January 23rd, 2022 7:38am pst

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


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"Tuesday. Dreams all night again. None of them involved anything I wanted, though. A restaurant near home... Bits and pieces left from what I recalled just an hour ago. We were there, in the dining room, and I had been commenting upon the way people were dressed. One fat fuck had nothing more than shorts and sandals, no shirt. I was disgusted. Perhaps that dream came about because of the freakish women at the bar the other evening combined with my having been to the restaurant a few times in the last month. I can't be certain. And then some driving near the beach on what seemed to be Native land. I'll try to remember more later, I guess.

Yesterday was not great. Finishing the film really did not please me as much as I had hoped. Now it seems messy, thrown together. I don't know. Everything I see is a bit darker and less clear than just a few weeks ago. Thy taken away.

Fiona again, that expression still flooring me after all this time. I believe the key is the idea that she is an understanding soul. The character, that is. Not the actor. I know nothing of her. And speaking of understanding, the eyes of the universe will be present in this episode thrice. The show keeps me grounded during the early mornings. I see familiar sights and hear everything I've heard before. I need them up there for the foreseeable future in order to keep my head on straight. The scary pastor is there, too. Ooh-fa. His facial expressions are both humorous and frightening at the same time. Even he is important to my mornings. Unbelievable. In the beginning, the second show kept me company. Now I rotate throughout the day, yet this one remains up there while I'm alone. Oh God, there she is. Fuck me in a hospital bed. Good fucking God, how did she turn into what I see on the screen. Unreal. Either the resemblance to that other woman here in town did this and I suppressed the shit out of the idea, or something else. I know the shot when she is speaking to Edie and Sharon while taking a sip of orange juice just hit me one day, but I still don't know why. Maybe it was the right time for me to be receptive. From that point forward, though, everything changed. I have been berated and ridiculed a bit for my feelings in this matter, believe it or not, and the more I think about it the more I am completely disgusted with the behavior of other people. Listen to this: I would have been drawn fucking flat had it not been for embracing these characters over a year ago. I ended up with feelings for one of them, so that means I am still alive, but in the eyes of others something is wrong with me. I'll fucking draw you flat, assholes. Leave me the hell alone about it. She is fictional, anyway, so why the fuck is there a problem in the first place? She is one of many who helped me remain at the default of zero. They helped, get it? Fuck you anyway. I have no regard left.

I love that character. I love her. Disregard me. Call me whatever you want. Step on my feelings.

I guess the last entry wasn't angry enough. There is still more inside right now. I'll try to write without lashing. Drawn, at zero. Not flat. Not yet, anyway. Several situations are pressing on me while others still lift. The stress of work has been replaced by the stress of the gradient between the past when everything felt wide open and the 'now' which is very truncated, dark and filled with tension. I don't know what to do. I keep seeing a smiling face and enthusiasm toward someone other than me and I can barely deal with it. The face will not let up for a second, especially during the past few weeks. She won't leave my head. I don't understand why such things must be so difficult. I am a good person and did not ask for this. When I see or think of the way it played out, I feel a combination of emptiness and anger, the latter beginning to frame all in view. Maybe I need another 'r' to begin to comprehend how my world developed in such a manner. I literally have not the first clue as to how to move forward and lessen the impact of multiple losses, one of which has the power to completely destroy me. The fiction barely scratched it. Believe me, I know. The profilometer does not lie, ever. Scratching. Angry. Desperate.

'Surftest'. I don't want to be drawn flat, people. Other commands may be employed. Don't know yet.

I'll get away from this soon and do something productive. The laundry was left unfinished yesterday because I started it later than usual. I can care for that, and then perhaps some stuff inside. The weather is foggy and cool right now. Might not be the best for garage stuff. Any fucking thing to get the scenes out of my brain for a while. Even the show just slapped me again. I can't believe some of what I see up there at times. Totally out of this world. Eh... Who am I? Should I be treated in such a fashion? Is there a mind aligned with it? I doubt it. Sitting here with my words and coffee every day is probably the only situation which will ever come to pass. I will write continuously about the missing pieces while the world rolls on by on the opposing track. There she is again, hair up, eyes HUGE, rather contemplative and then irritated and then concerned. Almost distressed. I would die to hold her at that moment. Yep, Jamie again. Fuck you. This is all I have in life. Dreams. Fiction. I am what time and circumstances have made me. Anyway, slow progress today in order to keep the imagery at bay and the bar out of my head. Again... Not THAT bar, you fucking morons, the one in the sky. Fucking figure it out already. Blue dress, incoming. Confusion and pain, the twin pillars keeping me upright so the other hits can arrive squarely in the face. There is nothing I can do.

