March 26th, 2022 9:04am pdt

If you are visiting for the first time, go to the beginning.

Even Darkher

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"Nora is still up there making all the other females look like absolute shit. Even Deborah cannot compare to the sheer prowess of all that darkness. No one else. Nothing. Nora is even darkher than Jamie sometimes.

This Japanese dragon lady on the screen makes even Arliss Howard's menacing character seem downright warm and cozy. Talk about scary. Oh, wow. She is actually from Okinawa. Interesting. I was there during the late eighties. And the other Jamie is up there completely fucking nude. Damn, I could never do that.

'I'm your number one bitch. Don't ever forget it.' Geez, this show sometimes.

1156 on the same Monday. Almost time to do something for lunch. I went to the neighbor's house and had a nice conversation with her. I'm going to request help from one of my friends. Can't do the job myself. Not right now, anyway.

1714. My camera ARCA plate arrived and it is everything they stated. Unfortunately, even the ARCA dovetail does not fit the tripod head. Bummer. The dovetail is correct, yet the lower flange is just a tad too thick for fully engaging the lock on the head. I can't have that, but as for its primary function of facilitating attachment of both the slingshot and safety leash, it's ideal. Nice and solid, well-made, and the clearance at the bottom of the battery grip is very slim. Overall it will work beautifully while walking around. I don't put the camera on the tripod very often, so if I need to change plates I don't mind at all. The main focus was the connection. I walked around with the slingshot and camera set up as if at the show and it's very comfortable for being so damned heavy. I won't go into the numerous reasons why I prefer to shoot with a heavy-ass full-frame DSLR versus anything else, including the fucking phone. There is simply no comparison with regard to controlling exposure. All set up now. Very nice.

I boiled some fresh beets for salads and took care of my usual stuff in and around messing with the camera. Nothing else will take place this afternoon aside from straightening the kitchen again. I need to be ready for cooking dinner. I've also been reading updates on the conflict. Slow and steady in a downward spiral. The apprehension thousands of miles away is real. I don't like it, but all I can do is remain informed. My right arm and shoulder are fucked up and I'm having difficulty walking again just like a few months ago. That adds up to taking it easy.

Tuesday morning and I woke up a bit later than usual. I do not enjoy rising out of bed after the light is up. I'll have to curb this crap before too long. Bailey is involved in the story again, up there in her glory and skewing my thought processes. Last night on the same show there was a bit of dialog which I was going to include here for posterity and analysis. Very soon I began to exhibit pissy and cunty behavior so I had to clam up for the duration. Inside? Analysis of what I heard and possible thoughts to place within an essay. This morning I changed my mind because I'll be attacked at some point and/or labeled. The only way I can go into the subject in this space would be to once again mask everything until no one understands aside from myself. At least I am already accustomed to covering my genuine ideas with layers of confusion. More of that, incoming.

She said something from the lair of the darkher that I responded to immediately. I don't usually do such things as the best course of action is to keep myself to myself, if you know what I mean. We will return to that part, too. Anyway, I spouted for a second and it faded away. One of those fucking phrases employed by the wrong person (halfway around the world from the correct position, to be honest) and then reduced and processed down to a little nub of a thought, as usual. There are many hundreds of examples between this show and the other -- the gangsters hit the limit, really -- but a good half or more are coming from the absolute wrong direction. There are no qualifications, and to hear it is to wreak havoc on my mind. I didn't really lash, yet the inflection was powerful enough to get the point across. Of course, and as usual, I likely was not heard by any ears aside from the cats, and they don't fucking care. Such a fact does not matter, though. The point is it was the first occasion to occur and send me into a quick analysis of which I was reminded after quite a while. During the first year of the pandemic, we were watching a show and I believe there was some dialog I almost quoted here which made me angry enough to consider giving up on the characters (I did give up on a different series, but that was only partially related). The only inclusion on the site was a tirade regarding the manner in which that scene was written. Honestly, I can't fucking stand that shit and last night was the strongest reinforcement, thus far. The subject will be brought to this space again as my mood dictates.

