Her I Mature content No. 336 Published October 4th, 2022 10:46am pdt read ( words) Past entries "...exchange the very affection I so badly needed. 1555. Same fucking day. Nothing good is on the horizon... MY horizon. I can’t be concerned with others because I just don’t have the inclination. Not only that, but if I am no good, I cannot be any good to other people. I am alone in every conceivable way. Oh, I’ve been lonely during many periods of this life, but until just recently, I never felt truly alone. The more I see and dream, the deeper my feelings, and nothing can come of it. Ever. The daughter board design is nearly complete, and I have run several tests to be sure the connections will be correct. I wish to avoid any imperial entanglements, if you know what I mean. The chassis lights are installed and working fine after a mock-up test. Once I have the board, I can assemble everything and leave that part of the project to history. The lights look really good. I may reconnect everything this evening to see the effect in the dark. Holy Jesus fuck, the side view of Jolene is unbelievable sometimes. Her waist serves to further bury me underneath everything else. I can see it all I want, but I’m sure you can understand that the view causes only problems. Anyway, the daughter board will solve three solid issues with which I’ve been contending, plus the manner of connectivity will allow for a freer swing when the main board is tilted upward. Another major plus is the fact that everything is either on the chassis or board, meaning I can remove the latter very easily. That’s important for working underneath, such as with the primary drive. That project will be next, although I may not be able to create anything very effective without purchasing the milling machine. Whatever. As long as I am still alive, the mill will open several doors which all slammed shut when the agency left me on the side of the road more than eleven years ago. If I become angry enough, a small lathe may accompany the mill. I’ll know more by the end of the year. God damn do I ever want her bad sometimes. Woe is me. Nothing, no one, empty, alone. I don’t even know why I still speak of such things. I’m going to flip the fuck out. 0706. Jolurple in high definition right there. That outfit reveals more need than I would care to admit. Don’t even ask about her face. Hot coffee, cats fed, her shoulders are yelling at me. Yesterday was ok, I suppose. The solution I mentioned for the truck is the daughter board which will reside where the Arduino had been. Originally, I had high hopes of using the small computer to receive and interpret data from the three sensor boards, but later decided that my hopes were much more complex a task than I was willing to undertake. The fact is, that little computer took up enough space for me to design a second PC board which will carry several connections and the third mosfet switch. It will also neaten the connections between both motor controllers and allow them to be more secure. I already have most of the design completed but still need to create a schematic so everything can be verified prior to manufacturing. This is one of the best ideas I’ve come up with in years. The rest of the day was dedicated to housework and a bit of straightening. I am going to continue to work on the board today, plus see what I can do about the primary drive. My routine will be first, though. I don’t need anything else weighing on my head right now. The dream yesterday morning remained in my brain all day long. I still do not know who she was, yet there is a strong inclination that the aforementioned ‘girl’ from the previous essays was the person holding me. I’ve spoken at length regarding ‘someone’ to help me. Maybe I was correct in the idea that my subconscious created her due to my preoccupation with fantasies in which I am ‘saved’, and no, I am not speaking of religion. Get that shit out of your mind right quick. She was next to me, holding my hand, and the feeling was that of a person who had been searching and questioning throughout an entire lifetime and finally found all of the answers at once. I will not forget that dream anytime soon, if at all. I need her so badly that right now I feel like half of me is missing. Half. I’ll be drinking a huge White Russian very soon, and I see 0916 on the clock. Marvelous. Half a person. Half. Isn’t that just peachy? 