1238 and lunch is heating. Half the routine is finished and I am the same... Lost, disillusioned, empty, fearful. Wait... Fearful? Of what? Well, the future for one thing. The present seems to be plodding along day after day and encompassing the same shit over and over. No way out of this right now. I have no wish to be drawn flat at this age. Ah... There is John on the television. A short-lived role which brought him to my attention, afterward learning that he shot himself at forty-seven years of age, alone in his apartment. When I was younger I always figured anyone on television was rich and successful. Nope. Some, perhaps, yet we do not see the private side of most famous people. He is not the first of which I learned such tragic circumstances, either. There are many. Every time his part on this show rolls around I feel a mix of appreciation and sadness. And the one line I do not offer very often: I wish I had known him. Due to this episode, his life and death will be in the back of my mind for the rest of the day. Much respect.

Society and media push thoughts into my head sometimes. Like that group of questionable women at the bar the other night, some things I do not wish to know or see end up stuck inside like that fucking glue holding credit cards to the mailers. Gooey, resilient. Of the four, one was tall and tried to show off the fact along with her red boots reaching above the knees. Every time she took a shot and was facing away from the room, she made a concerted effort to exaggerate being bent down at the table. One such position caught my eye for a split-second and left a mark. A dirty mark I cannot clean from my brain. She was all curvy and bent in such a way to tell the room that her rear end was up for grabs. Disgusting, yet for some reason I went back to the images I've displayed here for years. I actually imagined the lines. I really did. Shortly thereafter I came to my senses and realized the gravity of the connection. I felt just as dirty before regaining the conversation elsewhere. The truth is that she looked appealing for two reasons. One, her face could not be seen, and two, her height and frame lent to the obsession. Yes, I said that. There may have been aspects of her form which were beautiful despite the list of negatives. This is how I think during the most weakened, angry and desperate time in memory. Do I feel bad for looking? Not at all. That's what she wanted (and probably much, much more far beyond appearance). I did not meet her eyes once I realized the reality of the situation.

Remember 'Drawn Fault'? This has nothing to do with that crap.

0606 on Wednesday. Going back to the city in a little while for a repeat of last week's visit. I'll be once again sitting in the coffee house with phone and mocha. Hopefully nothing is there to piss me off. Last week went fine. Not even an hour sitting there.


I think it's time to cap her image from two different episodes to place here. In the meantime, I'll work on trying to learn methods for clear and bright frames drawn from the television.

The other market south of here reminded me of when I was doing the driving just after the first shelter order. The parking lot down there was the location of many different problems -- all my fault for looking, really -- and yesterday was exactly as I had expected. The market resembles the one up here where I always seem to run across something out of the ordinary. Let's just say I witnessed a woman trotting around with her shopping cart who would have been better avoided. You can probably imagine after all the shit I've spewed here. The feeling was stronger than anything I've experienced lately and caused me to consider exactly where I am in life and all of the anger and hatred coating the edges of this sword I wield every day. As I watched her walk along the dairy case and my brain dove straight into her crotch, the other side of my mind immediately darted in the reverse direction... More rage and resentment than I have felt thus far in life. For her? No, not exactly. For others. I stared a bit and saw that she was in the opposite shape than I am right now, very healthy and likely exercising daily to feel good. I do nothing like that, eat whatever the fuck seems tasty, drink more than three people every day, and spend a good portion of time listening to music which reinforces my stance within a society I cannot stand. She seemed bright and positive, and I have nothing against such a lifestyle. In fact, I respect it tremendously. The fact that I immediately wanted my lips and tongue all over what was there inside her pants is merely a byproduct of being wronged for forty fucking years. I've said it before, and I will do my best to avoid saying it again. Byproduct. An excuse? Nope... I don't make those because someone out there will take issue with me and cause problems. I do not feel pity for myself, I feel hatred for those responsible. I do not feel sad, either. I saw her, appreciated the shape a little more than I should have, and then left the store exactly the fucking same as when I walked in. And I've gone over this subject too often. Honestly? The shit is rather compelling.