Keeping myself to myself. Yep, I said we would return to it, and here we go. After nearly five years of living almost completely closed off from asking for help or seeking the same, I am still stockpiling the issues and little references from every single occurrence of phrasing with which I strongly disagree. I've become so fucking used to the idea of just sitting here on my hands with mouth closed that the very idea of stating my feelings is nearly alien. Last night was just a quick blast, too. I won't go on about anything toward another person because they aren't going to give half a cold shit in the wind. I never really thought of myself as any kind of burden, either, but I must remain open to the possibility. I doubt there are very many people in the world who are seen by others the way they see themselves, and I'd be an idiot if I felt the same. The past has shown me that I am very difficult with which to speak regarding many subjects. I cannot disagree. Deciding to clam up for the long haul was an easy one.

I never should have involved myself with that bathtub drain around the corner. Now I feel responsible. Going over there in the first place was a mistake, although it will also prove a lesson once the thing is fixed. At least that is one positive.

Kelly is the one who said it, but she is far from the first. The wrong fucking person by the widest of margins. No one will know which 'Kelly', either. Heh. Live with it. You've probably used the same fucking phrase, anyway.

0912 and my stuff will begin in a while. I need to relax and ensure I don't hurt my arm. In addition, my thought for today was making the time all mine aside from the routine. I need a day to play with toys and such. The camera experiments, this crap, whatever. I also need to remember to thin shit out some more. I have the camera on its tripod with the longer zoom, set way back on the dining table in order to grab images from the television in better clarity than the hand-held method. The streaming application listened to requests for the screen when paused, meaning they eliminated any on-screen graphics. Once paused, the progress bar appears for a few seconds and then goes away, leaving a clear image to be captured on a computer or by a camera. This is wonderful for yours truly. I already ran a few tests and decided that despite the narrower aperture, I can keep the shutter slow and fill the sensor with enough light for a nice picture. In and around the work today I will probably snap a few more stills and then evaluate them on the laptop later. Very nice, indeed.

Ooh-fa, that face on Bailey. Chiclets. And Georgia again, piled atop my ever-growing issue-laden head. I don't know what anything means.


Violet is disgusting.

0947 now. I am still sitting here reading updates on the conflict and contemplating the day. Sometimes the feeling of knowing I can remain here holed up and out of sight is wonderful. Today is one of those times. I really need to be in this little house with my usual media and other devices in order to remain upright as much as possible. Ugh, this guy fucking irritates the shit out of me, every time. There are a few others, too, but he takes the proverbial cake. I wish they had cast someone from another part of the world. The accent makes me cringe and dredges unpleasant memories of inescapable situations, not to mention some conversations in which I knew what took place but never said it. Fuck, I can't stand this crap. Anyway, the world can be my personal oyster when behind closed doors, like right now. I'll get to the routine and my booze very soon. Right now I have to relax because there seems to be a knot in my stomach for whatever reason. And people wonder why I have a cocktail mid-morning. Stop wondering, fucksticks. I am not well.

That phrase from the show last night is still on my nerves. I'm so fucking sick and tired of everything being boiled down like that, but honestly the media is only partly at fault. Fucking stupid, insensitive people are, as well, along with those messages I used to see on the freeway rolling along and adhered to a truck window or bumper. Fucking sick of it. No wonder I spend most of my time in this house and alone. I just never know when something shitty is going to take place. Sunday afternoon, for example, I shot six games of pool with a group of people and throughout the entire five hours nothing came up as related to this bad mood. Nothing. We played the games. That's it. Of course, had something occurred, I would have shoved it far back in order to maintain my front. I probably would not have blamed them, either. People are products of many things, just like me.

Jesus H. Christ does that girl have some teeth. Holy shit. I think the front pair of her incisors is rivaling the sheer acreage of Georgia's breasts. Heh.

Shit is going downhill fast in the east. I am more concerned for those innocent people caught by such a fucking brutal attack, and to be honest, part of me wishes for coalition forces to strike the Kremlin with full weight. Unfortunately, any fucking military response from NATO will incite further shit from those assholes in charge and widen the conflict. We cannot sink more nations into a large-scale war to help the Ukraine. The likely outcome would be many more innocent people attacked. There is no easy solution here, possibly none whatsoever. Still, I'd love to see the floor mopped with those responsible. Enough of that.

1150 and my routine is finished. All quiet in the house, too. Very quiet aside from the vampire drama playing out up there. At least that aspect of the day is under my complete control. Better than nothing. The remainder of the day will be spent doing very little outside the typical scope. Probably lots of crap here. I don't know what else to do.