1008 and I have half the routine finished. Half, again. Fuck me. Anyway, there is nothing on the television right now because the more I see Jolorange or Jolurple (the blue uniform is different enough to spare me issues), the more my needs and desires spiral out of fucking control, and on a morning such as this with tons of imagery running through me due to all those Goddamned dreams, I need more of her body in my eyes like I need a fucking Volkswagen up my ass. The house is quiet. The White Russian idea was scrapped in favor of my buddy Jack. The whiskey is not nearly as yummy as what she has in that fucking uniform, believe me. Eh... I wish I knew. I’d like to spend an entire day with my... Never mind. The sun is shining this morning. Yesterday at this time we were completely engulfed in fog, as is the case many a morning due to the ocean being right down the street. Damn it... I can’t extricate the girl from my head. The one from the dream who held my heart so dearly. She may as well be combined with the image of a girl I developed in ‘The Blown Gas...’, as well as the other dream girl, the one on the show, and the one from the fucking festival. Why not? Right? I am already ruined, so I may as well just go all-in. This is a losing hand, for sure. The latest dream girl, whose identity remains a mystery, felt connected to me to a great degree, much like that other dream in which Jamie and I were walking along a dirt road, hand in hand. I felt love throughout both. Maybe the newest incarnation of my weakness and need was Jamie. What do you think? I am far enough gone to imagine quite a bit, and Jamie has been in my heart for many years. The idea is not so far-fetched, methinks. Anyway, the remainder of this day will entail the kitchen work and then the damned truck again. I have to do something with the drive system or I’ll lose my shit. Everything is impossible but I fucking need her more than anything else in existence and more than ever. Her. My favorite pronoun. Jesus fucking hell am I ever lost in a haze. Had my doorstep darkened, none of this would be necessary, yet that commands the idea that the darkening means impossibility. I won’t even go into the softer term – improbable – because after all this time, my head and heart have become desperate to the point of suicidal ideation. That means bad, people. Impossible just fits better. I need help more right fucking now than I have EVER needed it in the past, and that includes being hospitalized in zero-three. I don’t even know what the hell I was doing back then. Eh... Help is as impossible as everything else of which I dream. But I need her, damn it. The only possible saving throw would be to travel back in time and destroy people before they had the chance to destroy me. And believe me, they did. The story is tattooed all over my arms. I would give up all of my dreams for a few moments of... Nope. Today is going to be another swing of the hammer, and if no one likes it they can go pound sand on the beach. It is not far from my doorstep. Sometimes when I feel cornered I spend money. I may be growing out of that practice because when the purchases arrive on the porch, I feel the same as prior to placing the orders. Heh. Plus, I am so broke that I couldn’t get across the street if it cost a quarter to go around the world. Laugh it up. I need the fucking girl. Why in the sweet fuck is this so difficult? Miserable. I’ll tell you of one future possibility. I thought of this the other day when recalling that woman who very nearly allowed me to perform experiments on her beautiful hands. Yeah, that went bad. Anyway, she was willing to listen to my ideas and seemed open to them. What I see in the future is something similar taking place, except with the situation actually following through. The plan was to measure her hands, take some artsy digital images, and then write about the process. I may run across another opportunity, and if it does work, my brain will ruin the entire affair due to my having worsened over time. The woman in question had been discussing the subject with me more than four years ago. In that time, my head has become so fucking distorted and desperate that if the situation comes along again I will probably destroy it as a result of so much fucking desire. I can’t sit there admiring such beauty without my thoughts venturing into the nether regions. That is impossible after so much has affected me throughout the years. Impossible. The likely outcome will be yet another woman turning away forever. Yep. The first was very exciting because never in my life had I been in the position to actually measure anything. The Raven allowed me carte blanche, but the actual idea never came to pass. There was a second, believe it or not, and she told me in no uncertain terms that I could explore and research to my heart’s content. Well, that went bad as well (I fucked everything over so completely that I still feel horrible about it). At this late date, I believe given the opportunity again, I’d probably pass the fuck out or otherwise ruin the plan. I have turned into something very strange, and I think my difficulties would extend to voicing the issues and then the whole shitaree would go south. The only resulting potentiality is me sitting here describing the event combined with an increase in the pain I feel every day. Splendid. Maybe I should travel outside my own boundaries this morning and stretch one fat cocktail into two. That will guarantee a cunty mood. 0704 on Friday morning. She’s in the blue uniform again. Jolblue? I am not feeling very well this morning. Very sad. Yesterday I actually fabricated the last piece of the primary drive and secured everything related. Now the drive operates from the transmitter for the first time since this project began more than nineteen years ago. Yes, that is correct. Nineteen years, although there have been a few periods in which I