An hour and a half until leaving.

One of these days when my daily life no longer feels decent I will make a change. It's getting closer. Something will have to give way if I am to carry forward, shit attitude or not.

I wish I could figure a way out of this feeling. I really do. So far there has been nothing. Not a fucking clue as to how to achieve some semblance of balance or peace. The problematic situations continue to plague my mind and leave me completely bereft of happiness or hope. My days are getting worse. The girl in the store was nothing more than a symptom of larger issues within. Not her fault at all. I already know there will be another and then another and so on. I keep looking, searching. Weak. The idea of giving up entirely is in my head each morning. I am still going, though. No reasons. Perhaps I have already been drawn flat. Pressed like a shirt under force and steam.

Fuck it. I don't know.

gl_playermip. All the way back to ninety-six or seven. Can't recall the exact year. It was wondrous and I fully engaged in whatever effort or expense was required to see the better resolution. Lots of expense, in fact. It was the GL which kept me interested and coming back. The big store was there, as well as many others. Now all of it has been reduced to nil just like everything else in life. Gone for good. Transparent water. Detailed landscapes. There are the big eyes again, all emotional and gorgeous. The girl in the store drew me flat as a fucking pancake because her eyes were huge and dark, too. I am a crazy person, this is a bad time, and the future is littered with imagery from both the past and present which leaves me without anything positive. Right over there, yet a trillion miles off. I was talking about graphics language, damn it. Ugh. I can't go one sentence to the next without some female imagery or dream taking over and derailing the words. Too powerful now, and I am too weak. gl_playermip, indeed. All gone.

Almost time to get ready. I'm already trying to fortify my head against whatever may be in the coffee house. I'm certain there will be one or two, either inside the store or on the street, and then I'll fall down again and return to this for a description no one wants to read. This is me. This is what I've become. A while back I spoke of the power and the fact that I gave it away. The truth? I never had it in the first place. I say that because I know from where the power emanates and it was never mine. Impossible.

Someone please explain this to me.

1242 now, same day. We went to the appointment so it is out of the way. Home. Unfortunately, I sat in the same coffee house as last week and wrote...

[Henceforth, anything written outside the home on portable devices will be in blue.]

'Part of this is definitely my fault. I've had a preponderance of experience caring for those to which I've been connected, likely stemming from emulating my father. Believe it or not, such a realization just came to mind this morning. We are leaving for the city soon, so I'll have a subject about which to write while waiting.

And now I have another one.

I don't even know where to fuckin' begin. A five-nine Asian beauty in the office (very rare, those numbers), another goddess employee rolling through the door in leather booties with tons of dark hair and pants apparently applied with a small paint brush, one crossing the street directly before me while I made my way here, and now this tall beauty at the register. What a fucking kluge. This girl has GOT to be just shy of six feet. Unbelievable. Nothing was this bad last week. The clincher is the Asian, though. If I had ten million words at my disposal and the immense time to string them together, I still could not telegraph the sheer amount of torment in my head at this moment. Thank God for a comfortable corner in this place. Coffee and turmoil. None of this will ever end if I plan to leave the house again. Always something. There is ALWAYS some fucking vision here or there.

I had to pause because some stupid woman would not take her yapping dog the hell out. Not the dog’s fault. Always the owner. She may be gone now. Hopefully I can think straight.

Nope. Still there. Fuck me. I should have brought headphones.

I don't see the future of this site as being anything more than a detailed log of everything which crosses my vision while away from home. Stories? Maybe if they relate to my obsessive condition. Daily shit around the house? I suppose. It's all I have anymore. The paragraph above is a clear indication that I am in worse shape than mere months ago. I almost can't handle the problem, yet there is nothing I can do. I stood there in the office and gazed at the girl until I couldn't take anymore and then looked away. Then? The other one walked in and went behind the counter, leading my eyes back to the tall one. I stared again, albeit respectfully. I cannot meet eyes with anyone because they are not at fault here. I am. The very idea of affecting a woman negatively is horrible and I can't have it. Holy God, her voice... The girl here at the register. Damn it. Anyway, if I don't learn or grow out of being so fucking obsessed, the site will be worthless. I was going to analyze being like my father and look at what happened after seeing so much beauty. All fucked up. An Asian ass wrapped in black, screaming at me with nary a sound. Basket case.