The character with the off-putting accent is dead. Unfortunately, there is now another. He is sympathetic, too, drawing upon the hearts of the viewers. 'Disgustin'. I can deal with it, though, because I'm alone and know the outcome of the story backwards and forwards. Hmm... I don't know if those last two words should be plural. Whatever. Anyway, earlier I mentioned that Violet is disgusting. Well, her character dump expanded just a bit ago while I was still cleaning the kitchen. Yep, something akin to the phrasing I mentioned up the page, yet worse in some ways. As for the character, she was in line and right for delving into such offensive wording, but honestly I could take the writers to issue over it. The entire type of dialog is completely unnecessary and grating to more than just myself. I've read about it. Remember the commercial? That may have been the beginning of some deeper investigation to learn if there are others willing to be vocal over such missteps by the media and advertisers. And before I close this ill-begotten paragraph, let it be known that I am indeed very fucking insecure, although not likely due to what you may believe. Don't generalize unless you are willing to be lumped in with the mass. Hmm... Maybe you are the cause. Slit your wrists.

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, PAM!! Coming soon, and fucking awesome. When he raises his voice on the show, my skin tingles. Absolutely fantastic.

1421 and I completed more crap around the house and have some laundry in the wash. The statement above just played out. Love. It. I also performed an expedient repair on one of the masks. Now two years old, I am not surprised they are wearing so much.

For fuck's sake, this show sometimes. Shut up, Holly. Damn.

I'll have to care for a bit more stuff today before the late afternoon rolls around. My camera experiments are on hold for a little while due to not wanting to switch shows mid-stream. The very idea of using my valuable and capable camera to shoot images of the television screen is pathetic when not aimed at some higher purpose, like science or some sort of investigation. The point for me is to freeze certain people in time and allow myself to stare endlessly. I live in the past and dream about where I have been rather than where I could be or am going. Make sense? Freezing certain individuals in time so they never age and always look the same was the next logical step in securing the past. Well, in my head, anyway.

Ah... 0750 on Wednesday and that damned blonde is on the screen again. I've been partly watching the show and partly reading about the east. I've also been shopping and seeking some images of one of the homes on the show for decorating ideas, believe it or not. The darkness is not just an aspect of beauty, but one of architecture. When I see things on television which give me ideas, I tend to jot them down just in case I have the opportunity to actually decorate something... A living space. Nothing of the sort is very likely, of course, because I've squandered any opportunities for long enough to pretty much secure a path into obscurity. I still like to imagine, though, just like the vision of being anything other than what I am sitting here right now. I had darkness all around during most of eleven due to enjoying complete freedom in that apartment. Not much, but enough to help me feel comfortable and isolated from the mass. Another fucking character along the lines of the other two that irritated me to no end. I know why they cast that way, too. I'm not stupid. And I know what the effects are, as well. I already know. They reach inside and pull the desire out and then ram it down the throats of viewers with nary a care for how it may affect those peripheral souls and their rampant weakness, worry, and endless insecurity. Well, fuck them. The show is over and so am I. Anyway, did I mention Violet is disgusting? Probably. Decorating these days is limited to the garage, mostly. And I don't care THAT much. Back at the beginning of the Dublin period, I used to yearn for warmth, like lots of dark wood and colors which went along. Sort of exotic, but not over the top like in a theme park. We began that sort of thing after the apartment but I put an end to the entire shitaree not long after. The imagery never left my head, but my head did not focus upon much other than physical beauty, so everything else went to hell very quickly. Once my little space here in town went away, all of the ideas became filed away. And more...

All those little pictures, like a makeshift machine shop in the garage or one of those cars along the lines of the Slipper which was rightly taken away, and on to the career which did not materialize because I destroyed some of the infrastructure and forced the company to make a decision against me. And the house on Parkmeadow Drive with a music room. The jacuzzi in the ground. The revisiting of the image I took in on that fateful day when I walked over to Tracy's house in hopes of seeing her older sister. She went down the hall to speak to Stacy while I waited near the entry as their dad said hello from the sunken living room, complete with wood burning in the fireplace and wood on the walls. I still see him there with his feet up and I recall the appearance and warmth, although as I have aged the image is different.