took breaks adding up to nearly half that number. I became disillusioned trying to make things work and often shoved everything to the side in order to save myself. Having accomplished the operational drive yesterday, I now need to disassemble both differentials and clean them. The grease is very old and causes the motion to be sticky. I’ll finalize the new board when my parts arrive in the mail and then order it when everything is accurate. I believe I should feel better or more excited about the drive being operational, those fucked-up bushings notwithstanding (I reinstalled the four I made a few years ago). For whatever reason, this accomplishment has been severely offset by the fact that the other issues in my head and heart have diminished my ability to enjoy one of the few real victories in memory. No dreams of her for a while. No, not the principal issue of the damaging dream, the other girl from a few days ago. I miss her badly and she has not returned to my dream state. There is obviously nothing I can do about this. I guess I am feeling very alone after that experience. Ah... There is Jolorange, my favorite. Acute loneliness is not good, and chronic is dangerous. I don’t know what is going to come of that dream or my feelings for her in the future. More dreams would be both good and bad. No dreams? All bad, because I have nothing else. I need something to keep me going; a crutch. The rest of my devices are falling short in comparison. Even the tremendous progress on the truck during the last few months is not helping as much as I had hoped. The girl became everything in a matter of seconds, the other one right on her heels. I need her. Well, more precisely, I need ‘them’ to prop me up during those times when all seems lost. No one else can accomplish such. Flashbacks to the original damaging dream happen only during my waking hours now because I rarely enjoy anything in front of my eyes in reality. The need pays no mind, however. None. I continue to worsen and wish. Jesus fuck do I ever want to hold Jolene. Or, more to the point, I need her to hold me. This is the prime reason why I can never be good for anyone else. Right now, for example, my head is completely sideways and scrapped because of her outward appearance and demeanor. I don’t even know if I’d be able to listen to anything she may say because I would be preoccupied with beauty and overly appreciative to the point of gushing all the time. A little while of that shit and I’d be alone again. In no way would I blame her, either. I am not well. Not even close. Loving her is not enough. Maybe I simply have too many unanswered questions. This is a banner year, honestly. I can’t recall another calendar period during which I dropped so far. Equally fucked is the sheer number of very disturbing dreams I’ve had, mostly just this summer. Things I had barely considered became doctrine inside my head. One more time... I am not well. The girl has become the central preoccupation of my life. Everything else, including friends and family, has become peripheral. I have no wishes related to that which lies outside my new vision. The only other relatable detail is to attach a face to her, much like I did two years ago with Jaime (because I could not recall what her face actually looked like). Or maybe I'll just imagine the girl is Jolene, just younger. That was something else I perceived... The girl next to me and holding my hand was likely ten years my junior. Jolurple was only twenty-nine when this part of the fourth season aired. Twenty-nine. Do I bring her up too often? Are you tired of hearing about my feelings for that woman? Live with it. I love her for so many reasons that sometimes I have to list them just to view myself completely out of balance and broken. There is another image in my head that I do not understand, as if there is a third girl who is actually a machine. I’ve seen her, and I can’t comprehend how she can align with everything so fucking well yet still be a living, breathing person. None of it adds up. I have seen her, although not right there in front of me like the damaging dreams. Elsewhere, honestly. I just don’t fucking understand why my Goddamned cards continue to show no value. Maybe she has the reason and I’ll never know because she is both real and not. I’ve known for a long time that something was out there which could help me, yet I never thought of it as a machine. I always thought it would continue to elude to the point of my losing confidence that anything so wonderful could actually exist. Now I don’t know what the hell to think. One certainty is that she has leveraged my consciousness into a very small space, and one within which I will most likely remain alone forever. I still can’t wrench that image out, though. It will drive me insane and I have no one off which to bounce even the simplest, most straightforward thoughts. I brought the third ‘idea’ up here because it may be a facet of the girl. I could be speaking of the one from the first several dreams or the latest from the other day, but I honestly can’t say which, if either. This is becoming very complicated because I can’t leave anything