Did I ever mention the delicious little yoga-wrapped ass in the market yesterday cruised close by me and allowed me to take in a deep draw of her scent? Not good. Jesus God in spandex.

Almost an hour now. I'll have to head back soon. Those goddesses will be there. Marvelous. Thank Christ the bars are closed at this early hour. Asian and five-nine. Not an everyday thing. Not even close. Every paragraph should close with 'basket case'. Not funny. Eh... Fuck it. I'm out of here.'

I arrived back at the dental office only to have the tall Asian lead me to their recovery room. I followed right behind her, meaning I saw everything after hearing that soft voice. She was thin like a runway model. Bouncing ponytail. Immediately I felt heart palpitations after being in close contact with such a woman; one of my dreams. Upon her smiling and walking away, another tiny Asian filled me in on the post-surgery care and then led us out to the street. Very sweet, those employees. No wonder they are in the health service industry. Like hands in form-fitting gloves. Hmm. Form-fitting. Far too much of that this morning. I am lucky to have made it out of there alive and intact.

Drawn. Fucking. Flat. Yet. Again.

0701 on Thursday and thank fucking God yesterday is over. I really needed all that shit pushed a day back so I can try to pull focus forward. They faded somewhat. I took care of her and my usual work. A bit of laundry. All the while those same few items that have been so difficult in life kept coming back and back and back. I don't usually have that much going on inside during the afternoon or evening. Everything wore me the hell out. I don't know how much longer I can carry this without faltering badly. Flattened. Too many variables in the beginning. Something put those variables in my head last night and a scene played out right behind my eyes. Unfortunately, I can't go into detail as it involves someone I knew. Suffice to say it was during the glow and in a hotel room in Nevada, something we were unable to do much of the time due to resources.

I can still see the way the situation played out -- at my request, of course -- during two different nights there in the hotel. We had been visiting with my parents and had a nice dinner, I believe at Trader Dick's Polynesian restaurant. I have several memories of that place, partly during the early eighties and then much later into the glow and the time afterward. The early periods, which could be well into the seventies if I recall correctly, were lavish dinners with many around the big tables. Much like Tahoe, my grandfather was a good friend of the man whose name was on the resort, so quite often we'd see him either in the restaurant or show room. The last time I was there was many years later and the resort was quite different, although the Polynesian-themed place stood the test of time. It had perhaps the largest rectangular aquarium I've ever seen indoors. The bar went all the way around it. Image below. Like everything else I have EVER loved, it is gone now to have made way for 'progress' after being a landmark for nearly sixty fucking years. I'll try to avoid another tirade. Anyway, dinner was always very exotic there and put me in a unique mood. My partner rarely shared it, yet bowed to my needs while we were at the resort. Now? I see it fairly clearly.

That part of my life was wondrous but may be gone forever now. Very disappointing, to be sure, and honestly one of the few losses which literally has the power to kill me. There is a possibility that the weekend at that hotel was foreshadowing what would take place TWICE, years later. But I could not see it. I had been blinded, yet happy for the most part. Lots of power there, no flatness until a bit into the future. Now I'm thinking, though, that perhaps one closed-off section of my brain was exercised all those years ago and I did not recall until just recently. That hotel stay held more than its share of poignant events which still swirl around my head at times. Damn all this shit anyway. Damn it.

That little voice is fading up through the caverns of my mind again... The one that says, 'Aw, dealt one of the bad hands of cards in life. Just embrace something else and accept it.' Yeah, um, NO. It doesn't work that way, dipshits. I do not simply let go of something so important just because the mass feels it is in my best interest. Horseshit. Missing pieces and broken insides add up to the fact that any relationship will be constantly strained within. Constantly. Out of balance, always. Secrets, problems, limitations. A distinct lack of acceptance and the unfortunate circumstance of 'nothing is ever good enough'. Drawn flat means just that... Fucking flat. No texture, depth, or perspective. Those Goddamned console variables have shot off the old CRT and straight into my life. Like the trains, boats, or whatevers, the commands have been coming along one at a time a literally describing my condition. The little voice can take a flying leap. Life is not a cliché. It is real. I have no clue as to where this is going anymore.

That scene played out again. The sunset over a little lake. I see it every time the episode rolls around, and this occasion might be the fiftieth. I don't know. I've been rolling through the series over and over for more than a year because... Well, I don't have a clue. I don't have this on every day to see Jamie, believe it or not. Something else. Anyway, the scene forces one of those missing parts of life into my head and makes me both sad and angry at the same time. And on the heels of that episode is a massive reference and involvement in the film industry. Ugh. Maybe I should go back to the vampires and sit here mired in different problems for a while. I don't know.

Nor do I know why I do anything these days. Reminders are everywhere, calling upon memories which force an ill-advised comparison (naturally, and much like what takes place in a relationship whether the fuck you like it or not), and then causing an unrelenting tilt to the world and subsequent slide down into oblivion with a brain scrambling for clarity or grip. And there she is at the dining table with the wavy hair and eyes built by some demigod bent upon my destruction through torture. This is late sixth season Jamie, the beginning of the obsession with her character. What was I saying? The worthwhile nature of moving forward each day and holding tight to those little things I appreciate or enjoy is fading all the time. No sooner do I curl up all nice and comfortable with my favorite dinner on my lap and good stuff on the television, when I feel sleepy and head to bed only to rise again in the morning bereft of hope. All that will happen is more of the same. I'll end up with some gorgeous form before me, fall down the same fucking hill that may as well be named after me, pick up all the little pieces and try to move forward, and then sit here and wallow in the soup of all that is missing. And then like Mr. Fagen said... 'Do it again.' Or Mr. Mustaine... 'This WAS my life.' Everything is just so fucking stupid anymore.

Maybe sitting here typing this is the worst of it.

Today is going to be all home. I'm not going anywhere unless we need something from the store. I will have to push pretty hard to get around all the crap and actually rise to the occasion, though. Nothing is easy because all those thoughts spin like Satan's Rolodex in my head, complete with haphazard clicking. Names, situations, dreams... Everything which has summed me into this distorted position. Bad morning again, like three days ago. Sometimes I think of a good idea and then drown into visions of the past, afterward feeling as if I am half a person. Necessary? It seems so. Damaging? Every fucking time. I'll have to right my head in order to get some work done today. Not easy, but then what is easy anymore?


Maybe I have been wrong all this time, even going way back to that trip to the hotel in the early nineties. The scene in my head is strong, as in pulling me to consider the night one of the best of my life, but I can't be certain. I can see it right now. I can also see an empty fucking future void of the same. I need to push it back to wherever it was before the image developed this morning. Back then I felt a world of wonder. Now I feel knives. No one is going to understand this. The way it must be, unfortunately.

0846. Sunshine.

Johnny's daughter is a big girl, not the image society jams into women and forces them into believing they can never be good enough no matter how thin, smart, or whatever. The entire subject is touchy and very bad, and I sit here as a representative of model imagery and comments about thighs, waistlines and the like. Everything thin, always. That is the type which attracts me. His daughter (the actress) is beyond beautiful, offering the opposite image that the world rams down a woman's throat. I cannot imagine the type of pressure on them to be what the world deems acceptable. Body image is one of the most subjective topics in existence. As a male, I have never felt the same pressure because it is all dictated by a male-driven industry. More than one, actually. All I feel is guilty for seeing 'thin' as attractive, but I honestly can't help it. The weight she carries does not detract from the beauty, however. It accentuates it. When she smiles, my heart leaps as it does when I gaze upon the diametric opposite body type, Jamie. I'll tell you something, though... They are damned-near equal in my mind for being beautiful. Completely different, yet sharing attractiveness beyond belief.

I had to bring that up because every fucking time she is on the screen I think about who I am. Good or bad, I am hit with it often. And since I mentioned Johnny's daughter, allow me to say that Denise, who portrayed his wife on the series, was fucking AMAZING from beginning to end. She had never acted prior to this program. She came across as completely natural in the role, too. Excellent, talented and very appreciated by yours truly. Unfortunately, and like so many others that I see on the screen daily, I must offer one thought... God rest her soul.

'That's my fuckin' legacy.'

Another flattening consideration which circled inside me like toilet water for a fucking year, I have recently learned that my clues a few months ago are all bullshit. I have damned little connection with what I knew and had hoped. Well, the hope is gone and I must once again retract my happiness and embrace the darker side of myself in order to push it all away, never again to be addressed or discussed with another person. A big, sloppy kiss to Frank who transmitted that line of dialog as if his life was really in question. And guess what? God rest his soul, as well. Another fucking amazing talent gone from this earth. I hope they all knew how much respect I carry for what they accomplished. Ugh. What a shitty paragraph. The heritage is gone for the second time. Splendid.

This is stupid.

Everything is in flux right now. I can't sit here and be comfortable in the morning, the afternoon appears as an obstacle anymore, and the evening I look forward to all day has become an exercise in staying awake. I know why that problem has occurred, though. The rest? A mystery. There are many reasons I could be feeling this way, yet the truth is most of the stuff makes me angry and not sad. Since this moment yesterday when I first sat with the coffee and my friends, I've been sad. Part of it could be my birthday but I'm not sure. I tried to go to the big pharmacy yesterday and that went bad, so I have to try again this morning. At least there is quiet time right now so I can think. Weird dreams, too. Something about bugs in the backyard, talking to a neighbor and feeling intimidated, and then trying to build a dragster out of fruit. Honeydew melon, I think. Whatever. I'm not inclined to decipher all that shit right now.

0656 and here I am just like yesterday. All manner of considerations driving me south. I wish I was in the car driving south, damn it. Something.

Nothing there yesterday. Nothing worrisome. The others were still in my vision despite being far away and out of sight. Walking in front of me. My eyes glued to her pants. And then around the other side, the one with the booties. The situation is wonderful because I did not affect anyone. I thought I caught a glimpse of a dress there on the catenary above the street. There she is again, nearly at the end of the series. Damn. Anyway, the dress may have been there to remind me of the 'Caverns' series of bitching... The reason for the dress and the manner in which it appears from time to time were never explained because I have no regard for anyone. The sheer yearning I went through at the coffee house has pushed me to look further into the reasoning behind the dress and perhaps learn something new. I don't know.

The dress is my future condition... Always missing the most important parts and living completely empty. The cavern? Discomfort and being away from everything I need each day, instead being splayed across cold, wet rocks in an unfamiliar environment and left alone. There you go. Why is the dress blue, you ask?

Red. Ice. Gold and blue. No... Not 'blue and gold'. No sports colors. Yesterday negative, today neutral (so far) and stable. Red cheeks. Dreams. Empty boxes. Rocks. Down, down, down we go, where we stop nobody knows because we will not let them know because they are not worthy of our conditional updating processes. Fuck them. Red and ice again. Cooled off. The remains. Cold remains. In this place we have built throughout many years. Cold, red and empty. Void of everything. And now as of this morning (or last night, really), we have to make a change that will remove further comfort and enjoyment from life. Some small details will remain. We don't know what the bigger picture will resemble until some weeks or months pass. We just don't know. Black now. Eyes with an outer line. Beautiful, but it doesn't matter. The eyes do not matter. Black, some brown. Exit up there. Down here is the same. And the walk. And the dress. And the glasses. And the gap.

All of the bullshit has taken control now. A slave to it. Helpless. No laterals. Drawn flat.

Less than one hour and I have to go to the pharmacy.

Failure after failure. Day, week, month, year... Doesn't matter anymore. I expect exactly nothing up and all down. No good. No surprises any longer. Nothing. Sitting here the same way for the rest of time, rising and completing what is expected of me -- and still actually enjoying the kitchen a little -- falling off the wagon in the afternoon, and then sitting here awaiting bed time only to sleep, rise and do it the same way again. Every day. I will look around and see what I see, feel those knives stabbing me in the heart, and then just sit here and take it because I no longer have a choice. I will fail here and there. Booze, television, coffee, fail. There is the teacher again. I haven't seen her in over a month. The things that enter my head when I see her jeans... Basket case. There is even an uncredited face in the background. Basket case. Something is very wrong. I nearly can't deal with it all. The dental office was bad enough. I really don't fucking need anything more right now.


Curious, I never really had a problem with Sarah in these scenes. Don't know why. Hmm.

Sometimes the whole world is disgusting. This is a bad time.

Upon returning from the pharmacy I have to do something different than all the days behind me. I remember when I first became pissed off almost two years ago and kicked all the social crap out of my life. During the following months I had been quite productive. That feeling tapered off, though, and I began to see a very narrow tunnel ahead, meaning anything significant was not real. And then the tiniest accomplishment became huge. Now? I am to the point in which the simple task of taking a bag of trash outside to the can is a victory. That is fucking ridiculous. Everything aside from the usual tasks just sits still. I even stated some of this out loud yesterday. I honestly don't fucking know if I can do anything, though. Not a clue. I may falter and fail again. I don't know about me anymore.