Problems, problems, and more problems. They nearly had me completely paralyzed yesterday for a time... That same fucking feeling after lunch that I cannot seem to fully shake. Don't even get me started on the fucking morning, either. The positives appear early and then slowly melt away as the clock burns off hours. The situation is grating me like God's own fingers on the largest chalkboard in existence. So sick of this. And now I have to see the blonde again, along with whatever the fuck that dress design has which makes the lower part and waist accentuate the shape of her thighs. I don't understand and have rarely seen it in reality. When she walks, the shape or some other aspect of the dress moves unlike any similar clothing. I've seen this trailing end of the show several times and always marvel at her dress and what's going on underneath. And then later when she wears the fucking shirt -- sans anything underneath -- fuck. Whatever. I will keep looking and sit here miserable and fucked up like always. Ah... Violet just exploded. Thank the maker. Anyway, I don't expect anything other than my mood continuing its decline. Eventually my mind won't work properly, right? Only so much of this before age takes over? I guess so. Little bit of coffee left. 0835.

Funny how the titles are almost completely lost these days. I don't care. The darkher just means that those features stir me into a froth and then I fall down into the darkness, like this morning. Each day is one more little step. Darkness leading to darkness of a different type. But I keep looking and dreaming.

Fuck the stupid titles, anyway. Hence nothing being published anymore.

0850 and soon I will get to the work. My head has blown wide open again due to the usual realizations coupled with the shit I brought up earlier. Something has to change, meaning I have to change it, meaning there is very little likelihood that anything will ever change for the better. Understand? I may be incapable anymore. I may also be impossible anymore. Care to try me?

Hmm... The actor who portrays the blonde with the shape at which I can't cease staring is five-four, another reinforcing piece of evidence that a certain height is required for such an appearance. Yep, I knew it. The fact is there is much more going on there than just a pair of legs or hips. Much more. She appears taller due to the shoes, as well. That's another supporting fact. Anyway, she will be gone before long, so fuck all this anyway. I'm beginning to feel that staring hurts me, yet like a proper addict I do not see the negative health effects at the time. Later on when I fall apart everything appears clear, but then again another form comes along one way or another and the addict latches on. This is hurting me, but does it actually matter?

0933. The sunshine from yesterday has not returned, damn it. I was hoping the garage would be warmer so I can work a bit out there in support of organizing in the house. I have lots of stuff to move. The other day I took care of some, which made room for me to actually get into bigger and better activities. I suppose when I tire of sitting here wallowing I can begin. Mornings are only good on one front these days. The rest must be shoved as far away as possible to avoid failing. Flailing? That is constant.

I put more images of Georgia here because she looks amazing... Sometimes. Call me what you will. I don't care anymore. I'd like to... Never mind. Fail.

I am in a bad way, like most of the time, yet somehow today it looks different. It's as if one of those little tumblers clicked into position unexpectedly and caused the thinking to worsen in a few ways and improve in others. Hard to put my finger on it, though. Yesterday seemed bad, although later the time turned out to be much nicer. I had a visit from one of my brothers to discuss helping the lady up the street, and he stayed for a couple of hours to catch up. We talked about the work and alleviated my concerns about trying to clear that drain through a plastic overflow. I am going to head over there tomorrow and get it done for her. He also told me that should the outside possibility of something more complex arise, he will come and help me go under her house and replace the problem, no charge. She would only have to cover the cost of the material, which is very low. I'm certain she will be pleased. Moreover, the event coming up a week from Saturday that I wished to attend for the purpose of gaining a pin and shirt is not going to be a problem. I hesitated because of the pandemic, honestly (yes, I am still concerned), but now need not worry about the items because my buddy has the inside track, meaning I'll get both the pin and shirt without fail. Right now I am trying to mount the positives in order to offset the fucking shit show in my head. So far, this is keeping me upright.

1200 straight up. High noon. Right on the nose. The routine is finished and I have the remainder of the day to engage in whatever I feel is best for my peace of mind. Jesus fuck does that woman have a beautiful torso. From her breasts up to her neck, she is amazing to see. Anyway, my plan from here forward is to call the lady up the street and inform her that I have the means for fixing the problem, plus I ordered a shower hose to make the work of cleaning the bathtub much easier. I'm certain she will be happy. Afterward, I'll tool around the old office and see what empty space I can create by tossing and/or reorganizing. In and around the efforts I will add to this crap.

And there she is in the shirt, nothing underneath. I wish I didn't feel so compelled to stare and bring the subject here, although there is no denying the fact that circumstances have brought me to this shit. Every fucking time I see the scene, I cannot help but imagine the impossibilities. Not... Possibilities. They no longer exist, hence the fucking issue of staring. Every avenue, every outlet, every hope, gone for good. This is what I am to remain. She isn't even a darkher. All lightness and brightness. Unbelievable, this shit.