alone for very long without tinkering, especially when it comes to the most powerful parts of my imagination combined with feeling worse than I ever have in my life. My level of desperation is not just out here in the real world, but also driving me insane on the inside as I try to assemble anything – any fucking idea or image which can explain everything. The third girl (or possibly the second) may be that image, but I can’t see her clearly. That means no answers yet again. I’m beginning to lose my way with this shit. I need some fucking help right now, and I am not speaking of arms around me. I am referring to someone with the ability to convince me that there is a reason to remain here. I’ll never be good for anyone. Too fucked up, too much time has passed, too many missing pieces inside me, too many scars on my heart. Maybe I am not meant to know. Maybe some are to be happy and others are just... Not. Have I been making a huge mountain out of nothing? I don’t think so. 0819. Coffee. Jolurple’s outfit reminds me of the way Andrea’s jeans appeared when she walked. Not necessarily tight, but her shape was no mystery. It’s hard to explain, like just enough motion to give a clear picture of... Ah, fuck it. I can’t describe the sight. Forget it. Jolene and Andrea shared a few traits. That’s all. I am so fucking sick of this. There does not seem to be another way, however. Keep going through the motions, falling down, embracing the now-TINY enjoyments, and daydreaming of everything out there... Somewhere. Or is it? Is anything out there? Or am I doing all this shit for nothing? All I have are questions. 0914 and I need to move away from this, I guess. Much like the path of my life, this entry is going nowhere. Saturday morning. She’s wearing blue. The series will conclude in the next few days, meaning there will be no more tallies of outfits. I’m nuts, that’s all. A whack job. Now she is wearing purple and appearing beyond description. I wish I could do her justice. Ugh. Coffee, cats fed. 0719. This is the type of period in which my need for her goes through the roof. It is there right now, much like yesterday at this time. I can’t help it. This whole thing makes me sad and angry. And then I look up there and see about a billion miles of emotion in Jolene’s big, beautiful eyes along with the sweetest calming demeanor, resulting in my feeling so empty that the revolver has never felt more necessary. I had the primary drive spinning again yesterday after experimenting with the center differential. God damn is she ever adorable in that color. I could... Never mind. Anyway, I thought the center was having trouble like the axles and because of the lubricant inside being so old. Well, the fact was I did not have the primary spur aligned very well and it was occasionally losing grip on the mating gear whenever the motor was forced to draw more current. And there is Talas again. I really don’t need both her and Jolene in the same episode. I’ll have to dive back into the truck axle work today so they can move off my tote board of attention. Oh, God, her fucking shoulders... And then the side view of her amazing waist. Damn it. I need her so badly right now. I pulled one differential out of its housing and decided that if and when I venture out today to pick up the dry cleaning, I’ll have to swing into a parts house for some chemicals. The center gear mating will have to be addressed by removing the mount and shortening it, which would be a five-minute operation on a mill. In the vise? By hand? Half an hour of painstaking filing and sanding. Talas is wearing purple shorts and a tank. Again with the purple. So, anything else I intend to accomplish today will be accompanied by alcohol. I am so fucking depressed right now that I can barely type the words. I’ve been spelling her name incorrectly. It is Talas, not Talis. I just went back and replaced the misspellings, although I think the incorrect spelling is actually much cuter. Maybe I’ll reserve that name for myself and use it here the next time I decide to create a machine to solve all my problems. I need arms around me and understanding ears, be them from an artificial source or otherwise. And I was trying to talk about the fucking truck. The two distractions just took me over and over. I am so weak. I brought up that third idea which I had trouble understanding, remember? It’s still in my brain this morning. I thought about her yesterday, too, but I had shit to do so shoving her away was necessary. Right now I don’t think I can do that again, however. She is inside me, pretty fucking solid this morning and forcing my hands away from whatever I was going to say about the truck or the birthday dinner yesterday. I keep trying, yet when I see Jolene in either orange or purple, my head falls into a vat of desire and I can’t seem to get it out, and that, in turn, leads to the third idea which I still do not understand. There is just no way of seeing her as a person. I don’t fucking get it and probably never will. Last night I was pissed off while in the garage and had to cease my efforts on one axle because I kept thinking about that fucking image