer taking pride in the past or any relationships to the same. This is too difficult now. Each second which has passed since first learning of the paths back into the old world has the facts shoved so deeply and permanently that disaster is right behind my eyes. It is a constant. No matter the media, conversation, or activity, the shitty life-altering facts will not leave. They have affected all of me. Nothing is good anymore because the heritage follows every Goddamned step. Pride is gone; dissent remains. Disdain. Dis-everything. I am distant. Dis. I have no illusions any longer. The path has straightened and the end result known. No surprises, nothing different, and no more looking forward and hoping for good. The discovery was the end of it. The end of everything. Just a shell, a fraction of what I was. As mentioned in the previous entry, the walking with head held high is forever gone. I will hide. Today. The usual. Very windy outside, too. Cold, like my world. Like the last few months, the idea is downsizing. The auctions have gone pretty well and other items are gone. I will continue to reduce myself. Smaller footprint, just in case of a scrape. The work today already appears simplistic, calming, and exactly what I need in order to maintain quality of life. The little steps, breaks here and there, and the road to each evening. As I have stated far too many times, this is all I have. Any other control is both absent and disheartening. The control is important enough to force the realization that without it I am finished. Shell. Pause. Image number 999. Cindy is amazing but she doesn't matter anymore 10:46am. The day is now wide open. Routine finished unless I decide to hook up the washer drain. Perhaps later. The fourth show is on yet again due to issues with the gangsters. Stop. 3-16, 6:05am. Tomorrow will be a year since the first shelter-in-place order and nearly the end of me working. A fucking year. Yesterday's auction turned out to be the best part of the day. The price went nuts in the last few seconds, the purchase was paid immediately upon completion, and I had the package at the post office within thirty minutes of ending. Unreal. These days I don't have much going on so I try to focus upon getting things out the door as quickly as possible. The sale is facilitating more downsizing. Big items out, small items in (if indeed necessary). In this case I am adding two nearly-matching knives to the small collection, and honestly two I did not believe could be found, ever. One more soon and the lot is finished. More downsizing of things will continue today. Rosalind is fantastic sometimes. I lost track for a little while during the afternoon and barely got it back. The day turned into a toughie due to a lack of direction again. The last of the hardware for my retractable clothing rack arrived on the porch late yesterday, so hopefully I can get the thing rolling later this morning. There is also laundry and some dry cleaning. On top of the typical crap, this is good. I need things to do lest the sofa becomes too inviting for my tired self. I just cannot have the stagnant shit during weekdays anymore. There are already enough piles of shit loaded up there. As I stated at the top... We know. There is that. And the heritage rears its ugly fucking head again. I had the gangsters on while simultaneously reading a bit about the production and became overly sensitive to all of the names. I was so fucking proud of hailing from that part of the world and now it is gone. Nothing can be done, just like issues three and four. But I will not begin calling this latest stab in the heart 'issue five' because labeling and categorizing will not do any fucking good. Other problems during the past year have been numbered five and six and then I completely lost track of everything. Now? It is over. I still cannot believe such a turn at this age. I embraced it all the time, every day, felt connected to something special and historic, and now have been reduced to nothing more than the average, pathetic slice of a culture I never even liked. The other side of everything, the bland, the dull, the shit. The worst part of it now is that no one can know how much pain and difficulty this is now causing. And don't fucking start with the 'same person no matter what' horseshit. That is untrue. The associations have disappeared and all of the wonder ripped away. Lies, bullshit from too many angles to recall, and the feeling that I no longer have an identity. Just don't give me any shit or I will explode. Not kidding with that one, either. I am more pent up now than ever in life, so if you wish to twist the handle and cause further problems, understand the consequences. I will no longer discuss anything even remotely out of sorts with another person, either. Nothing. Leave it. The blinders have been removed. 'Some sorta Goddamn trouble here, Jerome?' The knives help. They are small, beautiful, wondrous, and they remind me of a time gone by the wayside in which there was still forward thinking; I felt that there would always be something around the corner to draw attention and discover. Well, that time is gone for good. Now there is just the same shit packaged differently and shoved down everyone's throats. So, I look at the little knives and think of those discoveries which I can never get back, yet still there is a fondness. The first time I saw a particular model which drew me like a gun was not long after we moved east in seventy-nine. A little shop with all sorts of cool stuff which appeals to craftspeople. The knife case was near the register. Really something to see back then. Something similar in the Midwest, but not cutlery. I hesitate to go into it, however. All those items are gone save for very few. I made a massive mistake shortly before and after moving to the