A little over an hour until I head to the house for a repair. I'm looking forward to coming out the other side feeling accomplished and returning here for the day. God damn does she have a slender outline. Ugh. Anyway, the day will move along after clearing the problem down the street, and then soon after I will move into the evening mode and relax. Damn do a couple of these actors irritate the shit out of me. I can't fucking help it anymore. The past has shaped me into a degraded, deluded, paranoid ball of worry. Every day is spent partially burying myself underneath enough fantasy media to diffuse the difficulties. And now she is lying on her back and the position of her breasts out to both sides conjures images of the past. And the smile, a bit crooked. Thank the maker that shirt never comes off. I respect it, and I need it. She must remain clothed. And how many fucking paragraphs have been either derailed or interrupted by something on the television? Too many, that's it.

1515 and I took care of the neighbor's tub drain. What a bitch. The drain, that is, not the neighbor. I fed the cable twice, the second time being the one which either broke the clog or pushed it downstream and into the main line. Either way, it's clear and draining fine. But oy, that machine is heavy and a walrus to operate in a tub. I finished it, cleaned the tub, and even went so far as to do a field expedient repair on her kitchen sink sprayer. Heh. Now I'm worn the hell out. The upsides are a huge feeling of accomplishment and knowing she doesn't have to cold-call some company to come out and charge her a fortune. They pick out seniors thinking they are gullible and have nowhere else to turn. I had to help, and I'm glad I made the effort. These days I am finding it more and more difficult to tackle something like that. Now I have the rest of the day to myself. I need comfort.

And no sooner did I curl up with the show and that fucking blonde emerged in a skirt and a damned top accentuating the hell out of her chest. Jesus fuck, I didn't need that. I don't like denim skirts, but that shot showed off the shape of her thighs beautifully, especially when she perched herself on the car seat. Damn it. I need help but there is none.


1544 now and I haven't moved. Perhaps I'll head into the kitchen a prepare the beets I boiled the other day. There is a salad to be made, and I can clean the fridge a bit. All I've eaten thus far is toast because prior to doing the drain work I was nervous. Now I'm relaxed but tired.

0737 on the 24th of March, just over two years from the first shelter order and I am sitting in exactly the same spot with the same cup of the same coffee, and possibly the same show on the television. Creature of... What? The day ahead is all mine, too, thanks to the job being completed yesterday. I still don't know from where the motivation came, but it worked. I attacked the thing and won, now reaping the benefits. I have plans to work in the old office today along with a visit to the big hardware store around lunch or so. Maybe earlier if I can work out a lunch plan somewhere down there.

Wow, all of a sudden being home all day and working at my usual routine and whatever else seems best is very appealing right now. I know not why the difference from all the other days has come up in my mind, though. For whatever reason, the day appears brighter than those throughout the last few months. Perhaps having to schedule the work yesterday and feeling constrained during the morning because of it have helped me to appreciate having time under my control and not needing to answer to anyone. Hmm. I wouldn't have thought that one little job could make such a difference and remind me of the weight of working full-time. Now I feel better about being here and running this way of life as I see fit.

What happened to the title?

Ashley up there above this section is the one on the show who smacked me upside the head so bad yesterday. I can't help but think there is something to that, honestly, because the way she took a seat in the car reminded me of more than one of the darkhers. Ashley is very blonde, but the truth is that aspect is far behind the importance of so many other features. I've seen those shots on the show many times and up to recently never really thought much about her hair because I was focused upon shapes... Her eyes, shoulders, and the like. The light hair didn't stir me either way. I don't know what happened yesterday. Maybe I just thought about it more than in the last many months. Whatever. Actually, the most striking aspect of the image is that massive diamond on her ring finger. Someone spent a pile on that thing. I've never done that. Her smile, too. Just fucking lovely to no end. Anyway... Enough of her. She is just another 'her'. Nothing for me there.

0844 now, the day's activities beginning to form in my head. The shit on the other side of the world is still concerning, yet I'm trying to remain confident that some kind of agreement can be reached before a wider conflict occurs. Vigilance is still in the back of my mind no matter what each day brings.