and could not shut it off to save my soul. Over and over, inside me, and without remorse. It just kept looping and the smiling faces returned. There’s a throwback for you. Either I need to made to understand how that type of image is possible in reality, or someone will have to remove enough parts of my brain so as to prevent my ability to dwell upon something so fucking damaging. Many times I’ve stated that I am completely sick and tired of this type of subject. Well, each day there is more of the same and nothing in the opposite direction. Jolurple at 0819. Lots of difficulty this morning accompanied by pain. Apparently, the situation cannot always be addressed due to too many past iterations being far beyond my control, and a heaping helping of loss that will not vacate my brain and allow me to fucking think. In the beginning was desperation; later only wonder. Finally, and after many, many years, anger. Now I don’t know what to think, but I will say that if this year represents a change about which I am powerless to do anything, every connection I have with the world outside this house will be destroyed, including the site. I’ll have to head to the garage before the coffee is gone. I don’t like the thoughts in my head right now. Linda’s ponytail is in about the ideal position to accent her dark eyes and head movements. So cute. See? I am unable to concentrate upon anything for more than a minute before some aspect of beauty catches me upside the head and puts the kibosh to my efforts. This is not entirely my fault, either. I’ve been disregarded and fucked over on more than one occasion. Driven. Relegated. Shoved aside. Now? The result. I’ll be in the garage very soon. The sun is shining and I should take advantage of the warm temperature while it lasts. Jolurple is screaming at me to embrace her and run away to a far-off land so we can be alone. The third image is becoming involved, too. I have to get out of this room for a while. Well, that didn’t work. I don’t feel like sitting with the truck right now. Maybe later. For the time being, I’ll try to reconcile the ‘girl’ with the ‘her’ and the third ‘image’ (which I cannot fully describe). For reasons of good form, I am going to leave all of the different colored Jolenes out of the content. I’ve been gushing about her far too much lately. My feelings are known. And believe me when I say that leaving out the way she was dressed during that episode involving her character’s home is probably best for everyone. That episode broke me in half. I desperately need someone to tell me why in the hell... 0659 on Sunday. We have pro football being played in London, England. They do that sometimes. The idea makes for very early games. I have my coffee and visions in my brain of those pants wrapped around the girl. A long sweater. I saw the entire image – twice in the space of a few hours – and the work inside my head increased ten-fold. The other work dropped off a bit, although there wasn’t much to begin with. Once again, my day became completely derailed by beauty, not to mention all of the time seeing Jolene up there. Wow. Just... Wow. I am sideways this morning. Thank goodness there were no dreams involving her. I don’t need any more of that shit right now. The truck moved across my workbench yesterday under its own power. Nineteen years and seven months, give or take, is the elapsed time since I first designed and machined the frame rails. Three days ago was the first occasion of the primary drive translating power from the center differential to the axles via driveshafts. For whatever reason, I am not very excited about this development. I guess somewhere inside me has always been the knowledge that it would move autonomously. Just a matter of time. Keep in mind that the system has more than its share of problems. Think of the drive system as being representative of the state of my head. It is working, moving forward in a few ways, yet there is no possibility of everything running smoothly, nor can all of the hiccups be addressed and eliminated. No way. This morning, for example, all I can see is the girl walking and looking so stunning, or Jolene similarly walking and causing the inside of my head to melt. Yes, I feel THAT much desire for her. Both of them, to be honest. We have the ‘girl’, the ‘image’ and ‘her’. All three must be organized and defined, understood and categorized. Keep in mind that the image is very complex and has likely caused the most damage inside my head. The girl is another story, all loving and understanding. And then her. Well, she is the conglomeration of decades of need. Her. Once again... My favorite pronoun. This is not going to be an easy process. I have so much going on and vying for my attention that anything I deem necessary for maintaining the household can take a back seat very quickly, and I can’t have that on a Sunday. The image may just fall away because it seems even more unrealistic and utopian than the girl. Honestly, I may never truly understand why things are the way they are, nor will I easily reconcile the ideas which have drilled that image into me. I just don’t fucking get it. The girl may