coast and continue to berate myself for it. Describing too much here will only press me further down, so it stays inside. The Midwest period came up because it felt like an adventure, just as Colorado. Nearly the entire remainder of my life has been spent in California (except for the military), and upon leaving twice more than two decades apart, there were similar emotions attached to the new places. Anyway, the knives bring some of it back, for whatever that may be worth. Third show on the television just after seven in the morning. The entire day is ahead, and as I have stated before, this is the time when everything feels possible. Light coming up. Sometimes I think forgetting bad things is necessary for letting go enough to find joy. Honestly, forgetting wonderful things seems bad, yet the more I dwell upon those times the more I feel disconnected from everything and very little good on our horizon. I don't see it. The same shit just keeps rolling along and we embrace the 'smaller faster cheaper better' horseshit from the nineties, meaning the entirety of an array of wonders has been compressed and packaged in a very small space. Consumed. It's the whole coffee/bagel analogy which keeps appearing at each exit along an otherwise barren highway. Nothing is surprising. Now, I realize I've gone into this before -- at great length, most likely -- but the point returns over and over because much of what has disappeared actually drove life. Now what is there? Well, there is one glaring positive, and that is the advent of methods for acquiring the past, like auctions or some other sites which allow for buying or trading. The knives, for example. One is nearly three decades old yet still new, and the other is slightly newer and never left the box. Without a way to connect with the items, I would not find the excitement of opening packages and casting my eyes upon things which mean much. So, there is a positive. The problem with thinking back to those years is that I honestly feel different now due to learning from where I hailed. I won't bitch more, though. I'm just saying that it makes me less than happy to be questioning everything after all these years. Hence clinging in one way or another to the long past. I have to hold on to something or the fall will take place. Not happy, to say the least. And unlike some fucking injury, this cannot ever go away. Think about that. This is bad. Actually, it is disastrous. Everything turns to shit. I honestly believe it. Another half hour and I'll get up and prepare some things for the morning. I may hit the garage a tad earlier than usual, too. A head start on things. There has been very little going outside the norm lately. A change is necessary now if I am to remain stable. If my evening does not feel deserved, the entire day becomes shelved as crap and a waste of time. Currently, wasted time is worse than ever. I am here every day and there is always plenty to do, so if I fail at that I am finished. For years I wished for more time and now I've had tons for almost a full year. Aside from dumping the social media and becoming very angry toward everyone last spring, nothing close has taken place. I'm still angry, too. Perhaps not enough to really attack anything. Whatever. I guess I'll just have to try. Pause. 8:41am. Alone. I already have shit going. Thinking of the feeling yesterday in which I was very disillusioned and down, out of energy and generally dissatisfied with my progress in the house, I had to get up and roll with it this morning. I just can't have that fucking feeling again. Plus, I am looking forward to my little trinkets coming in the mail. After piles of work they are like a small reward. Compact and enjoyable. Gangsters, as long as they last today. Imagery and conflicting information slammed me yesterday late in the afternoon. I didn't fall down much, yet none of it left until watching the evening episode. I don't even know how to deal with this after so much bullshit throughout the last year. Fabrications again. Bullshit, as I said. Clues. The entire situation is akin to a part of me which needs to be removed, but I can't. Stuck with all of it. Yesterday's issues in the afternoon were partly my fault, to be honest, and I knew it at the time, although the bulk of shit is most decidedly not my fault at all. Others don't understand. Some of that is due to my being closed off about things which are sensitive, too. I closed the doors for good reason. The fear and the other fear. You know. Society had a hand, as well. There is no way around that, really. I just have to take all the shit which flows into my head and sit on it, like last night. Still there can be no resolution. This is turning into another fucking smack in the head like the heritage. I can't do fuck-all about either of them so I remain as I am right now... Alone, sitting with too much thought, and concerned over where I may end up in the future. The imagery last night was merely a facet. Too bad I'm not a gangster. All the problems could be eliminated and buried in the fucking desert. Not kidding. The only real option is to seek counsel. Nope. I am stuck this way for the rest of my days. 9:20am. Several items out of the way this morning. Oy the cold outside, though. It may limit my time spent in the garage. At least there are always chores inside. I need to list another watch to keep the money flowing, there are photos to print, and the office adventure of streamlining can continue. So far, there is lots more empty space. The office looks nice now. I must keep going in this direction. The living room, too. Laundry is part way finished. One fear outweighing another. Not good, but safe. I must protect myself from ridicule, condescension, and any possibility of further bullshit. I know what takes place, too. I know it because I do the same fucking thing sometimes. It's natural for a person. The difference between myself and others is the idea can destroy me. Any fucking issues brought to light have an overwhelming chance of ending in disaster. Not good. Still no choice, still no outlet, and still nothing which can fix this. Eventually I will stop writing about such a subject. After? The entries will be very short. Again I have to state that I've repeated so much for a very long period of time that I feel these writings are going nowhere. But here I am. I suppose the slender hope in hell is that one day I will either think in a new direction or discover a realization which helps. No guarantees, though. I suppose keeping busy is the only thing I can do to maintain myself. Head above murky waters. Right? Wrong? Maybe people near me need to hear it. Pause. 12:31pm. All of the laundry is done. Dry cleaning, too. The routine is finished and I have rolled straight into the bad time after lunch. I need to get busy with something soon or my time will diminish. Pause again. 1:18pm. Maybe a visit to watch the show later. I don't know yet. I have pretty much everything done and keep coming back to the computer to maintain pace with an auction for one of the rarer knives. I also took digital images of the other wristwatch so it can be listed for auction today. The cards have to go a couple at a time, as well. If the watch ends high enough, the sale may facilitate on of the most sought-after knives imaginable. I owned a version some years ago and sold it, although the coloration was very plain and simple when compared to the yellow OEM version. I suppose I'll end up with one at some point. And stop. 3-17, 6:07am. We are now one year from the day of the first order from the government to shelter. Unbelievable. An entire calendar year has passed. I believe I only worked about four or five days after that took place, and soon after gave up completely in order to remain safe. Now? Holy shit. What a fucking anniversary. Where from here? And how many times have I asked that question? No answers other than remaining on this track as I have for the last few months. Things changed when I decided to avoid driving each weekday. It was good and bad, although nothing is easy anymore. I secured an additional knife to match the one coming from Switzerland. Both versions plus one extra so I can carry it in my pocket yet still have a new one put away so I can stare at it every now and then. The funds keep rolling in, so doing something enjoyable did not feel out of line. Two more watches to sell, maybe. Sometimes I see something special and grab it quickly. I cannot get rid of everything, either. Some stuff must remain close. Yesterday demonstrated to me that the situation need not be the end of the world... Yet. I can deal with most of what has been happening and stave off disaster as necessary. I must admit that I feel more alone now than I did in the beginning, and when combine with being completely disregarded soon after, the result became my pushing against pretty much everything which approaches my sense of distance. And I am not referring to social distancing, either. I am talking about being closed off so that no one knows what may be going on inside me. Short, cryptic messages (if any), the bullshit front that has now become permanent, and my penchant for speaking for long periods and leaving other people completely unaware of what I may be saying. This whole shitaree is necessary for my survival as I have recently concluded that there is really only one way of me getting through all the shit and plowing along to keep myself comfortable, and that is to shut it all off. As I said, not the end of the world, though. If the isolation of eleven showed me anything, it is that I am most decidedly better off completely alone (or mostly, as it were... I have to live somewhere). From the point a few weeks ago right up to this morning, everything I do will be toward that end. The only variable is if I run, however that is not very likely. The idea of demonstrating my dissatisfaction with people in general has been brewing inside since the early nineties when I first drafted a plan to get the fuck away from as much society as possible while still having the necessities nearby. Back then I had no idea of the Internet and product availability all around the globe, either. I was younger and willing to give up certain aspects of life just to get the hell away. Now? Much of it would not need to be cut off. I feel the same as back then -- even worse sometimes, too -- yet somehow the idea of taking off alone is not quite so dire these days. I can stay in this house and both accomplish things and easily remain distant from others. In fact, the feeling this morning is that of when we were completely isolated last year and looking around the neighborhood so quiet and still. This feeling may drive me to create the mood again and for the next several days. I recall the idea of a sign in the front yard which was to display 'do not approach', and even before the summer when I became completely pissed off. We were trying to be funny, like placing a line six feet from the sidewalk to show those passing by where we would stand if they wished to pause and chat. Well, it was funny at the time. Now I don't want anyone coming by. Just the guy with his motorcycle because we have an agreement. Plus, he is juiced in after almost a year. The dissatisfaction will continue to drive me away from everyone. No running, though. Not right now. I have to stay here. One year. Unreal. Now? Disaster approaches. Today will be a continuation of yesterday's foray into imaging all of the small items I wish to list for sale. The older knife has worked out well so far, too. Two watches, the cards, and perhaps a few other items in the coming days. As I said before, too many auctions at the same time ends up compressing the shipping process. Not good. I need everything spread out to avoid heading to the post office. Light is coming up. The weather has been very cool for this area. This morning we are in the thirties, I believe. Yikes. Hopefully the sun will heat us a bit in a couple of hours. Yesterday I did the laundry and dry cleaning, meaning today I can focus upon other tasks. The auctions are enjoyable, plus I have everything for the clothing rack. If it's warm enough in the garage I can get the project going, and when completed there will be one more large item off the floor. Very good. I also need to thin out some crap out there. With all of the clothing finished yesterday, this morning is now freed up for whatever seems most pressing. I also received the new furnace filters which FINALLY fit the opening properly. It's running right now, nice and quiet. That was a pain in the ass, too. Plenty of people out there in the world have trouble because all the companies make standard filters with stated dimensions, and then the actual unit is smaller. Some are smaller than others, to make matters worse. I believe mine were half research and half luck. Heh. Whatever. I'll have to get more so we can be prepared. More light now. I am going to do my best to kick this day in the fucking ass. Yesterday was fine, I suppose, but I can do much better if I just put my mind to it. Nothing here is terribly difficult, just not very exciting. Housework is its own reward. Above and beyond it should be at least a little more enjoyable. Rewarding when finished is one thing, motivation to earn the reward is entirely different. If I am going to live within a sphere of disaster, the surrounding rooms may as well be comfortable. And the disaster is already partially here. The show yesterday was somewhat of a trial. That does not always happen, although it could at any moment because I do not recall much detail from watching the series in the past. Too much went by and I can't remember shit anymore. But the last two episodes (I think two) slammed me pretty well. Now, the issue yesterday was very interesting, to say the least. Instead of turning inward, I ended up pissed off. Different? Yes. Fuck it, anyway. As much as I can sit here and believe nothing will change who I am, the idea of the heritage swinging my sorry ass from one part of the world to another, and then I realize the future may do it again. I have to remain angry so I can deal with whatever else is going to come along and screw me to no end. The show had a quick effect and then faded fairly soon after, yet I still see and feel much of what took place at the time. I suppose the worry will never go away (or any other fucking aspect of the two), but I may be able to deal with it more easily if my stance toward other people does not change. I am not happy, to say the least. Hmm... Maybe I just decided to treat this anniversary as last spring. The show may be in my head a little ways, but the garage just might alleviate all of it completely. Again, hmm. We shall see what the late morning breeds. Pause. 8:38am on St. Patrick's Day. Whatever. Heritage, again, but I am not Irish. With the morning preparations out of the way, the day is now all mine. Very nice. This is always a good feeling, no matter what may be going on inside. And when I say 'what', I mean there is much. I cannot believe how much the image below resembles Andrea. Walker was the only woman who came so close, but this one is unreal. Do you see? She was unique in so many ways that to attempt a description would be an exercise in futility. I still miss her and all we shared. The flights and everything else felt as if we were on another planet... Our OWN planet made for two. Damn. And I have not clue one as to who that woman is, although it doesn't matter anymore. So, here I am in the quiet. Chores soon, whatever else I deem necessary, and then the auction listings. Time will tell if today will prove good or bad. Gangsters on the televisions. A cōmāre at the dinner table is fucking stunning. Image number 1000... She could be Andrea Valentina is rather disgusting. Thinking of Andrea brings to mind the disaster of her departure from the Venetian. And that, in turn, brings up the other disaster when I arrived home after languishing in the loving arms of the kitten. And then Natalie. I was floating between disasters, all the while creating yet another. Moving to the coast resulted in disaster, as did that short period before the apartment. Living in that little cave was a continuous disaster in my head. See a pattern? Ugh. Walking disaster, to be sure. I'm going to attempt a recapture of the feelings last spring when the shit first hit the fan. Some work in the garage, the listings, and maybe a bit of staring out the garage door at the world as it goes by without me. I did not wish to be involved with the world then, and even less so now. A year has passed and there is more disdain today than at any time last year. The 'Caverns' entries summed up much of my dissatisfaction and rancor toward people, but nothing ever seems to be enough. Another fucking disaster, this society. Thank Christ I separated myself from the social media when I did, otherwise I am quite certain life would be much worse. I do not like people. Today I can head out there if the sun shines. The only thing which has the power to keep me inside is climate. I have to try, though. Alcohol helps. Disaster. Maybe 'Caverns and Wind IV' was not enough. Hmm. The morning has moved along, just as this crap needs to move to production. The time has arrived for me to get things done. One watch has been listed, too. Hopefully the bidding will equal its value. We shall see forsooth. The disastrous, diminishing number is now 289. She is inside."
Disaster
Mature content No. 232 Published March 17th, 2021 9:54am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"3-15. At least now I know. Bad, but I know, finally. Monday morning and in the quiet. I have little to do today, so the other ideas and projects will be considered. One auction ends later, too. Lots of money, that one. I shall put it to good use. You may notice the images are not of requisite quality, however I could not secure anything better. They are the last two since hitting the one-thousand mark down the page. I included these particular forms due to Cindy carrying pretty much everything about which I have written in the six years since 'Darkest...', and the unknown face below which resembles Andrea in too many ways to go into right now. That kind of thinking hurts these days. It really does. She was the angel from on high. Like everything else in the world which has caused protracted thinking, she is quite gone for good. Upon seeing the image for the first time, I considered Alicia. Maybe her? Doubtful, yet very close. Each image defines the current period. So, they are here as a last-ditch effort for displayed beauty. No more of it. I am not spiraling, though. I am fine. Thoughtful, but fine, despite seeing the closest approximation to the angel of the universe. The issue of my heritage has been in mind too much lately. I cannot shake the idea of no longer taking pride in the past or any relationships to the same. This is too difficult now. Each second which has passed since first learning of the paths back into the old world has the facts shoved so deeply and permanently that disaster is right behind my eyes. It is a constant. No matter the media, conversation, or activity, the shitty life-altering facts will not leave. They have affected all of me. Nothing is good anymore because the heritage follows every Goddamned step. Pride is gone; dissent remains. Disdain. Dis-everything. I am distant. Dis. I have no illusions any longer. The path has straightened and the end result known. No surprises, nothing different, and no more looking forward and hoping for good. The discovery was the end of it. The end of everything. Just a shell, a fraction of what I was. As mentioned in the previous entry, the walking with head held high is forever gone. I will hide. Today. The usual. Very windy outside, too. Cold, like my world. Like the last few months, the idea is downsizing. The auctions have gone pretty well and other items are gone. I will continue to reduce myself. Smaller footprint, just in case of a scrape. The work today already appears simplistic, calming, and exactly what I need in order to maintain quality of life. The little steps, breaks here and there, and the road to each evening. As I have stated far too many times, this is all I have. Any other control is both absent and disheartening. The control is important enough to force the realization that without it I am finished. Shell. Pause.
Image number 999. Cindy is amazing but she doesn't matter anymore
10:46am. The day is now wide open. Routine finished unless I decide to hook up the washer drain. Perhaps later. The fourth show is on yet again due to issues with the gangsters. Stop. 3-16, 6:05am. Tomorrow will be a year since the first shelter-in-place order and nearly the end of me working. A fucking year. Yesterday's auction turned out to be the best part of the day. The price went nuts in the last few seconds, the purchase was paid immediately upon completion, and I had the package at the post office within thirty minutes of ending. Unreal. These days I don't have much going on so I try to focus upon getting things out the door as quickly as possible. The sale is facilitating more downsizing. Big items out, small items in (if indeed necessary). In this case I am adding two nearly-matching knives to the small collection, and honestly two I did not believe could be found, ever. One more soon and the lot is finished. More downsizing of things will continue today. Rosalind is fantastic sometimes. I lost track for a little while during the afternoon and barely got it back. The day turned into a toughie due to a lack of direction again. The last of the hardware for my retractable clothing rack arrived on the porch late yesterday, so hopefully I can get the thing rolling later this morning. There is also laundry and some dry cleaning. On top of the typical crap, this is good. I need things to do lest the sofa becomes too inviting for my tired self. I just cannot have the stagnant shit during weekdays anymore. There are already enough piles of shit loaded up there. As I stated at the top... We know. There is that. And the heritage rears its ugly fucking head again. I had the gangsters on while simultaneously reading a bit about the production and became overly sensitive to all of the names. I was so fucking proud of hailing from that part of the world and now it is gone. Nothing can be done, just like issues three and four. But I will not begin calling this latest stab in the heart 'issue five' because labeling and categorizing will not do any fucking good. Other problems during the past year have been numbered five and six and then I completely lost track of everything. Now? It is over. I still cannot believe such a turn at this age. I embraced it all the time, every day, felt connected to something special and historic, and now have been reduced to nothing more than the average, pathetic slice of a culture I never even liked. The other side of everything, the bland, the dull, the shit. The worst part of it now is that no one can know how much pain and difficulty this is now causing. And don't fucking start with the 'same person no matter what' horseshit. That is untrue. The associations have disappeared and all of the wonder ripped away. Lies, bullshit from too many angles to recall, and the feeling that I no longer have an identity. Just don't give me any shit or I will explode. Not kidding with that one, either. I am more pent up now than ever in life, so if you wish to twist the handle and cause further problems, understand the consequences. I will no longer discuss anything even remotely out of sorts with another person, either. Nothing. Leave it. The blinders have been removed. 'Some sorta Goddamn trouble here, Jerome?' The knives help. They are small, beautiful, wondrous, and they remind me of a time gone by the wayside in which there was still forward thinking; I felt that there would always be something around the corner to draw attention and discover. Well, that time is gone for good. Now there is just the same shit packaged differently and shoved down everyone's throats. So, I look at the little knives and think of those discoveries which I can never get back, yet still there is a fondness. The first time I saw a particular model which drew me like a gun was not long after we moved east in seventy-nine. A little shop with all sorts of cool stuff which appeals to craftspeople. The knife case was near the register. Really something to see back then. Something similar in the Midwest, but not cutlery. I hesitate to go into it, however. All those items are gone save for very few. I made a massive mistake shortly before and after moving to the coast and continue to berate myself for it. Describing too much here will only press me further down, so it stays inside. The Midwest period came up because it felt like an adventure, just as Colorado. Nearly the entire remainder of my life has been spent in California (except for the military), and upon leaving twice more than two decades apart, there were similar emotions attached to the new places. Anyway, the knives bring some of it back, for whatever that may be worth. Third show on the television just after seven in the morning. The entire day is ahead, and as I have stated before, this is the time when everything feels possible. Light coming up. Sometimes I think forgetting bad things is necessary for letting go enough to find joy. Honestly, forgetting wonderful things seems bad, yet the more I dwell upon those times the more I feel disconnected from everything and very little good on our horizon. I don't see it. The same shit just keeps rolling along and we embrace the 'smaller faster cheaper better' horseshit from the nineties, meaning the entirety of an array of wonders has been compressed and packaged in a very small space. Consumed. It's the whole coffee/bagel analogy which keeps appearing at each exit along an otherwise barren highway. Nothing is surprising. Now, I realize I've gone into this before -- at great length, most likely -- but the point returns over and over because much of what has disappeared actually drove life. Now what is there? Well, there is one glaring positive, and that is the advent of methods for acquiring the past, like auctions or some other sites which allow for buying or trading. The knives, for example. One is nearly three decades old yet still new, and the other is slightly newer and never left the box. Without a way to connect with the items, I would not find the excitement of opening packages and casting my eyes upon things which mean much. So, there is a positive. The problem with thinking back to those years is that I honestly feel different now due to learning from where I hailed. I won't bitch more, though. I'm just saying that it makes me less than happy to be questioning everything after all these years. Hence clinging in one way or another to the long past. I have to hold on to something or the fall will take place. Not happy, to say the least. And unlike some fucking injury, this cannot ever go away. Think about that. This is bad. Actually, it is disastrous. Everything turns to shit. I honestly believe it. Another half hour and I'll get up and prepare some things for the morning. I may hit the garage a tad earlier than usual, too. A head start on things. There has been very little going outside the norm lately. A change is necessary now if I am to remain stable. If my evening does not feel deserved, the entire day becomes shelved as crap and a waste of time. Currently, wasted time is worse than ever. I am here every day and there is always plenty to do, so if I fail at that I am finished. For years I wished for more time and now I've had tons for almost a full year. Aside from dumping the social media and becoming very angry toward everyone last spring, nothing close has taken place. I'm still angry, too. Perhaps not enough to really attack anything. Whatever. I guess I'll just have to try. Pause. 8:41am. Alone. I already have shit going. Thinking of the feeling yesterday in which I was very disillusioned and down, out of energy and generally dissatisfied with my progress in the house, I had to get up and roll with it this morning. I just can't have that fucking feeling again. Plus, I am looking forward to my little trinkets coming in the mail. After piles of work they are like a small reward. Compact and enjoyable. Gangsters, as long as they last today. Imagery and conflicting information slammed me yesterday late in the afternoon. I didn't fall down much, yet none of it left until watching the evening episode. I don't even know how to deal with this after so much bullshit throughout the last year. Fabrications again. Bullshit, as I said. Clues. The entire situation is akin to a part of me which needs to be removed, but I can't. Stuck with all of it. Yesterday's issues in the afternoon were partly my fault, to be honest, and I knew it at the time, although the bulk of shit is most decidedly not my fault at all. Others don't understand. Some of that is due to my being closed off about things which are sensitive, too. I closed the doors for good reason. The fear and the other fear. You know. Society had a hand, as well. There is no way around that, really. I just have to take all the shit which flows into my head and sit on it, like last night. Still there can be no resolution. This is turning into another fucking smack in the head like the heritage. I can't do fuck-all about either of them so I remain as I am right now... Alone, sitting with too much thought, and concerned over where I may end up in the future. The imagery last night was merely a facet. Too bad I'm not a gangster. All the problems could be eliminated and buried in the fucking desert. Not kidding. The only real option is to seek counsel. Nope. I am stuck this way for the rest of my days. 9:20am. Several items out of the way this morning. Oy the cold outside, though. It may limit my time spent in the garage. At least there are always chores inside. I need to list another watch to keep the money flowing, there are photos to print, and the office adventure of streamlining can continue. So far, there is lots more empty space. The office looks nice now. I must keep going in this direction. The living room, too. Laundry is part way finished. One fear outweighing another. Not good, but safe. I must protect myself from ridicule, condescension, and any possibility of further bullshit. I know what takes place, too. I know it because I do the same fucking thing sometimes. It's natural for a person. The difference between myself and others is the idea can destroy me. Any fucking issues brought to light have an overwhelming chance of ending in disaster. Not good. Still no choice, still no outlet, and still nothing which can fix this. Eventually I will stop writing about such a subject. After? The entries will be very short. Again I have to state that I've repeated so much for a very long period of time that I feel these writings are going nowhere. But here I am. I suppose the slender hope in hell is that one day I will either think in a new direction or discover a realization which helps. No guarantees, though. I suppose keeping busy is the only thing I can do to maintain myself. Head above murky waters. Right? Wrong? Maybe people near me need to hear it. Pause. 12:31pm. All of the laundry is done. Dry cleaning, too. The routine is finished and I have rolled straight into the bad time after lunch. I need to get busy with something soon or my time will diminish. Pause again. 1:18pm. Maybe a visit to watch the show later. I don't know yet. I have pretty much everything done and keep coming back to the computer to maintain pace with an auction for one of the rarer knives. I also took digital images of the other wristwatch so it can be listed for auction today. The cards have to go a couple at a time, as well. If the watch ends high enough, the sale may facilitate on of the most sought-after knives imaginable. I owned a version some years ago and sold it, although the coloration was very plain and simple when compared to the yellow OEM version. I suppose I'll end up with one at some point. And stop. 3-17, 6:07am. We are now one year from the day of the first order from the government to shelter. Unbelievable. An entire calendar year has passed. I believe I only worked about four or five days after that took place, and soon after gave up completely in order to remain safe. Now? Holy shit. What a fucking anniversary. Where from here? And how many times have I asked that question? No answers other than remaining on this track as I have for the last few months. Things changed when I decided to avoid driving each weekday. It was good and bad, although nothing is easy anymore. I secured an additional knife to match the one coming from Switzerland. Both versions plus one extra so I can carry it in my pocket yet still have a new one put away so I can stare at it every now and then. The funds keep rolling in, so doing something enjoyable did not feel out of line. Two more watches to sell, maybe. Sometimes I see something special and grab it quickly. I cannot get rid of everything, either. Some stuff must remain close. Yesterday demonstrated to me that the situation need not be the end of the world... Yet. I can deal with most of what has been happening and stave off disaster as necessary. I must admit that I feel more alone now than I did in the beginning, and when combine with being completely disregarded soon after, the result became my pushing against pretty much everything which approaches my sense of distance. And I am not referring to social distancing, either. I am talking about being closed off so that no one knows what may be going on inside me. Short, cryptic messages (if any), the bullshit front that has now become permanent, and my penchant for speaking for long periods and leaving other people completely unaware of what I may be saying. This whole shitaree is necessary for my survival as I have recently concluded that there is really only one way of me getting through all the shit and plowing along to keep myself comfortable, and that is to shut it all off. As I said, not the end of the world, though. If the isolation of eleven showed me anything, it is that I am most decidedly better off completely alone (or mostly, as it were... I have to live somewhere). From the point a few weeks ago right up to this morning, everything I do will be toward that end. The only variable is if I run, however that is not very likely. The idea of demonstrating my dissatisfaction with people in general has been brewing inside since the early nineties when I first drafted a plan to get the fuck away from as much society as possible while still having the necessities nearby. Back then I had no idea of the Internet and product availability all around the globe, either. I was younger and willing to give up certain aspects of life just to get the hell away. Now? Much of it would not need to be cut off. I feel the same as back then -- even worse sometimes, too -- yet somehow the idea of taking off alone is not quite so dire these days. I can stay in this house and both accomplish things and easily remain distant from others. In fact, the feeling this morning is that of when we were completely isolated last year and looking around the neighborhood so quiet and still. This feeling may drive me to create the mood again and for the next several days. I recall the idea of a sign in the front yard which was to display 'do not approach', and even before the summer when I became completely pissed off. We were trying to be funny, like placing a line six feet from the sidewalk to show those passing by where we would stand if they wished to pause and chat. Well, it was funny at the time. Now I don't want anyone coming by. Just the guy with his motorcycle because we have an agreement. Plus, he is juiced in after almost a year. The dissatisfaction will continue to drive me away from everyone. No running, though. Not right now. I have to stay here. One year. Unreal. Now? Disaster approaches. Today will be a continuation of yesterday's foray into imaging all of the small items I wish to list for sale. The older knife has worked out well so far, too. Two watches, the cards, and perhaps a few other items in the coming days. As I said before, too many auctions at the same time ends up compressing the shipping process. Not good. I need everything spread out to avoid heading to the post office. Light is coming up. The weather has been very cool for this area. This morning we are in the thirties, I believe. Yikes. Hopefully the sun will heat us a bit in a couple of hours. Yesterday I did the laundry and dry cleaning, meaning today I can focus upon other tasks. The auctions are enjoyable, plus I have everything for the clothing rack. If it's warm enough in the garage I can get the project going, and when completed there will be one more large item off the floor. Very good. I also need to thin out some crap out there. With all of the clothing finished yesterday, this morning is now freed up for whatever seems most pressing. I also received the new furnace filters which FINALLY fit the opening properly. It's running right now, nice and quiet. That was a pain in the ass, too. Plenty of people out there in the world have trouble because all the companies make standard filters with stated dimensions, and then the actual unit is smaller. Some are smaller than others, to make matters worse. I believe mine were half research and half luck. Heh. Whatever. I'll have to get more so we can be prepared. More light now. I am going to do my best to kick this day in the fucking ass. Yesterday was fine, I suppose, but I can do much better if I just put my mind to it. Nothing here is terribly difficult, just not very exciting. Housework is its own reward. Above and beyond it should be at least a little more enjoyable. Rewarding when finished is one thing, motivation to earn the reward is entirely different. If I am going to live within a sphere of disaster, the surrounding rooms may as well be comfortable. And the disaster is already partially here. The show yesterday was somewhat of a trial. That does not always happen, although it could at any moment because I do not recall much detail from watching the series in the past. Too much went by and I can't remember shit anymore. But the last two episodes (I think two) slammed me pretty well. Now, the issue yesterday was very interesting, to say the least. Instead of turning inward, I ended up pissed off. Different? Yes. Fuck it, anyway. As much as I can sit here and believe nothing will change who I am, the idea of the heritage swinging my sorry ass from one part of the world to another, and then I realize the future may do it again. I have to remain angry so I can deal with whatever else is going to come along and screw me to no end. The show had a quick effect and then faded fairly soon after, yet I still see and feel much of what took place at the time. I suppose the worry will never go away (or any other fucking aspect of the two), but I may be able to deal with it more easily if my stance toward other people does not change. I am not happy, to say the least. Hmm... Maybe I just decided to treat this anniversary as last spring. The show may be in my head a little ways, but the garage just might alleviate all of it completely. Again, hmm. We shall see what the late morning breeds. Pause. 8:38am on St. Patrick's Day. Whatever. Heritage, again, but I am not Irish. With the morning preparations out of the way, the day is now all mine. Very nice. This is always a good feeling, no matter what may be going on inside. And when I say 'what', I mean there is much. I cannot believe how much the image below resembles Andrea. Walker was the only woman who came so close, but this one is unreal. Do you see? She was unique in so many ways that to attempt a description would be an exercise in futility. I still miss her and all we shared. The flights and everything else felt as if we were on another planet... Our OWN planet made for two. Damn. And I have not clue one as to who that woman is, although it doesn't matter anymore. So, here I am in the quiet. Chores soon, whatever else I deem necessary, and then the auction listings. Time will tell if today will prove good or bad. Gangsters on the televisions. A cōmāre at the dinner table is fucking stunning.
Image number 1000... She could be Andrea
Valentina is rather disgusting. Thinking of Andrea brings to mind the disaster of her departure from the Venetian. And that, in turn, brings up the other disaster when I arrived home after languishing in the loving arms of the kitten. And then Natalie. I was floating between disasters, all the while creating yet another. Moving to the coast resulted in disaster, as did that short period before the apartment. Living in that little cave was a continuous disaster in my head. See a pattern? Ugh. Walking disaster, to be sure. I'm going to attempt a recapture of the feelings last spring when the shit first hit the fan. Some work in the garage, the listings, and maybe a bit of staring out the garage door at the world as it goes by without me. I did not wish to be involved with the world then, and even less so now. A year has passed and there is more disdain today than at any time last year. The 'Caverns' entries summed up much of my dissatisfaction and rancor toward people, but nothing ever seems to be enough. Another fucking disaster, this society. Thank Christ I separated myself from the social media when I did, otherwise I am quite certain life would be much worse. I do not like people. Today I can head out there if the sun shines. The only thing which has the power to keep me inside is climate. I have to try, though. Alcohol helps. Disaster. Maybe 'Caverns and Wind IV' was not enough. Hmm. The morning has moved along, just as this crap needs to move to production. The time has arrived for me to get things done. One watch has been listed, too. Hopefully the bidding will equal its value. We shall see forsooth. The disastrous, diminishing number is now 289. She is inside."
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