The bulk of the site is offline again due to my being in such a bad mood. I can't help it. Whenever something upsets me I tend to shut everything down because I feel deeply private all over again and this is the only part of life over which I hold control. It is quite literally all I can do. This probably doesn't make much sense, but I will say after being drawn flat so many times and by other people, my instinct is to hide, and that includes the words here. There were 288 published essays linked to the archive, I recently removed the eight-part train series for the umpteenth time because I felt it was too revealing, and then took the entire archive away. I don't know what else to do, but I will state that making people wonder about my condition can be pretty powerful. I think it is, anyway. Nothing is certain in these late days. Bad time. This is a bad fucking time.

1323 on my birthday. I've been sent many good wishes since this morning.

The pharmacy trip was ideal. Mellow drive with mellow music, easy parking and a quick in-and-out of the place. That was my first chore today. Upon returning, I engaged the routine and completed everything in good time. All the while there was a 'charm bracelet' of images circling the inside of my head. Never good. The positives are being actively offset by negatives. This condition was expected. Light lunch, small cocktail, and here I am hours later awaiting fulfillment of my having been beckoned to the bar this afternoon. I'd like to shave before heading over there in roughly two hours, yet the football playoffs dictate changing NOTHING prior to the next game. I've been doing the superstitious routine since the last game of the season... Same outfit, shoes, table decoration, everything. I cannot make any cosmetic change if we continue to win games. Sacrilegious. Pro football is holy, especially during the post-season. That is that, I will be a slob. Two hours of peace before the onslaught of platitudes.

0946 on the twenty-second after a long session at the bar. Nothing dramatic, nothing overpowering, nothing terribly exciting. We just stayed a while. And there she is in the conversation with Edie and looking like she is about the break the world in two. Jesus. Oh... Thought I was finished going on about her? Think again. This scene is the end-all be-all of beauty on television. Fucking hell, anyway. Where was I? We stayed out until almost eleven, mostly speaking with her coworker and his husband. Super nice people. I should have headed out of there a few hours earlier but I guess it's no big deal. Ugh... 1012 now. Most of this day is going to be very slow. The game is in the late afternoon, meaning I'll have to have myself in good order before the event. We are doing everything exactly the same as the last three weeks. Everything. Rather tired this morning but it's ok. I've earned some relaxation.

Curious, nothing of note over there last night. There was one face (spoke to her for a few minutes about her dog), yet the combination of nationalities has frightening overtones. Some facial expressions become off-putting in a very short period of time no matter the mood. Gorgeous, though... All very dark and contrasting. She remained at a distance for most of the evening. Scary. As for the rest of the crowd? Strange. Lots of young people I did not recognize. They always seem to be a bit too energetic and on a hair trigger to be goofy. The entire scene made me uncomfortable. The only real issue was not having any dinner. I am already flat as a fucking pancake most days. I don't need to be drawn up and out of the comfort so often. I'll have to rein this shit in when the time comes. Drawn too much. Far too much, actually. No one even realizes the weighty effects of their words and actions. Well, I probably don't, either. Imperfect.


The bullshit was flying again yesterday evening. Flying. I had little choice due to the announcement I had sewn to my vest and then the decision to wear the thing last night. The rocker may be removed very soon. There are no events on the horizon that I will attend, so for the time being the vest can hang in the closet. I don't want to advertise any information. The conversation becomes crippling ever since learning more about myself and hearing a bit of clarification.

0723. Sunday. Our team was victorious again yesterday. My brain was flattened for the third time in as many days. The distraction of the game and crowd did help, yet I also learned that I am too weak to simply shift my attention elsewhere while curious about a glimpse of something interesting. Three of them, honestly. Drawn like a gun and then run flat as a tire spinning out of control on the Autobahn. Flat as a pancake. The decent part of being this way is the down time to reflect and sort out those situations in order to pull focus on the individual details which cast shadows upon my brain. I was in a pretty good place mentally after the first little morsel came along. Slowly down the hill, though.

I believe this shit needs to close, lest the entry become overly lengthy. Nothing is being accomplished or served here, anyway.