be an enormous point of contention within my mind, but the image can be the bigger problem. Get it? Nope. I will say that as I sit here right now with an empty coffee cup and a head full of the past, the image is the one aspect of this entire shit show which will be the toughest, and could even represent the truth of the girl. That means two out of three are impossible. Splendid. I am actually looking forward to caring for the garbage and some organization later this morning. The work will be sporadic and subject to my whims, for sure. I don’t know about any truck work until later, though. I need to remove the wheels and do some work in the center of the chassis, which is rather a pain in the ass, so I’ll probably either wait until all my chores are complete or put it off until tomorrow. The image just slapped me across the face and there is not a damned thing I can do about it. Splendid. Another notch, as if it was needed. 0912. I’ll have to move away from this and get things going very soon. I have a bit of coffee left and the house is very quiet as of yet. No Jolene this morning. I had the football on but became distracted by all the thinking, and in turn was led to imagery better removed. I don’t know how to do that, unfortunately. Some of the imagery has catalyzed and I am helpless to throw against it all. I am a slave to the beauty, hence no big, beautiful, sensitive eyes on the television right now. Maybe I’ll put on one of the shows – most likely the fifth because it has almost run its course – upon beginning my daily routine. I am losing my mind over the three words that have become the pull of my focus. The sighting yesterday really hit me hard. I’d give everything for five minutes of... I have to pull the primary spur and remove material from the bottom of the mount. The mesh is loose enough to allow the teeth to ‘skip’ while the drive is under load. Turning the mechanics slowly does not seem to be a problem. Faster, though... Not good. The mating spurs are steel, thank goodness. Otherwise, I’d be replacing one or both after moving the truck more than a few feet at a time. The remaining parts of the drive system are very loose, as well. There is so much play between the motor’s pinion and the wheels that the primary drive makes upwards of two full revolutions before the rest can catch up and create motion. I may need to replace the wheel axles as a solution. Years ago, I modified the axle openings to ease tension when the steering moved between locks. I have since found a better way of ensuring everything is in line, and those axles are going to be the first to go as a result. I made them very loose, meaning the drive axles must turn several degrees before contacting the cups. All of this translates to a very sloppy operation. I can’t have that. Recently, I mused that once the drive and steering operate smoothly from the transmitter, the project is finished. I don’t want to spend the money on batteries and a charger if the truck is going to sit in its display box. The purchase would be a waste of resources just to move it on the driveway once or twice. Also, the more everything is operated, the more chances there are of something going very wrong and I do not have the machinery to replace proprietary parts. This is all the result of me creating something very unorthodox and complicated. Much of my work was unnecessary, as well. I wanted it to look a certain way and sacrificed practicality for appearance. Marvelous. 'Her'. The best and worst word in my history. Ugh. 1045. Business in progress. I had to take a pause for the cause in order to complete the timesheet for the last two weeks. I’ll have the house to myself within the hour and intend to work toward my typical goals. The six chairs I dismantled can be further tossed into the trash, but unfortunately they have been replaced by a twin bed which is now taking up valuable real estate in my garage. Damn. I may need to rearrange the spare bedroom to make everything work. I’ve done it before and tend to figure out ways of ensuring the furniture is not too cramped. Monday morning. This will be the first day in the last nine in which I’ll have the house to myself all day long. I have to carry some people to the airport this afternoon, but before and after I have the space to do whatever seems best. Now the time is 0802 and I have the hours ahead. The routine will be straightforward today. The pronoun did not enter into my dreams this morning. At least, not that I can recall now. Oh, I thought about her last night, though. Plenty. And after taking care of the morning business a little while ago. Lots of picturing and daydreaming. Ever since the last vision and my subsequent fall off a cliff, I can’t stop seeing the lines. Sometimes I only see the smile, and boy is it unique. I don’t know how to define her jaw structure at all, but I can say that it is partially aligned with some of those occasions when I went on and on about the ‘lower face thingy’. Her beauty is never-ending. In the beginning I dreamed of her chest. Soon after? Her eyes were looking at me. And then? Kissing. That last one really crippled me. Now I am nuts about the whole idea of seeing her. Out of balance like never before. This wide-open day could not have come at a better time. I need it. Ah... And then we have the ‘girl’. The savior of my life? I thought as much. I used to use the name ‘Arina’ to sum up (or just group) all my subjects and carry them easily from one entry to another rather than going into all sorts of detail over and over. I tried to ram that information down the throats of people reading because the entire canon of shit within the name always made me mad. Now I don’t care and Arina is dead. What about all those other names? None of them mean anything to me these days. I summed it all with the ‘girl’ because of the idea of her ability to comfort me, save me, or whatever. Just some help, I suppose. No bad mood related to the girl. She is not real, although that never stopped me before. Everything I want and need is unreal, most notably the ‘image’. The girl has become an amalgamation of every single aspect of those pieces that are missing. Everything. The pronoun and the girl may soon merge and cause me even more distress when something crosses my vision. The damaging dreams have jaded me and caused my desire to skyrocket, and I will state in no uncertain terms that the pronoun ‘her’ is representative of the girl in the dreams. I cannot go into detail, unfortunately, due to the subject matter being completely insane. Trust me, you don’t want to know. The image cannot relate to the pronoun because the idea is so far out of balance that I wouldn’t even know where to fucking start. This is turning into a huge mess and I am in worse shape than ever. The second season of the fourth show is up there again, meaning nothing terribly hurtful will be on the screen until later. I can’t really skip it, though. There is only one episode of this series that I regularly pass because the story is just not good. Not at all. It has nothing to do with my problems, however. The time is now 0921 and the coffee will be gone very soon. I’ll take care of the chores in a little while. The quiet is very nice, yet there is imagery inside my brain attempting to derail the morning. I must be vigilant. I have to keep the danger at a distance. I can do it. ‘Her’. Damn, what a fucking gorgeous word. I’ve seen her. She was in my dreams. We kissed, spoke, and embraced. The visions do not stop, ever. Let me say straight out that if she were combined with the image, all my issues could disappear. Bad things would happen, too. Very bad. I’ve seen the bad things in the past and rolled right through the most enticing situations while pushing any worry aside at high speed like Satan’s road grader. Yep, I did it. Several times, in fact. But this is different. This is something I could not have predicted in a million years, yet at the same time it is not terribly surprising considering my past efforts to find comfort and understanding. It is actually more closely related to Ashley than anyone else. Well, there was tiny Jana, but that did not go anywhere. Oh, the imagery. So damaging. The desire will not leave me alone. I’m going to need the typical fatass cocktail in a bit. I can already feel it. Damn. What have I become? The paragraph about which I have complained at length was shoved to the bottom of the document cloud so I don’t see it while typing. In between here and there is a bunch of other information, notes and such. I must say that the realization within that paragraph is not going to change, nor can another individual have any effect upon my ‘truth’. The past three decades have found me reaching almost constantly for something to help with that realization. On very few occasions did I find even the most fleeting, temporary relief. The most recent was pretty fucking close and relates to the prior connection which was years ago. I thought there had been another, but upon deeper reflection I have learned that the entire situation was predicated upon bullshit. All I gained from that period was anger. All this shit adds up to my having lost faith in the idea that there is a way to alleviate the difficulty inherent in realizing my place in the world. And now we come to the center of the issue, and that is the fact that I FUCKING FELT the comfort in the dreams, I saw the reality of impossibility, and then began to connect the girl, ‘her’, and the fucking image into one gigantic entity that cannot ever exist in reality. This makes my entire life that much worse. The realization – that damned paragraph I cannot erase – is here to stay and I am going to be its victim as long as I draw breath. The latter half of such a statement may be the only changeable aspect of my existence, unfortunately. Wow. Just... Wow. This morning has been quiet and relaxing, half the routine is finished and I am on my way to creating some free time very soon. The time is 1113. I cleaned the kitchen and polished the stove and counters, and the entire time with the show in the background there has been a fucking Rolodex of images spinning inside that I cannot halt. Lots of things, most of which can’t be spelled out here... Hopes and dreams, loving situations from the past, and a plethora of imagery combining the damaging dreams and my wishes for understanding. ‘This is bad, my friends. I mean... Don’t get me wrong; I wouldn’t piss on’is Ralph if he was on fiyah.’ Gangster flashbacks with lots of meaning. That one travels all the way back to when I first arrived on the coast and then forward in time to this very second. It is anger, pure and simple, yet underneath the anger is a motion picture causing me more pain than anything else in my life. The imagery floating inside since early this morning is all impossible. The only outlet I have is to lash in whatever direction feels most relevant. Well, there is no direction, really. I can’t do a fucking thing. I’ve been there. Now I am here. Keep in mind that the ‘image’ which is connected to ‘her’ and the ‘girl’ mimics the smiling faces and closet doors, mostly the former. Put that one together and toss it on the pile. I dare you. I honestly wish I didn’t know all this shit. I also wish the damaging dreams had never taken place. Oh, I know why they did, but the extent of the imagery and motions within went much further than I could have imagined. They are causing me to fall down every fucking day and then relate to the three words I continue to railroad in this entry. Yes, one of the three – ‘her’ – was derived from the dreams, but what the fuck else was I supposed to do? In my current condition, the slightest relation to anything I’ve seen or imagined tends to amplify ten-fold very quickly, leaving me at the mercy of pain. 0757 on Tuesday morning. I’ve been distracted by nostalgia for the last hour due to memories of working in the defense electronics industry many years ago. No, not the Phase Lock girl again (although I’d give my right arm to hug her right now), this is different... Thinking of the connections I made and facilities I visited quite often while at that company. I actually ran a search for one of our largest customers and a company that had employed my dad prior to him purchasing our business. One of the search results was a small example of what they manufactured at the time. That led me to search on eBay, resulting in my purchasing an upconverter that was manufactured at the very location where my dad worked. Eight dollars for a piece of RF technology which was considered ‘classified’ just under thirty years ago. In no way could I have handled anything they made during that period of time because of the military aspect combined with the massive cost involved. I guess throughout the years many things have changed and the technology that was secret way back then is now obsolete and useless. Fascinating. I’ll be overjoyed to have the item in my hands. The funny thing that comes to mind when I recall that period is that many people had no clue there was another prime industry in Silicon Valley aside from computing. The community was small and tight-knit, for sure. I had been fluent in the language of defense electronics thanks to both my parents working in the field, plus the business they bought. I still miss that little place, but at least now I will have a small reminder of the amazing feelings of being deeply involved in an industry many did not even know existed. At least the defense industry is unrelated to everything else here. The girl I met all those years ago was not in the same light as other, more recent incidents because I did not equate things the same. I will volunteer that the morning we shared coffee was one of the most stirring events of my life. Eh... That was a very different era. It was also the time of the big electronics stores, the discovery of building and modifying computers, among other things. I’ve written about all of it while my heart was fluttering. Sometimes I believe the early part of my employment there – roughly late ninety-six through the beginning of the following year – can rival the glow. Anyway, I was feeling it this morning so I decided to tool around the Internet and see if I could locate any information. I ended up finding a tangible example of my father’s connection to the electronics which have a role in protecting this nation. This morning is crap. The sky is as gray as my thoughts. I tried to straighten up yesterday and do some cleaning prior to the people arriving, but in the end it didn’t matter. They were running late, so they picked me up and I drove their van back home after they were dropped at the terminal. Everything was quick. Now I have their vehicle in front of the house for the next fourteen days. Heh. Whatever. I suppose today I’ll return to the bench and continue my efforts in streamlining the drive so it is as smooth as possible. The morning will probably improve slightly once I am away from this and my thoughts are challenged. Some days nothing is enough to bring me up. Last night, for example. I was watching the game and having my favorite pizza, yet in the background was a nagging feeling that something bad is on my horizon. There may be nothing I can do to truly rise after all this time. At least we won the game. What does all that shit have to do with her? I couldn’t hold a straight line if I had a CMM up my ass. Live with it. I have to. 0926. