Forlorn Mature content No. 240 Published April 21st, 2021 9:35am pdt read ( words) Past entries "4-14. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' God damn that is good stuff. His voice is unique and cut through the room like Satan's butcher knife. Every fucking time that episode comes along I have to hear him yell. For some reason, his performance mirrors things I've wanted to do but either chose to avoid or could not achieve. Did nothing, remember? I already said that. Joseph is one of those actors who creates a universe within each character. Well, yesterday conjured concern. Not the show, but everything else. Just a day ago (and two days before that) I published thoughts regarding the understanding. Those three. After yesterday I don't know what to think because I cannot know what is inside, for the millionth time. The situation is such that I will not likely find that place again. All of the trouble has been caused by yours truly. From this point forward, I'll have to avoid any decisions involving feelings. I must admit that I feel much worse now than at the time, and that is quite a mouthful. Nothing is accepted easily anymore. Not when considering this never-ending analysis. I guess the line did not appear as I had hoped. The strength may not be at my beck and call. And it is time to get away from the fucking issues and reminisce a while. I'm tired of problems and continuing to attempt understanding. In the process of streamlining the entries and trying to align everything to the same format, I ran across an older one, 'The Wind, the Windows and the Wires'. You may have noticed some entries are from a plural standpoint (usually meaning a very bad mood) while others are singular. I went back to the one in question and realigned it with most others, singular. In the older days I tried to make this endeavor larger than it really was. Now I don't really care. Anyway, reading through and editing that story, I caught a feeling right up the side of my head. A slam back to the days spent inside the range. I recall shortly after purchasing a certain watch -- a Pulsar pilot -- and wearing it to work. The gun schedule was such that we could operate only every other day due to turning everything around to enable setup again. The day after a test, for example, was when we rebuilt the impact wall and I went inside to clean the windows and such. That is outlined in the entry above. Shooting days were more structured, with us basically adhering to the needs of the researcher and operating the gun from early morning until afternoon. Testing took the entire day, albeit our pace was very specific due to the work being very dangerous. If the test was typical, the last chore of the day was cleaning the launch tube, or gun barrel. I may outline the entire process in the future. I don't know yet. There I sat, inside the dump tank with fan blowing and my supplies next to me. We always performed each step exactly the same in order to maintain a routine. All of the processes involved were hazardous, meaning the manner in which we went about the testing and cleanup was important for safety. Routines were absolute. So, I was inside the tank at the trailing end of the launch tube with a light, bottle of acetone, and a stack of custom-cut flannel rags. They were sized specifically for wrapping around a brush which was pulled through the barrel by my coworker to slowly clean the tube. Usually six to eight pulls and that was that. It was a slow process, but being nearly the end of the day meant the reward of heading home was right in front of me. I sat there after purchasing the watch and stared in between him bringing me the brush for a fresh rag. Sitting here right now I can smell the walls of the tank and chemicals, I can see that little watch on my wrist peeking slightly from my shop coat, and hear the fans running and keeping the atmosphere breathable. As I said, cleaning the launch tube meant everything else had been finished and we were close to leaving for the day. My watch was right there with me. Whenever I wore it outside work, I was immediately reminded of that first occasion in the tank. That was a time when wristwatches were still wondrous, just as the routine at work. I miss it like sin. Here I am at the best portion of the day. Part of the routine is finished and I have hours in front of me for whatever seems best. Sun is shining, coffee is still next to me, and the memories are flowing like a river right through my brain. At times the heat inside the gun range -- specifically the gun room itself -- made cleaning the individual parts arduous. As I said above, we performed each step almost exactly the same every time there was a test. Put simply, the morning was all setup, we fired just before lunch (to allow ventilation for an hour or more before decoupling the gun sections), and then spent a good portion of the afternoon cleaning and leaving all our tools and such where they needed to be. Due to the acetone and hydrogen sulfide present in spades, the entire afternoon had the huge supply and exhaust fans running on high. Right above my head as we slowly pulled a swab through the pump tubes were the two main supplies. During the warmer months, I was standing or working amid a ton of hot air while wearing a shop coat and two pairs of gloves. And I didn't even give a shit. The rewarding nature of finishing, cooling off a while and then driving home all added up to any discomfort being more than worth it. In fact, I loved that part of each test. Just two of us, very few words (if any at all), and our routine performed to a tee. No one else wished to be in that area. Very smelly and uncomfortable. But I embraced it with pride. Every fucking time for eleven years. Now I am sad. Sometimes I saw downsides, problems. Now? I realize I was too critical then. Honestly. Given the chance, there is no way I would rock the boat as I did in ten. That was bad, all my fault, and effectively removed one of the most rewarding and wondrous periods of my life. We worked a 'nine-eighty' pay schedule, meaning each period began at noon Friday and carried to the following Thursday. The next Friday we were off. Each period was forty hours on the check, although one week technically was forty-four hours of work due to nine hours per day through Thursday and then eight Friday. The pay period was two weeks. That Friday off every other week made the whole schedule worthwhile. When we were at the range described above, the best feeling was testing on a Thursday before the three-day weekend. Another reward for spending the afternoon cleaning the gun. Since the job was run by the federal government, there were several national holidays falling on Mondays... Even sweeter when the previous Friday was an off day. Our schedule was fairly unique for the time, I believe, and made the work that much more interesting. The memory of sitting there awaiting my coworker's return with the cleaning brush brought the watch to mind this morning. It was nothing crazy, just another complex aviation-themed timepiece which caught my eye at the time. There were many others, as well. Over the years that I performed that work, several different watches accompanied me to the job and I occasionally shot an image here or there with the watch sitting upon parts of the gun. I'll have to look through my pictures and see if any are there. A feeling accompanied seeing those different watches, one from my previous job in which the work was cleaner and I was able to wear one daily, expensive or otherwise. I have tons of memories in my head attached to different watches over a period of more than a decade. The work at the ranges is now at the top of the list. I miss it so. The end was my decision, however. I can smell the acetone right now. All the wording in the older essay about wind and wires keeps returning to me from time to time. This morning it is strong. I looked through those windows for many years and eventually came to love the view. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' Thinking of that era makes me very sad because I was so weak over desire that I threw my entire life away, hurt and estranged many others, and put myself in a very bad position. God only knows where I would be right now had I not made that fucking decision. Not long after I acquired the Slipper just months before the bad time, I was told by my boss that I was being groomed to take over his position when he retired. Splendid. A boost to the career I already loved and I tossed it aside like so much trash. I honestly believe my inability to be hired by the next wondrous place of work just a year later was karma. Very bad, very sad. The watch is like Proust's madeleine. Flooded with memories, most of which I am fond. All gone. Forever. What a fucking idiot. 4-19. Days passed without writing anything here. I've been going through everything which has already been published in order to ensure each entry is formatted the same and shares updated code standards for validation. I know not why, but keeping up with the industry is important to me. When I began building the new site, many of the entries were streamlined and cleaned because many aspects of the master page had changed to align with more current validation. Now that I have abandoned the new site, this system of content can be rehashed to remain current. It's a lot of work, but alas I have little going on these days. Plus, I have not felt like placing anything here for almost a week because everything is beginning to sound the same. Although... The lose-lose continues to plague, and just the other day I slipped up and spoke too much. Now I am berating myself after years of being very private and then loosening enough to convey thoughts better left unsaid. I already know nothing is going to help me, so revealing information is bad because both fears hit at the same fucking time. They did for a little while, too. I can't have that. And then the fucking Goddamned show entered my head again and forced me to realize the idea of watching the current series was a mistake. My idea, of course, because I have to be in charge of the entertainment all the time. Yep, I really do. I choose everything. My decision-making process was such that every single aspect of the show is excellent and I wished to share. The fucking rub is watching with a very different person than ever before. That is probably too much information... Again. Lose, and then lose, just like the conversation. I will NEVER recover from this worry, nor do I have a chance in hell of changing. The last year since holing up here in the house has seen my backward progress speed tremendously, meaning I can only expect more of the same. Everything in my head is worse today than it was twelve months ago. Even the fucking machine won't leave my head despite barely a mention lately. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' Again this morning I had to hear about the fucking helicopter, too. More piled on top. Sometimes I relax and talk too much... Bottom line. I need to do like the gangsters say and keep my mouth shut. Nothing is going to be served by discussing issues or feelings anyway, so why do I speak at all? Haven't I already demonstrated the innate ability to foresee what will happen when I open myself even a touch? Just a sliver of a gap and something comes out which floors me later and causes damage. This has been doctrine for a very long time. I suppose there are moments when I reach for whatever reason (likely feeling emotional over something) and then the trouble starts. This may sound callous, but I honestly believe the difficulty I experience while alone is nothing compared to what may be caused by the storehouse in my brain opening for business. That means I cannot be comfortable around people any longer. And moving forward from that last sentence, I learned the other day that I may be able to slide into a cozy job in a few months. The upsides are obvious as I already know that getting out of here for several hours a day will improve my outlook, plus the income will ease everything which has been making me nervous for months. The downside is interacting with others, although they are likely all males and I know nothing of them, and that means safety. As much shit as I carry around which relates to males, at least I have a lifetime of experience in dealing with them. I never need to worry about what is going on inside because I already know enough to feel the way I do. As for females, that is another story entirely. Personal relationships are far different than those at a workplace, so there may be no issue whatsoever. I'll have to wait and see what the atmosphere is like in that place. This could be very good for my head because I know very well what has changed inside since last year. It could also lead to distress, though. Wait and see. Give it a chance. Ugh I can't get that conversation out of my fucking head today. The work is moving along this morning, yet underneath everything I already know this is going to go downhill. There is simply no other way. Very sad. Forlorn. The little enjoyments are losing the war. The show is full of problems. Yes, it won a boatload of awards for good reason and is impeccably written, directed and acted, yet the subject matter and players are tattooing things on my brain which will never wash off. Permanent issues all over the place. I have trouble watching one of the actors due to shit from the past -- so far that I can't even remember the cause, believe it or not -- and the whole of the scene framing is beginning to wear down my ability to function after viewing one. I have to keep going for reasons of sharing media which is fantastic, however. I cannot begin the thing and then cut it short just because I am a fucking head case. Like Annalisa said, I have to deal with it. And the conversation the other day touched upon some of my fear and apprehension. Not good by any stretch of the word. Now I don't know which way to turn. I cannot speak any more about it or the two fears will ping-pong my ass until I bleed. This is all so very bad now, and I consciously made the choice weeks ago. What a fucking idiot. One smidgen of happiness... The new lateral is working beautifully. And back to the down. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' 4-20. I bastardized a brand new electric can opener yesterday in order to attempt to motorize the clothing rack. Well, that went bad because I cannot reverse the motor. Flip a switch and the rack goes up... Never to come back down. Heh. So, I dug into my older crap leftover from the truck and found just what is needed. I'll work on that today, perhaps. Yesterday I did not do much beyond the typical routine. Doesn't matter. I'll continue with whatever, and whenever I feel like it. Nothing is really serving to cause joy lately. Here we are after all of the analysis, bitching, worry and undue concern over both the past and what this last year has done. Oh, and one more smidgen of a push off the cliff. Ah... And the recent telling. I almost forgot. Exponential bad. You read it already. Now read the last. After going into that crap on Saturday, I still cannot reconcile myself with the idea of some knowledge being out there. As much as I have spouted about control over everything, one would think my mouth would remain shut all the time. The most straightforward control, to be sure. Most other aspects of life are technically out of my hands, but that one idea comes to mind because I am supposed to be in charge of speaking. Marci is going to be on the screen very soon, and in much better resolution than the images I posted in her entry. Damn. I never should have said anything. Now it's haunting me all the time. One of the enjoyments is going away. From one night to the next I have not clue one of whether or not I will experience the fruits of our labor. The last three nights have gone bad. And three is the number. Or, was the number. One is a constant, thank Christ, yet two and three are haphazard and can no longer be treated as constants. I just can't fucking have my small smiles taken away, although I already know the hands are there at my back. They do not touch me for happy reasons. I believe one of them is intent upon me paying the tab of my life. This is not the time for anything to be removed from my enjoyment of a given day. There is little there to begin with and the idea of something good disappearing will only pull focus upon the other negatives that much more quickly. I need these little aspects of life to keep me going. Need. All the other shit is literally kept at bay by the short-lived joys. With one of them going away? Unpleasant. The people in my life are still seeing the laughter, joking around, and generally lighthearted nature of my mood on a daily basis. The rest is underneath and partially hidden away. I have gleaned it here and there on the site, but rarely do I go into detail about my feelings in person because I do not wish to drive the last few people away without good reason. Losing one of the most important parts of living is going to cause a strain on me. Maintaining myself during such a downfall will not be easy. They are not at fault, meaning just because I don't have many people near me anymore does not mean I can unload this shit on them. I have to sit on it for the most part. Not good. Hours ahead for whatever I feel like doing today. The usual along with laundry, and then perhaps I can work with the motor, gearbox and mount for the clothing rack. It's funny that I still have all of the parts which were either rebuilt or replaced over the years due to redesign of the truck. The parts in question are out of the autopilot for a very old aircraft and were acquired from my workplace many moons ago. I never tossed anything. Every now and again something comes in handy for other projects, and now I have a working solution to the motorization idea. As long as the motor has enough torque to pull up the rack, I have everything necessary to complete it except for one switch. The only delay may be if I wish to make it automatic. That will require limit switches, but they are cheap anyway. Other than that crap, I can continue to streamline the older entries. More than halfway complete now. The federal government extended my benefits for just shy of eleven weeks, which will effectively place me in good shape if and when the job works out. That will be sometime either late June or July. Some weight off my head for the time being, and right as the other shit is pressing more than ever. These quiet days at home have never been more important. Sitting here right now is a good example. Organizing everything in my head takes much more effort than in the past. Even just a year ago, honestly. I cannot believe this sometimes. Gangsters keeping me company. At least I know them well. Familiarity is important these days. Fictional or otherwise, I really do not need a shining example of a symbol pressing my senses almost daily. Three episodes yesterday cemented the vision and I can't shake it. The very idea makes me sad. Forlorn, which is the opposite of those many causes which used to make me angry. No more of that. Precious little anger anymore. No reason for it. Nothing is solved that way. Too much. I did it. I let myself flow in a moment of justified weakness and all these days later it still haunts me. This is the interim, as if the processes are remaining in the background until a limit is reached. Each moment has me directing my attention and memories back and forth from bad to good, all the while knowing the end of the tracks -- the buffer stop of life -- is out there in the distance. Last night during the episode was a train out in the desert which brought the fiction to mind, as well as all of the related wording to railroads found on this site since roughly seventeen. Such a mode of transportation is representative of too many aspects and periods of my life to leave out of the content, plus when I see an actual train in operation it feels wondrous even at my age. All the way back to those silly experiments near the canal behind my house in Colorado when we placed coins on the rails and then waited for the train to pass. We then sought the coins wherever they may have landed and marveled at the flatness. Sometimes really cool, other times completely destroyed. Even then I was aware of the awesome power and intimidation of the locomotives. I believe the train which I am controlling sometimes overwhelms and then I reach elsewhere for confirmation or validation. The other day I spouted a little, meaning the controls were not in hand. I let go. Not good. I need to maintain the helm or I will withdraw beyond belief. Hiding will be the only way. I badly need that power and prowess under my control due to so many things missing inside me. As much as I feel hatred for being accused of 'compensating' for something, that is precisely what I am doing. I feel powerless, hence the locomotives. No one argues with them. Ever. Go ahead and fucking laugh. Right now the very idea of looking into another person's eyes for more than a split second feels frightening. I cannot have anyone seeing too much. That is how heavy my wall has become. Hmm... A train again. Very interesting. I will try to avoid beating myself up over this latest slip, however now there is more. I have no idea of what may be processing in there now that one paw of the cat is out of the fucking bag. [Maybe I need to be half IN the fucking bag. Heh.] I am far too fearful and insecure to simply let go and move on with my life without becoming overly worried. Once again -- possibly the tenth time -- the not knowing is going to destroy me completely and without remorse. I don't know what to do now. And then pile on top the little daily enjoyment heading out the door and I cannot believe I am forming sentences at this moment. Everything is just shit. The typical 'kitchen cocktail' will be happening, no doubt. Give it time. 4-21. The kitchen cocktail did happen and actually worked into a garage/laundry cocktail. I completed a few little items and then went out there to work with the clothing rack motor idea. So, the trial run is complete. I was able to link the motor and reduction just as they had been on my little truck many years ago. I then adapted a section of dowel, supported the opposite end, and ran two lengths of rope through the dowel and tied off. One pulls the rack up as the other unwinds a counterweight to assist the motor. So far it's pretty shaky, but that experiment was only the beginning. I will refine everything a little at a time. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' I am sad like each morning. Projects and other work aside, I still sit here and consider everything which has brought me to this point. My dealings with myself as well as people's effects upon me. Behavioral changes due to societal influence, the idea that I nearly always go against the grain and try to avoid conforming to what some believe to be the norm, and then worrying over what I am versus either what I was or could have been. All those years of overanalyzing have clearly affected me. I do it all the time, especially when I don't understand how to deal with a given situation. Just sad. Don't fucking get me started on the two and how it has jaded me over the course of years. This entry is ridiculous. Back to the beginning of the essay. The stagnant period during which I pretty much treaded water at work and home is now one of the periods I miss sometimes. There were aspects of life I wished to have in spades, yet their absence helped to shape me -- in a manner of speaking -- into a person who cherishes each second of the joyful moments. Yes, they also affected me in very negative ways and caused some pretty fucking stupid decisions, although before everything began to unravel, there were good things taking place. Things I felt I could depend upon to always be there. Those passages above describing our routine at work outline some of them. All those days piled up, one after the other for years, and the routine rarely changed at all. Even before the house. The period when our television went away in favor of high definition and I was led to the rollercoaster girl, all those programs and channels which are now gone forever, and the excitement of assembling some major steps on my truck while I had the chance, is approaching the idea of another 'glow' of sorts. There were still discoveries and some unknowns. I was clinging to routines back then, both at home and work. I believe for a time I had let go of the idea of running and isolating myself from this society due to comfort. That's probably been mentioned but I can't remember. The real glow still rules my thinking. No getting around that one. The current period feels surreal, as if I have been dreaming it for several years. I now feel that I lost time which can never return by miring myself into a toilsome type of work and then spending too much time with the others and reinforcing the beliefs that such was 'life'. Who knows... If it hadn't been for the world health crisis since late nineteen, I might still be right in the middle of that shit with nary a chance to get out and make a change. Life is very different now after having been granted the opportunity to flip everything onto its side, and with the one possibility for work in a somewhat isolated atmosphere less than three months away, I may be able to maintain what little comfort and control I have left for a while longer. Right now I cannot say, nor can I comment upon the work until I am given a tour and introduced to a few people. In the meantime, I am trying to embrace all that I can because the situation will eventually change and there is nothing I can do about it. Unlike the real glow and how I felt back then, right now I try to see and appreciate the moments because they are going to disappear. Thirty years ago I was unconcerned with the passage of time. Now? The time is short. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' Watching the show yesterday was just like all the other times... Troubling to a point, yet nothing overwhelming. I have to remain closed for business and focus upon the story, I guess. Nothing is going to help, anyway, so I may as well just enjoy what I can and shove all the shit to the rear and secure it until I am alone. As far as I have been able to see, there are several personality aspects and general beliefs which are shared by many, nearly all of which I have tried to question over the years. I don't agree with simply moving along in a huge group and accepting all the bullshit society places in the path. There are other ways of understanding and seeking whatever a person wishes to be or experience, and there must be a number of souls out there who think this way and separate themselves from the herd without being fucking hippies who are on drugs half the fucking time. I mean, a large part of the reason for my gushing about those four years is the idea that we did not know what was coming down the road at a given time, there were options to every aspect of entertainment and media, and the development of technology was still at a very wide point on the triangle. I suppose the expectation of things becoming aligned and simplified is not only corporate greed and control, but also the idea that only so much can be done in a given vein before it is worn out. People constantly await something new to either play with or show off, and that means what I stated years ago about them being led around by a technological carrot is actually taking place. During that short period I miss so much, media had not yet been so truncated so as to force us onto any specific path. I am beginning to lose the thought process here, damn it. I suppose everything has become generalized to a point, for lack of a better description. The idea that a person can bring whatever media to wherever on the planet and listen or watch has made a huge impact on the world. That means no waiting. See? Maybe not. I did lose track. The glow is actually glowing partly because it is gone. I cannot deny that. The past often looks better many years later, too. I suppose the feeling of future possibilities was the main force back then, whereas now I just don't see anything significant or uplifting. All of the technology has narrowed to the point of becoming quite generic... The media entertainment being pushed to the limits of 'acceptable'. Or not. Maybe it has been pushed too far. I don't know. The subject is likely too large for me to sum. I believe my forlorn state is everything added together and thrown on top of already feeling as if there is nothing left in the future. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' Don't quote me on this, but there might be a bigger problem in my head than the fucking two. Keep in mind that as difficult as that shit can be, it is ONLY related to women. Nothing else. Erasing the female concerns would effectively and immediately remove that fucking train wreck for all time. Interesting, right? All but impossible, but interesting. Heh. The direction of society will force its way into my life whether or not I am out there in the middle of it. Many years ago I did not think in such a fashion. I enjoyed things and moved along as best I could while living. Now I sit here and await that same society pushing through the door and destroying me. I may not work on my ridiculous clothing rack system today. Well, I can't while there are things hanging there, anyway, but I believe more thought will help that idea. The day can be focused elsewhere. I may have solved the auction account business so the listings can move forward, meaning more items out the door soon. I still have shipping supplies left. The money coming in is one of the little boosts to an overly forlorn period. My usual stuff will be very quick today, too. This needs to get the hell off the screen, anyway. It's been here for several days. Make no mistake, despite my conveyance of information here since the last entry, I am not in a good mood at all. I simply see no reason to retread the shit again. Every single moment of each day provides nothing more than sadness or disappointment in everything. Such is the way this shall be for all time. In short, just because I am here speaking does not mean anything in particular. Don't read into it. 255." 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
Forlorn Mature content No. 240 Published April 21st, 2021 9:35am pdt read ( words) Past entries "4-14. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' God damn that is good stuff. His voice is unique and cut through the room like Satan's butcher knife. Every fucking time that episode comes along I have to hear him yell. For some reason, his performance mirrors things I've wanted to do but either chose to avoid or could not achieve. Did nothing, remember? I already said that. Joseph is one of those actors who creates a universe within each character. Well, yesterday conjured concern. Not the show, but everything else. Just a day ago (and two days before that) I published thoughts regarding the understanding. Those three. After yesterday I don't know what to think because I cannot know what is inside, for the millionth time. The situation is such that I will not likely find that place again. All of the trouble has been caused by yours truly. From this point forward, I'll have to avoid any decisions involving feelings. I must admit that I feel much worse now than at the time, and that is quite a mouthful. Nothing is accepted easily anymore. Not when considering this never-ending analysis. I guess the line did not appear as I had hoped. The strength may not be at my beck and call. And it is time to get away from the fucking issues and reminisce a while. I'm tired of problems and continuing to attempt understanding. In the process of streamlining the entries and trying to align everything to the same format, I ran across an older one, 'The Wind, the Windows and the Wires'. You may have noticed some entries are from a plural standpoint (usually meaning a very bad mood) while others are singular. I went back to the one in question and realigned it with most others, singular. In the older days I tried to make this endeavor larger than it really was. Now I don't really care. Anyway, reading through and editing that story, I caught a feeling right up the side of my head. A slam back to the days spent inside the range. I recall shortly after purchasing a certain watch -- a Pulsar pilot -- and wearing it to work. The gun schedule was such that we could operate only every other day due to turning everything around to enable setup again. The day after a test, for example, was when we rebuilt the impact wall and I went inside to clean the windows and such. That is outlined in the entry above. Shooting days were more structured, with us basically adhering to the needs of the researcher and operating the gun from early morning until afternoon. Testing took the entire day, albeit our pace was very specific due to the work being very dangerous. If the test was typical, the last chore of the day was cleaning the launch tube, or gun barrel. I may outline the entire process in the future. I don't know yet. There I sat, inside the dump tank with fan blowing and my supplies next to me. We always performed each step exactly the same in order to maintain a routine. All of the processes involved were hazardous, meaning the manner in which we went about the testing and cleanup was important for safety. Routines were absolute. So, I was inside the tank at the trailing end of the launch tube with a light, bottle of acetone, and a stack of custom-cut flannel rags. They were sized specifically for wrapping around a brush which was pulled through the barrel by my coworker to slowly clean the tube. Usually six to eight pulls and that was that. It was a slow process, but being nearly the end of the day meant the reward of heading home was right in front of me. I sat there after purchasing the watch and stared in between him bringing me the brush for a fresh rag. Sitting here right now I can smell the walls of the tank and chemicals, I can see that little watch on my wrist peeking slightly from my shop coat, and hear the fans running and keeping the atmosphere breathable. As I said, cleaning the launch tube meant everything else had been finished and we were close to leaving for the day. My watch was right there with me. Whenever I wore it outside work, I was immediately reminded of that first occasion in the tank. That was a time when wristwatches were still wondrous, just as the routine at work. I miss it like sin. Here I am at the best portion of the day. Part of the routine is finished and I have hours in front of me for whatever seems best. Sun is shining, coffee is still next to me, and the memories are flowing like a river right through my brain. At times the heat inside the gun range -- specifically the gun room itself -- made cleaning the individual parts arduous. As I said above, we performed each step almost exactly the same every time there was a test. Put simply, the morning was all setup, we fired just before lunch (to allow ventilation for an hour or more before decoupling the gun sections), and then spent a good portion of the afternoon cleaning and leaving all our tools and such where they needed to be. Due to the acetone and hydrogen sulfide present in spades, the entire afternoon had the huge supply and exhaust fans running on high. Right above my head as we slowly pulled a swab through the pump tubes were the two main supplies. During the warmer months, I was standing or working amid a ton of hot air while wearing a shop coat and two pairs of gloves. And I didn't even give a shit. The rewarding nature of finishing, cooling off a while and then driving home all added up to any discomfort being more than worth it. In fact, I loved that part of each test. Just two of us, very few words (if any at all), and our routine performed to a tee. No one else wished to be in that area. Very smelly and uncomfortable. But I embraced it with pride. Every fucking time for eleven years. Now I am sad. Sometimes I saw downsides, problems. Now? I realize I was too critical then. Honestly. Given the chance, there is no way I would rock the boat as I did in ten. That was bad, all my fault, and effectively removed one of the most rewarding and wondrous periods of my life. We worked a 'nine-eighty' pay schedule, meaning each period began at noon Friday and carried to the following Thursday. The next Friday we were off. Each period was forty hours on the check, although one week technically was forty-four hours of work due to nine hours per day through Thursday and then eight Friday. The pay period was two weeks. That Friday off every other week made the whole schedule worthwhile. When we were at the range described above, the best feeling was testing on a Thursday before the three-day weekend. Another reward for spending the afternoon cleaning the gun. Since the job was run by the federal government, there were several national holidays falling on Mondays... Even sweeter when the previous Friday was an off day. Our schedule was fairly unique for the time, I believe, and made the work that much more interesting. The memory of sitting there awaiting my coworker's return with the cleaning brush brought the watch to mind this morning. It was nothing crazy, just another complex aviation-themed timepiece which caught my eye at the time. There were many others, as well. Over the years that I performed that work, several different watches accompanied me to the job and I occasionally shot an image here or there with the watch sitting upon parts of the gun. I'll have to look through my pictures and see if any are there. A feeling accompanied seeing those different watches, one from my previous job in which the work was cleaner and I was able to wear one daily, expensive or otherwise. I have tons of memories in my head attached to different watches over a period of more than a decade. The work at the ranges is now at the top of the list. I miss it so. The end was my decision, however. I can smell the acetone right now. All the wording in the older essay about wind and wires keeps returning to me from time to time. This morning it is strong. I looked through those windows for many years and eventually came to love the view. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' Thinking of that era makes me very sad because I was so weak over desire that I threw my entire life away, hurt and estranged many others, and put myself in a very bad position. God only knows where I would be right now had I not made that fucking decision. Not long after I acquired the Slipper just months before the bad time, I was told by my boss that I was being groomed to take over his position when he retired. Splendid. A boost to the career I already loved and I tossed it aside like so much trash. I honestly believe my inability to be hired by the next wondrous place of work just a year later was karma. Very bad, very sad. The watch is like Proust's madeleine. Flooded with memories, most of which I am fond. All gone. Forever. What a fucking idiot. 4-19. Days passed without writing anything here. I've been going through everything which has already been published in order to ensure each entry is formatted the same and shares updated code standards for validation. I know not why, but keeping up with the industry is important to me. When I began building the new site, many of the entries were streamlined and cleaned because many aspects of the master page had changed to align with more current validation. Now that I have abandoned the new site, this system of content can be rehashed to remain current. It's a lot of work, but alas I have little going on these days. Plus, I have not felt like placing anything here for almost a week because everything is beginning to sound the same. Although... The lose-lose continues to plague, and just the other day I slipped up and spoke too much. Now I am berating myself after years of being very private and then loosening enough to convey thoughts better left unsaid. I already know nothing is going to help me, so revealing information is bad because both fears hit at the same fucking time. They did for a little while, too. I can't have that. And then the fucking Goddamned show entered my head again and forced me to realize the idea of watching the current series was a mistake. My idea, of course, because I have to be in charge of the entertainment all the time. Yep, I really do. I choose everything. My decision-making process was such that every single aspect of the show is excellent and I wished to share. The fucking rub is watching with a very different person than ever before. That is probably too much information... Again. Lose, and then lose, just like the conversation. I will NEVER recover from this worry, nor do I have a chance in hell of changing. The last year since holing up here in the house has seen my backward progress speed tremendously, meaning I can only expect more of the same. Everything in my head is worse today than it was twelve months ago. Even the fucking machine won't leave my head despite barely a mention lately. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' Again this morning I had to hear about the fucking helicopter, too. More piled on top. Sometimes I relax and talk too much... Bottom line. I need to do like the gangsters say and keep my mouth shut. Nothing is going to be served by discussing issues or feelings anyway, so why do I speak at all? Haven't I already demonstrated the innate ability to foresee what will happen when I open myself even a touch? Just a sliver of a gap and something comes out which floors me later and causes damage. This has been doctrine for a very long time. I suppose there are moments when I reach for whatever reason (likely feeling emotional over something) and then the trouble starts. This may sound callous, but I honestly believe the difficulty I experience while alone is nothing compared to what may be caused by the storehouse in my brain opening for business. That means I cannot be comfortable around people any longer. And moving forward from that last sentence, I learned the other day that I may be able to slide into a cozy job in a few months. The upsides are obvious as I already know that getting out of here for several hours a day will improve my outlook, plus the income will ease everything which has been making me nervous for months. The downside is interacting with others, although they are likely all males and I know nothing of them, and that means safety. As much shit as I carry around which relates to males, at least I have a lifetime of experience in dealing with them. I never need to worry about what is going on inside because I already know enough to feel the way I do. As for females, that is another story entirely. Personal relationships are far different than those at a workplace, so there may be no issue whatsoever. I'll have to wait and see what the atmosphere is like in that place. This could be very good for my head because I know very well what has changed inside since last year. It could also lead to distress, though. Wait and see. Give it a chance. Ugh I can't get that conversation out of my fucking head today. The work is moving along this morning, yet underneath everything I already know this is going to go downhill. There is simply no other way. Very sad. Forlorn. The little enjoyments are losing the war. The show is full of problems. Yes, it won a boatload of awards for good reason and is impeccably written, directed and acted, yet the subject matter and players are tattooing things on my brain which will never wash off. Permanent issues all over the place. I have trouble watching one of the actors due to shit from the past -- so far that I can't even remember the cause, believe it or not -- and the whole of the scene framing is beginning to wear down my ability to function after viewing one. I have to keep going for reasons of sharing media which is fantastic, however. I cannot begin the thing and then cut it short just because I am a fucking head case. Like Annalisa said, I have to deal with it. And the conversation the other day touched upon some of my fear and apprehension. Not good by any stretch of the word. Now I don't know which way to turn. I cannot speak any more about it or the two fears will ping-pong my ass until I bleed. This is all so very bad now, and I consciously made the choice weeks ago. What a fucking idiot. One smidgen of happiness... The new lateral is working beautifully. And back to the down. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' 4-20. I bastardized a brand new electric can opener yesterday in order to attempt to motorize the clothing rack. Well, that went bad because I cannot reverse the motor. Flip a switch and the rack goes up... Never to come back down. Heh. So, I dug into my older crap leftover from the truck and found just what is needed. I'll work on that today, perhaps. Yesterday I did not do much beyond the typical routine. Doesn't matter. I'll continue with whatever, and whenever I feel like it. Nothing is really serving to cause joy lately. Here we are after all of the analysis, bitching, worry and undue concern over both the past and what this last year has done. Oh, and one more smidgen of a push off the cliff. Ah... And the recent telling. I almost forgot. Exponential bad. You read it already. Now read the last. After going into that crap on Saturday, I still cannot reconcile myself with the idea of some knowledge being out there. As much as I have spouted about control over everything, one would think my mouth would remain shut all the time. The most straightforward control, to be sure. Most other aspects of life are technically out of my hands, but that one idea comes to mind because I am supposed to be in charge of speaking. Marci is going to be on the screen very soon, and in much better resolution than the images I posted in her entry. Damn. I never should have said anything. Now it's haunting me all the time. One of the enjoyments is going away. From one night to the next I have not clue one of whether or not I will experience the fruits of our labor. The last three nights have gone bad. And three is the number. Or, was the number. One is a constant, thank Christ, yet two and three are haphazard and can no longer be treated as constants. I just can't fucking have my small smiles taken away, although I already know the hands are there at my back. They do not touch me for happy reasons. I believe one of them is intent upon me paying the tab of my life. This is not the time for anything to be removed from my enjoyment of a given day. There is little there to begin with and the idea of something good disappearing will only pull focus upon the other negatives that much more quickly. I need these little aspects of life to keep me going. Need. All the other shit is literally kept at bay by the short-lived joys. With one of them going away? Unpleasant. The people in my life are still seeing the laughter, joking around, and generally lighthearted nature of my mood on a daily basis. The rest is underneath and partially hidden away. I have gleaned it here and there on the site, but rarely do I go into detail about my feelings in person because I do not wish to drive the last few people away without good reason. Losing one of the most important parts of living is going to cause a strain on me. Maintaining myself during such a downfall will not be easy. They are not at fault, meaning just because I don't have many people near me anymore does not mean I can unload this shit on them. I have to sit on it for the most part. Not good. Hours ahead for whatever I feel like doing today. The usual along with laundry, and then perhaps I can work with the motor, gearbox and mount for the clothing rack. It's funny that I still have all of the parts which were either rebuilt or replaced over the years due to redesign of the truck. The parts in question are out of the autopilot for a very old aircraft and were acquired from my workplace many moons ago. I never tossed anything. Every now and again something comes in handy for other projects, and now I have a working solution to the motorization idea. As long as the motor has enough torque to pull up the rack, I have everything necessary to complete it except for one switch. The only delay may be if I wish to make it automatic. That will require limit switches, but they are cheap anyway. Other than that crap, I can continue to streamline the older entries. More than halfway complete now. The federal government extended my benefits for just shy of eleven weeks, which will effectively place me in good shape if and when the job works out. That will be sometime either late June or July. Some weight off my head for the time being, and right as the other shit is pressing more than ever. These quiet days at home have never been more important. Sitting here right now is a good example. Organizing everything in my head takes much more effort than in the past. Even just a year ago, honestly. I cannot believe this sometimes. Gangsters keeping me company. At least I know them well. Familiarity is important these days. Fictional or otherwise, I really do not need a shining example of a symbol pressing my senses almost daily. Three episodes yesterday cemented the vision and I can't shake it. The very idea makes me sad. Forlorn, which is the opposite of those many causes which used to make me angry. No more of that. Precious little anger anymore. No reason for it. Nothing is solved that way. Too much. I did it. I let myself flow in a moment of justified weakness and all these days later it still haunts me. This is the interim, as if the processes are remaining in the background until a limit is reached. Each moment has me directing my attention and memories back and forth from bad to good, all the while knowing the end of the tracks -- the buffer stop of life -- is out there in the distance. Last night during the episode was a train out in the desert which brought the fiction to mind, as well as all of the related wording to railroads found on this site since roughly seventeen. Such a mode of transportation is representative of too many aspects and periods of my life to leave out of the content, plus when I see an actual train in operation it feels wondrous even at my age. All the way back to those silly experiments near the canal behind my house in Colorado when we placed coins on the rails and then waited for the train to pass. We then sought the coins wherever they may have landed and marveled at the flatness. Sometimes really cool, other times completely destroyed. Even then I was aware of the awesome power and intimidation of the locomotives. I believe the train which I am controlling sometimes overwhelms and then I reach elsewhere for confirmation or validation. The other day I spouted a little, meaning the controls were not in hand. I let go. Not good. I need to maintain the helm or I will withdraw beyond belief. Hiding will be the only way. I badly need that power and prowess under my control due to so many things missing inside me. As much as I feel hatred for being accused of 'compensating' for something, that is precisely what I am doing. I feel powerless, hence the locomotives. No one argues with them. Ever. Go ahead and fucking laugh. Right now the very idea of looking into another person's eyes for more than a split second feels frightening. I cannot have anyone seeing too much. That is how heavy my wall has become. Hmm... A train again. Very interesting. I will try to avoid beating myself up over this latest slip, however now there is more. I have no idea of what may be processing in there now that one paw of the cat is out of the fucking bag. [Maybe I need to be half IN the fucking bag. Heh.] I am far too fearful and insecure to simply let go and move on with my life without becoming overly worried. Once again -- possibly the tenth time -- the not knowing is going to destroy me completely and without remorse. I don't know what to do now. And then pile on top the little daily enjoyment heading out the door and I cannot believe I am forming sentences at this moment. Everything is just shit. The typical 'kitchen cocktail' will be happening, no doubt. Give it time. 4-21. The kitchen cocktail did happen and actually worked into a garage/laundry cocktail. I completed a few little items and then went out there to work with the clothing rack motor idea. So, the trial run is complete. I was able to link the motor and reduction just as they had been on my little truck many years ago. I then adapted a section of dowel, supported the opposite end, and ran two lengths of rope through the dowel and tied off. One pulls the rack up as the other unwinds a counterweight to assist the motor. So far it's pretty shaky, but that experiment was only the beginning. I will refine everything a little at a time. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' I am sad like each morning. Projects and other work aside, I still sit here and consider everything which has brought me to this point. My dealings with myself as well as people's effects upon me. Behavioral changes due to societal influence, the idea that I nearly always go against the grain and try to avoid conforming to what some believe to be the norm, and then worrying over what I am versus either what I was or could have been. All those years of overanalyzing have clearly affected me. I do it all the time, especially when I don't understand how to deal with a given situation. Just sad. Don't fucking get me started on the two and how it has jaded me over the course of years. This entry is ridiculous. Back to the beginning of the essay. The stagnant period during which I pretty much treaded water at work and home is now one of the periods I miss sometimes. There were aspects of life I wished to have in spades, yet their absence helped to shape me -- in a manner of speaking -- into a person who cherishes each second of the joyful moments. Yes, they also affected me in very negative ways and caused some pretty fucking stupid decisions, although before everything began to unravel, there were good things taking place. Things I felt I could depend upon to always be there. Those passages above describing our routine at work outline some of them. All those days piled up, one after the other for years, and the routine rarely changed at all. Even before the house. The period when our television went away in favor of high definition and I was led to the rollercoaster girl, all those programs and channels which are now gone forever, and the excitement of assembling some major steps on my truck while I had the chance, is approaching the idea of another 'glow' of sorts. There were still discoveries and some unknowns. I was clinging to routines back then, both at home and work. I believe for a time I had let go of the idea of running and isolating myself from this society due to comfort. That's probably been mentioned but I can't remember. The real glow still rules my thinking. No getting around that one. The current period feels surreal, as if I have been dreaming it for several years. I now feel that I lost time which can never return by miring myself into a toilsome type of work and then spending too much time with the others and reinforcing the beliefs that such was 'life'. Who knows... If it hadn't been for the world health crisis since late nineteen, I might still be right in the middle of that shit with nary a chance to get out and make a change. Life is very different now after having been granted the opportunity to flip everything onto its side, and with the one possibility for work in a somewhat isolated atmosphere less than three months away, I may be able to maintain what little comfort and control I have left for a while longer. Right now I cannot say, nor can I comment upon the work until I am given a tour and introduced to a few people. In the meantime, I am trying to embrace all that I can because the situation will eventually change and there is nothing I can do about it. Unlike the real glow and how I felt back then, right now I try to see and appreciate the moments because they are going to disappear. Thirty years ago I was unconcerned with the passage of time. Now? The time is short. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' Watching the show yesterday was just like all the other times... Troubling to a point, yet nothing overwhelming. I have to remain closed for business and focus upon the story, I guess. Nothing is going to help, anyway, so I may as well just enjoy what I can and shove all the shit to the rear and secure it until I am alone. As far as I have been able to see, there are several personality aspects and general beliefs which are shared by many, nearly all of which I have tried to question over the years. I don't agree with simply moving along in a huge group and accepting all the bullshit society places in the path. There are other ways of understanding and seeking whatever a person wishes to be or experience, and there must be a number of souls out there who think this way and separate themselves from the herd without being fucking hippies who are on drugs half the fucking time. I mean, a large part of the reason for my gushing about those four years is the idea that we did not know what was coming down the road at a given time, there were options to every aspect of entertainment and media, and the development of technology was still at a very wide point on the triangle. I suppose the expectation of things becoming aligned and simplified is not only corporate greed and control, but also the idea that only so much can be done in a given vein before it is worn out. People constantly await something new to either play with or show off, and that means what I stated years ago about them being led around by a technological carrot is actually taking place. During that short period I miss so much, media had not yet been so truncated so as to force us onto any specific path. I am beginning to lose the thought process here, damn it. I suppose everything has become generalized to a point, for lack of a better description. The idea that a person can bring whatever media to wherever on the planet and listen or watch has made a huge impact on the world. That means no waiting. See? Maybe not. I did lose track. The glow is actually glowing partly because it is gone. I cannot deny that. The past often looks better many years later, too. I suppose the feeling of future possibilities was the main force back then, whereas now I just don't see anything significant or uplifting. All of the technology has narrowed to the point of becoming quite generic... The media entertainment being pushed to the limits of 'acceptable'. Or not. Maybe it has been pushed too far. I don't know. The subject is likely too large for me to sum. I believe my forlorn state is everything added together and thrown on top of already feeling as if there is nothing left in the future. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' Don't quote me on this, but there might be a bigger problem in my head than the fucking two. Keep in mind that as difficult as that shit can be, it is ONLY related to women. Nothing else. Erasing the female concerns would effectively and immediately remove that fucking train wreck for all time. Interesting, right? All but impossible, but interesting. Heh. The direction of society will force its way into my life whether or not I am out there in the middle of it. Many years ago I did not think in such a fashion. I enjoyed things and moved along as best I could while living. Now I sit here and await that same society pushing through the door and destroying me. I may not work on my ridiculous clothing rack system today. Well, I can't while there are things hanging there, anyway, but I believe more thought will help that idea. The day can be focused elsewhere. I may have solved the auction account business so the listings can move forward, meaning more items out the door soon. I still have shipping supplies left. The money coming in is one of the little boosts to an overly forlorn period. My usual stuff will be very quick today, too. This needs to get the hell off the screen, anyway. It's been here for several days. Make no mistake, despite my conveyance of information here since the last entry, I am not in a good mood at all. I simply see no reason to retread the shit again. Every single moment of each day provides nothing more than sadness or disappointment in everything. Such is the way this shall be for all time. In short, just because I am here speaking does not mean anything in particular. Don't read into it. 255."
Forlorn
Mature content No. 240 Published April 21st, 2021 9:35am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"4-14. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' God damn that is good stuff. His voice is unique and cut through the room like Satan's butcher knife. Every fucking time that episode comes along I have to hear him yell. For some reason, his performance mirrors things I've wanted to do but either chose to avoid or could not achieve. Did nothing, remember? I already said that. Joseph is one of those actors who creates a universe within each character. Well, yesterday conjured concern. Not the show, but everything else. Just a day ago (and two days before that) I published thoughts regarding the understanding. Those three. After yesterday I don't know what to think because I cannot know what is inside, for the millionth time. The situation is such that I will not likely find that place again. All of the trouble has been caused by yours truly. From this point forward, I'll have to avoid any decisions involving feelings. I must admit that I feel much worse now than at the time, and that is quite a mouthful. Nothing is accepted easily anymore. Not when considering this never-ending analysis. I guess the line did not appear as I had hoped. The strength may not be at my beck and call. And it is time to get away from the fucking issues and reminisce a while. I'm tired of problems and continuing to attempt understanding. In the process of streamlining the entries and trying to align everything to the same format, I ran across an older one, 'The Wind, the Windows and the Wires'. You may have noticed some entries are from a plural standpoint (usually meaning a very bad mood) while others are singular. I went back to the one in question and realigned it with most others, singular. In the older days I tried to make this endeavor larger than it really was. Now I don't really care. Anyway, reading through and editing that story, I caught a feeling right up the side of my head. A slam back to the days spent inside the range. I recall shortly after purchasing a certain watch -- a Pulsar pilot -- and wearing it to work. The gun schedule was such that we could operate only every other day due to turning everything around to enable setup again. The day after a test, for example, was when we rebuilt the impact wall and I went inside to clean the windows and such. That is outlined in the entry above. Shooting days were more structured, with us basically adhering to the needs of the researcher and operating the gun from early morning until afternoon. Testing took the entire day, albeit our pace was very specific due to the work being very dangerous. If the test was typical, the last chore of the day was cleaning the launch tube, or gun barrel. I may outline the entire process in the future. I don't know yet. There I sat, inside the dump tank with fan blowing and my supplies next to me. We always performed each step exactly the same in order to maintain a routine. All of the processes involved were hazardous, meaning the manner in which we went about the testing and cleanup was important for safety. Routines were absolute. So, I was inside the tank at the trailing end of the launch tube with a light, bottle of acetone, and a stack of custom-cut flannel rags. They were sized specifically for wrapping around a brush which was pulled through the barrel by my coworker to slowly clean the tube. Usually six to eight pulls and that was that. It was a slow process, but being nearly the end of the day meant the reward of heading home was right in front of me. I sat there after purchasing the watch and stared in between him bringing me the brush for a fresh rag. Sitting here right now I can smell the walls of the tank and chemicals, I can see that little watch on my wrist peeking slightly from my shop coat, and hear the fans running and keeping the atmosphere breathable. As I said, cleaning the launch tube meant everything else had been finished and we were close to leaving for the day. My watch was right there with me. Whenever I wore it outside work, I was immediately reminded of that first occasion in the tank. That was a time when wristwatches were still wondrous, just as the routine at work. I miss it like sin. Here I am at the best portion of the day. Part of the routine is finished and I have hours in front of me for whatever seems best. Sun is shining, coffee is still next to me, and the memories are flowing like a river right through my brain. At times the heat inside the gun range -- specifically the gun room itself -- made cleaning the individual parts arduous. As I said above, we performed each step almost exactly the same every time there was a test. Put simply, the morning was all setup, we fired just before lunch (to allow ventilation for an hour or more before decoupling the gun sections), and then spent a good portion of the afternoon cleaning and leaving all our tools and such where they needed to be. Due to the acetone and hydrogen sulfide present in spades, the entire afternoon had the huge supply and exhaust fans running on high. Right above my head as we slowly pulled a swab through the pump tubes were the two main supplies. During the warmer months, I was standing or working amid a ton of hot air while wearing a shop coat and two pairs of gloves. And I didn't even give a shit. The rewarding nature of finishing, cooling off a while and then driving home all added up to any discomfort being more than worth it. In fact, I loved that part of each test. Just two of us, very few words (if any at all), and our routine performed to a tee. No one else wished to be in that area. Very smelly and uncomfortable. But I embraced it with pride. Every fucking time for eleven years. Now I am sad.
Sometimes I saw downsides, problems. Now? I realize I was too critical then. Honestly. Given the chance, there is no way I would rock the boat as I did in ten. That was bad, all my fault, and effectively removed one of the most rewarding and wondrous periods of my life. We worked a 'nine-eighty' pay schedule, meaning each period began at noon Friday and carried to the following Thursday. The next Friday we were off. Each period was forty hours on the check, although one week technically was forty-four hours of work due to nine hours per day through Thursday and then eight Friday. The pay period was two weeks. That Friday off every other week made the whole schedule worthwhile. When we were at the range described above, the best feeling was testing on a Thursday before the three-day weekend. Another reward for spending the afternoon cleaning the gun. Since the job was run by the federal government, there were several national holidays falling on Mondays... Even sweeter when the previous Friday was an off day. Our schedule was fairly unique for the time, I believe, and made the work that much more interesting. The memory of sitting there awaiting my coworker's return with the cleaning brush brought the watch to mind this morning. It was nothing crazy, just another complex aviation-themed timepiece which caught my eye at the time. There were many others, as well. Over the years that I performed that work, several different watches accompanied me to the job and I occasionally shot an image here or there with the watch sitting upon parts of the gun. I'll have to look through my pictures and see if any are there. A feeling accompanied seeing those different watches, one from my previous job in which the work was cleaner and I was able to wear one daily, expensive or otherwise. I have tons of memories in my head attached to different watches over a period of more than a decade. The work at the ranges is now at the top of the list. I miss it so. The end was my decision, however. I can smell the acetone right now. All the wording in the older essay about wind and wires keeps returning to me from time to time. This morning it is strong. I looked through those windows for many years and eventually came to love the view. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' Thinking of that era makes me very sad because I was so weak over desire that I threw my entire life away, hurt and estranged many others, and put myself in a very bad position. God only knows where I would be right now had I not made that fucking decision. Not long after I acquired the Slipper just months before the bad time, I was told by my boss that I was being groomed to take over his position when he retired. Splendid. A boost to the career I already loved and I tossed it aside like so much trash. I honestly believe my inability to be hired by the next wondrous place of work just a year later was karma. Very bad, very sad. The watch is like Proust's madeleine. Flooded with memories, most of which I am fond. All gone. Forever. What a fucking idiot. 4-19. Days passed without writing anything here. I've been going through everything which has already been published in order to ensure each entry is formatted the same and shares updated code standards for validation. I know not why, but keeping up with the industry is important to me. When I began building the new site, many of the entries were streamlined and cleaned because many aspects of the master page had changed to align with more current validation. Now that I have abandoned the new site, this system of content can be rehashed to remain current. It's a lot of work, but alas I have little going on these days. Plus, I have not felt like placing anything here for almost a week because everything is beginning to sound the same. Although... The lose-lose continues to plague, and just the other day I slipped up and spoke too much. Now I am berating myself after years of being very private and then loosening enough to convey thoughts better left unsaid. I already know nothing is going to help me, so revealing information is bad because both fears hit at the same fucking time. They did for a little while, too. I can't have that. And then the fucking Goddamned show entered my head again and forced me to realize the idea of watching the current series was a mistake. My idea, of course, because I have to be in charge of the entertainment all the time. Yep, I really do. I choose everything. My decision-making process was such that every single aspect of the show is excellent and I wished to share. The fucking rub is watching with a very different person than ever before. That is probably too much information... Again. Lose, and then lose, just like the conversation. I will NEVER recover from this worry, nor do I have a chance in hell of changing. The last year since holing up here in the house has seen my backward progress speed tremendously, meaning I can only expect more of the same. Everything in my head is worse today than it was twelve months ago. Even the fucking machine won't leave my head despite barely a mention lately. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' Again this morning I had to hear about the fucking helicopter, too. More piled on top. Sometimes I relax and talk too much... Bottom line. I need to do like the gangsters say and keep my mouth shut. Nothing is going to be served by discussing issues or feelings anyway, so why do I speak at all? Haven't I already demonstrated the innate ability to foresee what will happen when I open myself even a touch? Just a sliver of a gap and something comes out which floors me later and causes damage. This has been doctrine for a very long time. I suppose there are moments when I reach for whatever reason (likely feeling emotional over something) and then the trouble starts. This may sound callous, but I honestly believe the difficulty I experience while alone is nothing compared to what may be caused by the storehouse in my brain opening for business. That means I cannot be comfortable around people any longer. And moving forward from that last sentence, I learned the other day that I may be able to slide into a cozy job in a few months. The upsides are obvious as I already know that getting out of here for several hours a day will improve my outlook, plus the income will ease everything which has been making me nervous for months. The downside is interacting with others, although they are likely all males and I know nothing of them, and that means safety. As much shit as I carry around which relates to males, at least I have a lifetime of experience in dealing with them. I never need to worry about what is going on inside because I already know enough to feel the way I do. As for females, that is another story entirely. Personal relationships are far different than those at a workplace, so there may be no issue whatsoever. I'll have to wait and see what the atmosphere is like in that place. This could be very good for my head because I know very well what has changed inside since last year. It could also lead to distress, though. Wait and see. Give it a chance. Ugh I can't get that conversation out of my fucking head today. The work is moving along this morning, yet underneath everything I already know this is going to go downhill. There is simply no other way. Very sad. Forlorn. The little enjoyments are losing the war.
The show is full of problems. Yes, it won a boatload of awards for good reason and is impeccably written, directed and acted, yet the subject matter and players are tattooing things on my brain which will never wash off. Permanent issues all over the place. I have trouble watching one of the actors due to shit from the past -- so far that I can't even remember the cause, believe it or not -- and the whole of the scene framing is beginning to wear down my ability to function after viewing one. I have to keep going for reasons of sharing media which is fantastic, however. I cannot begin the thing and then cut it short just because I am a fucking head case. Like Annalisa said, I have to deal with it. And the conversation the other day touched upon some of my fear and apprehension. Not good by any stretch of the word. Now I don't know which way to turn. I cannot speak any more about it or the two fears will ping-pong my ass until I bleed. This is all so very bad now, and I consciously made the choice weeks ago. What a fucking idiot. One smidgen of happiness... The new lateral is working beautifully. And back to the down. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' 4-20. I bastardized a brand new electric can opener yesterday in order to attempt to motorize the clothing rack. Well, that went bad because I cannot reverse the motor. Flip a switch and the rack goes up... Never to come back down. Heh. So, I dug into my older crap leftover from the truck and found just what is needed. I'll work on that today, perhaps. Yesterday I did not do much beyond the typical routine. Doesn't matter. I'll continue with whatever, and whenever I feel like it. Nothing is really serving to cause joy lately. Here we are after all of the analysis, bitching, worry and undue concern over both the past and what this last year has done. Oh, and one more smidgen of a push off the cliff. Ah... And the recent telling. I almost forgot. Exponential bad. You read it already. Now read the last. After going into that crap on Saturday, I still cannot reconcile myself with the idea of some knowledge being out there. As much as I have spouted about control over everything, one would think my mouth would remain shut all the time. The most straightforward control, to be sure. Most other aspects of life are technically out of my hands, but that one idea comes to mind because I am supposed to be in charge of speaking. Marci is going to be on the screen very soon, and in much better resolution than the images I posted in her entry. Damn. I never should have said anything. Now it's haunting me all the time. One of the enjoyments is going away. From one night to the next I have not clue one of whether or not I will experience the fruits of our labor. The last three nights have gone bad. And three is the number. Or, was the number. One is a constant, thank Christ, yet two and three are haphazard and can no longer be treated as constants. I just can't fucking have my small smiles taken away, although I already know the hands are there at my back. They do not touch me for happy reasons. I believe one of them is intent upon me paying the tab of my life. This is not the time for anything to be removed from my enjoyment of a given day. There is little there to begin with and the idea of something good disappearing will only pull focus upon the other negatives that much more quickly. I need these little aspects of life to keep me going. Need. All the other shit is literally kept at bay by the short-lived joys. With one of them going away? Unpleasant. The people in my life are still seeing the laughter, joking around, and generally lighthearted nature of my mood on a daily basis. The rest is underneath and partially hidden away. I have gleaned it here and there on the site, but rarely do I go into detail about my feelings in person because I do not wish to drive the last few people away without good reason. Losing one of the most important parts of living is going to cause a strain on me. Maintaining myself during such a downfall will not be easy. They are not at fault, meaning just because I don't have many people near me anymore does not mean I can unload this shit on them. I have to sit on it for the most part. Not good. Hours ahead for whatever I feel like doing today. The usual along with laundry, and then perhaps I can work with the motor, gearbox and mount for the clothing rack. It's funny that I still have all of the parts which were either rebuilt or replaced over the years due to redesign of the truck. The parts in question are out of the autopilot for a very old aircraft and were acquired from my workplace many moons ago. I never tossed anything. Every now and again something comes in handy for other projects, and now I have a working solution to the motorization idea. As long as the motor has enough torque to pull up the rack, I have everything necessary to complete it except for one switch. The only delay may be if I wish to make it automatic. That will require limit switches, but they are cheap anyway. Other than that crap, I can continue to streamline the older entries. More than halfway complete now. The federal government extended my benefits for just shy of eleven weeks, which will effectively place me in good shape if and when the job works out. That will be sometime either late June or July. Some weight off my head for the time being, and right as the other shit is pressing more than ever. These quiet days at home have never been more important. Sitting here right now is a good example. Organizing everything in my head takes much more effort than in the past. Even just a year ago, honestly. I cannot believe this sometimes. Gangsters keeping me company. At least I know them well. Familiarity is important these days. Fictional or otherwise, I really do not need a shining example of a symbol pressing my senses almost daily. Three episodes yesterday cemented the vision and I can't shake it. The very idea makes me sad. Forlorn, which is the opposite of those many causes which used to make me angry. No more of that. Precious little anger anymore. No reason for it. Nothing is solved that way.
Too much. I did it. I let myself flow in a moment of justified weakness and all these days later it still haunts me. This is the interim, as if the processes are remaining in the background until a limit is reached. Each moment has me directing my attention and memories back and forth from bad to good, all the while knowing the end of the tracks -- the buffer stop of life -- is out there in the distance. Last night during the episode was a train out in the desert which brought the fiction to mind, as well as all of the related wording to railroads found on this site since roughly seventeen. Such a mode of transportation is representative of too many aspects and periods of my life to leave out of the content, plus when I see an actual train in operation it feels wondrous even at my age. All the way back to those silly experiments near the canal behind my house in Colorado when we placed coins on the rails and then waited for the train to pass. We then sought the coins wherever they may have landed and marveled at the flatness. Sometimes really cool, other times completely destroyed. Even then I was aware of the awesome power and intimidation of the locomotives. I believe the train which I am controlling sometimes overwhelms and then I reach elsewhere for confirmation or validation. The other day I spouted a little, meaning the controls were not in hand. I let go. Not good. I need to maintain the helm or I will withdraw beyond belief. Hiding will be the only way. I badly need that power and prowess under my control due to so many things missing inside me. As much as I feel hatred for being accused of 'compensating' for something, that is precisely what I am doing. I feel powerless, hence the locomotives. No one argues with them. Ever. Go ahead and fucking laugh. Right now the very idea of looking into another person's eyes for more than a split second feels frightening. I cannot have anyone seeing too much. That is how heavy my wall has become. Hmm... A train again. Very interesting. I will try to avoid beating myself up over this latest slip, however now there is more. I have no idea of what may be processing in there now that one paw of the cat is out of the fucking bag. [Maybe I need to be half IN the fucking bag. Heh.] I am far too fearful and insecure to simply let go and move on with my life without becoming overly worried. Once again -- possibly the tenth time -- the not knowing is going to destroy me completely and without remorse. I don't know what to do now. And then pile on top the little daily enjoyment heading out the door and I cannot believe I am forming sentences at this moment. Everything is just shit. The typical 'kitchen cocktail' will be happening, no doubt. Give it time. 4-21. The kitchen cocktail did happen and actually worked into a garage/laundry cocktail. I completed a few little items and then went out there to work with the clothing rack motor idea. So, the trial run is complete. I was able to link the motor and reduction just as they had been on my little truck many years ago. I then adapted a section of dowel, supported the opposite end, and ran two lengths of rope through the dowel and tied off. One pulls the rack up as the other unwinds a counterweight to assist the motor. So far it's pretty shaky, but that experiment was only the beginning. I will refine everything a little at a time. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' I am sad like each morning. Projects and other work aside, I still sit here and consider everything which has brought me to this point. My dealings with myself as well as people's effects upon me. Behavioral changes due to societal influence, the idea that I nearly always go against the grain and try to avoid conforming to what some believe to be the norm, and then worrying over what I am versus either what I was or could have been. All those years of overanalyzing have clearly affected me. I do it all the time, especially when I don't understand how to deal with a given situation. Just sad. Don't fucking get me started on the two and how it has jaded me over the course of years. This entry is ridiculous. Back to the beginning of the essay. The stagnant period during which I pretty much treaded water at work and home is now one of the periods I miss sometimes. There were aspects of life I wished to have in spades, yet their absence helped to shape me -- in a manner of speaking -- into a person who cherishes each second of the joyful moments. Yes, they also affected me in very negative ways and caused some pretty fucking stupid decisions, although before everything began to unravel, there were good things taking place. Things I felt I could depend upon to always be there. Those passages above describing our routine at work outline some of them. All those days piled up, one after the other for years, and the routine rarely changed at all. Even before the house. The period when our television went away in favor of high definition and I was led to the rollercoaster girl, all those programs and channels which are now gone forever, and the excitement of assembling some major steps on my truck while I had the chance, is approaching the idea of another 'glow' of sorts. There were still discoveries and some unknowns. I was clinging to routines back then, both at home and work. I believe for a time I had let go of the idea of running and isolating myself from this society due to comfort. That's probably been mentioned but I can't remember. The real glow still rules my thinking. No getting around that one.
The current period feels surreal, as if I have been dreaming it for several years. I now feel that I lost time which can never return by miring myself into a toilsome type of work and then spending too much time with the others and reinforcing the beliefs that such was 'life'. Who knows... If it hadn't been for the world health crisis since late nineteen, I might still be right in the middle of that shit with nary a chance to get out and make a change. Life is very different now after having been granted the opportunity to flip everything onto its side, and with the one possibility for work in a somewhat isolated atmosphere less than three months away, I may be able to maintain what little comfort and control I have left for a while longer. Right now I cannot say, nor can I comment upon the work until I am given a tour and introduced to a few people. In the meantime, I am trying to embrace all that I can because the situation will eventually change and there is nothing I can do about it. Unlike the real glow and how I felt back then, right now I try to see and appreciate the moments because they are going to disappear. Thirty years ago I was unconcerned with the passage of time. Now? The time is short. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' Watching the show yesterday was just like all the other times... Troubling to a point, yet nothing overwhelming. I have to remain closed for business and focus upon the story, I guess. Nothing is going to help, anyway, so I may as well just enjoy what I can and shove all the shit to the rear and secure it until I am alone. As far as I have been able to see, there are several personality aspects and general beliefs which are shared by many, nearly all of which I have tried to question over the years. I don't agree with simply moving along in a huge group and accepting all the bullshit society places in the path. There are other ways of understanding and seeking whatever a person wishes to be or experience, and there must be a number of souls out there who think this way and separate themselves from the herd without being fucking hippies who are on drugs half the fucking time. I mean, a large part of the reason for my gushing about those four years is the idea that we did not know what was coming down the road at a given time, there were options to every aspect of entertainment and media, and the development of technology was still at a very wide point on the triangle. I suppose the expectation of things becoming aligned and simplified is not only corporate greed and control, but also the idea that only so much can be done in a given vein before it is worn out. People constantly await something new to either play with or show off, and that means what I stated years ago about them being led around by a technological carrot is actually taking place. During that short period I miss so much, media had not yet been so truncated so as to force us onto any specific path. I am beginning to lose the thought process here, damn it. I suppose everything has become generalized to a point, for lack of a better description. The idea that a person can bring whatever media to wherever on the planet and listen or watch has made a huge impact on the world. That means no waiting. See? Maybe not. I did lose track. The glow is actually glowing partly because it is gone. I cannot deny that. The past often looks better many years later, too. I suppose the feeling of future possibilities was the main force back then, whereas now I just don't see anything significant or uplifting. All of the technology has narrowed to the point of becoming quite generic... The media entertainment being pushed to the limits of 'acceptable'. Or not. Maybe it has been pushed too far. I don't know. The subject is likely too large for me to sum. I believe my forlorn state is everything added together and thrown on top of already feeling as if there is nothing left in the future. 'ANTHONY!! WHAT DID I FUCKIN' TELL YOU?!!' Don't quote me on this, but there might be a bigger problem in my head than the fucking two. Keep in mind that as difficult as that shit can be, it is ONLY related to women. Nothing else. Erasing the female concerns would effectively and immediately remove that fucking train wreck for all time. Interesting, right? All but impossible, but interesting. Heh. The direction of society will force its way into my life whether or not I am out there in the middle of it. Many years ago I did not think in such a fashion. I enjoyed things and moved along as best I could while living. Now I sit here and await that same society pushing through the door and destroying me. I may not work on my ridiculous clothing rack system today. Well, I can't while there are things hanging there, anyway, but I believe more thought will help that idea. The day can be focused elsewhere. I may have solved the auction account business so the listings can move forward, meaning more items out the door soon. I still have shipping supplies left. The money coming in is one of the little boosts to an overly forlorn period. My usual stuff will be very quick today, too. This needs to get the hell off the screen, anyway. It's been here for several days. Make no mistake, despite my conveyance of information here since the last entry, I am not in a good mood at all. I simply see no reason to retread the shit again. Every single moment of each day provides nothing more than sadness or disappointment in everything. Such is the way this shall be for all time. In short, just because I am here speaking does not mean anything in particular. Don't read into it. 255."
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
legal
about
archive
home