I'll have to hit the routine a bit earlier today so I can get down to the hardware store before lunch. I don't want to be out and about after noon or so. I need to be here in my little cocoon working on my stuff. The office plan began to shape up early this morning, the hardware store also pushing because I can pick up some containers for storing seldom-used fabrics and such. I also need a piece of neoprene for this lap desk because the computer's rubber feet have been pulling the faux-wood coating off in places. Not only does it look crappy, but I worry that the wood beneath will begin to fragment whenever I remove the machine from the damaged surface. I can cement a thin piece of neoprene to the top and then cut it to shape. That should last much longer. There are miscellaneous fasteners on my list, too, as well as some kind of gift for this Saturday. And that brings Sunday to mind, being the car show across the bay. I am really looking forward to attending and exercising the big camera for a little while. If I can get out of the house by ten or so, the lunch hour will be an ideal time to return home. That also means no cocktail this morning. Probably a good thing. I believe the best course of action is half the routine and then out the door. I'll be that much more comfortable upon arriving home to my remaining chores and devices. That's the plan.

0910 and it's time to begin.

Friday. 0708 with coffee and my friends in the background. I went to the northernmost market this morning to pick up some specific bread, and they did not have it. But two very interesting situations occurred on the way to that store. There was a car pulled over atop the first hill as I turned north by the ocean. On my ass was another car which had been in a big hurry through the neighborhood. Well, no sooner did I make the right turn onto the highway when the other car immediately followed (no stop at the light) and began to pass me on the uphill. As soon as I noticed the car on the shoulder, a loud bang drew my attention. Apparently, the idiot who was in a big hurry veered into the center divide upon seeing the parked car with lights flashing. The car then fell in behind me and exited toward the big bowling alley parking lot. I kind of laughed. No one was hurt, but the person in a big fucking hurry was delayed and likely dealing with a damaged front-left section. Sometimes weird things happen in the dark.

The second rather cool incident was as I rolled up the highway and listened to the news. Many, many years of commuting around the bay area -- mostly those massive southern freeways -- had me often dreaming of the 'left turn' to wherever; basically, somewhere comfortable and enjoyable rather than work. I actually did veer on two distinct occasions, yet this morning the idea popped into my head because of dreaming during the 1236 period as I left town for work. Today I was in the stream, as it were, on the highway and within the flow of those people commuting toward the big city. I was a part of the machine for a few miles. Then? I exited to an empty surface street and my own morning schedule. As I approached the shopping center, I realized that the dream of turning off the beaten path and doing my own thing actually played out. I used to see cars going in random directions rather than heading toward the main commute directions, mostly during the apartment period I mentioned. I'd see them and wonder where they were going because I was always routed and never had the choice to do something else. This morning I did just that. It's only partially the same, though, because I am not on a work schedule anymore. I appreciate the situation and my freedom every single day. All those years of spending hours on the roads every day took their toll. This morning I had a glimpse into the flow of the machine for a few minutes and then relished in the ability to separate myself. The market never seemed so comfortable and peaceful.

Almost time for the morning business before my quiet time kicks in. 0729 now, coffee on the right. I also need to update myself on the eastern conflict. I ordered a Ukraine flag which is scheduled to arrive tomorrow, after which I can fly it during the day in support of those people. On the way back from the market, the light level was low enough to notice blue decorations on a house nearby, likely a statement just as I plan to make. I am happy to see others making an effort to show their feelings. Even the market had a donation option on the transaction computer to donate money for the cause. Very good.


0820 and I am left to my time, devices, whatever. All me. Coffee. Yeah.

The hardware store trip yesterday revealed that despite the efforts of the new company in identifying and being related to the older store in order to maintain that loyal customer base, there are still differences which stood out. The raw materials are one. Less than before, and that meant missing one of the items I specifically drove there to secure. Damn. The remainder of the shopping trip was slightly off from my typical feeling of being there. Again... Damn. I sure miss the way it was a few years ago. Progress destroys more than it provides at times.

0933. I went through the entire sculpture folder and removed ninety percent of the images because they did not meet my standards for size and resolution. I can't have crappy, low-quality images of the female form here, ever. That folder held more than a thousand images I've gathered over the years, now reduced to roughly two dozen. They will end up showing their glory here, four at a time. Sitting here at the machine this late in the morning is pretty rare. I have been feeling the effects of fighting the tub drain two days ago, and I have to admit that type of work takes its toll now more than a few years ago when I was in the full-time workforce. That is part of the reason for going through the images this morning and trying to work on organization. I have the entire day to schedule my time in any fashion which suits me, and today will likely be spent mostly taking it easy. Yesterday I did work on the office more, but ended up cut short because the stupid hardware store did not carry the flip-top totes I've been using for long-term storage. I can still work in there today, though. Nothing of that sort is terribly strenuous.

I'll move away from this very soon and begin the routine. Very dark, my head right now. Almost as dark as those fucking eyes I like so much. Hair, too. Too bad the title and topic went to hell.

1209 and I took a ride to the cigarette store for reinforcements. Along the way I employed one of the newest music playlists on my phone, resulting in the type of mood which can drive me to the garage for the remainder of the day. I squashed it for the most part, choosing instead to heat some lunch in the oven and relax with this exposition along with my friends in the background. I can also read updated news on the conflict. The music while driving up the highway reminded me that I need a long list of songs for those times while in the garage for an extended period, one of which may occur this evening if my mood does not soften. After lunch I will continue my efforts in both the garage and office.

1321. Everything is finished. Now I need to go further but do not know where to begin. I installed bulbs in the garage door opener and stored the fasteners. This is the time of day when I typically run out of motivation. I will have to be careful in choosing my work and rest periods, lest I fall into a din.

0810 on Saturday morning. Coffee and quiet, friends and family on the television. Yesterday I went a little further in the office and it will continue today. We have to attend a little dessert occasion for an anniversary early in the afternoon, so I do have a time limit for my chores this morning. Not a big deal. Tomorrow morning by this time we will already be at the show. Just this morning I put the site back in the same order as it was displayed on the thirteenth of last month, then end of the publishing. I have completed nearly eight entries since that time but do not believe any of it is worthy of gracing the public eye. Nothing is new, anyway. All this crap is merely repeating from one week to the next. I still have not been able to make the menu and navigation bar work together in a manner I like, so everything is exactly the same. The site is barely read, so I suppose the appearance and function are not very important, anyway. I'm still trying in and around all the other shit I do each day. I'll be working on the routine soon and then getting a few items ready to bring to the coffee date. I am far more excited about shooting images tomorrow at the car show than I am about visiting and having dessert today.

Strange dreams about the FBI, some house in the Midwest where I had been hiding (and yes, I believe it was the same house within the earlier dream when I was walking with Jamie and holding her hand), and other people present whom I did not know. The entire situation was odd from the beginning and I was afraid of agents reaching me. They never did. Or, more accurately, they had not by the time I awakened. There was another, too. Something about cleaning the oven. Ridiculous. Maybe this is simply another facet of my downhill slide.

I'm getting pretty fucking pissed off about two aspects of the current period here. I didn't want this shit, and even after years of bitching and trying to learn the genesis of some of my feelings, I am exactly the same, if not worse. I have not brought much of the subject here in the last several entries because I fail to see the point most days. It's the same shit over and over and over, so why belabor the point? It is compelling beyond belief. Perhaps I just continue trying to say the same things in different ways or with other words. I honestly don't know, although one fucking problem is my head being stirred up into a fucking mess due to how badly I have been feeling, and the words are loosed on the screen. I can't get things out of my head for any length of time so as to allow for terribly clear thinking. I have been dwelling upon so many isolated situations of the past that I can't seem to put anything aside long enough to fully focus, not even on those chores I perform daily. Right now, for example, I need to move away from this endless, pointless exposition and care for the house, yet my brain has been churning non-stop since I rose from the bed nearly three fucking hours ago. Eventually I will take no more of this shit. I can't kill people, so I have to find another outlet.

I wonder if the mere mention of 'FBI' in the text will snag anything on the Internet. Hmm. It was just a dream two nights ago. I suppose if I were actually concerned, I could have employed the term 'government agency'. I have lots of experience with that one due to more than a decade working within a different agency. Heh. Fuck it, I don't care.

I can only perform so much organization in this house before things end up back where they began. There are few options, so I suppose I'll do whatever seems best to pass the time and hopefully get this shit out of my tired head.

0903 and the end of this entry is just below. Not much point in going past the typical five-section layout with four images, anyway. I'll just date this one and begin another. Nothing fucking matters these days.

I've spent so much time dreaming and planning all those thousands of things I wanted to do that I never had time to put forth any effort into making them happen. So sad. On top of that failure, I allowed myself and my life to be dictated and derailed by the dark beauty of the world. This is still happening. Even darkher than mere months ago, I sit and await that which will never come to pass. Two failures, both permanent. No wonder I dream daily of being in a place where both are possible.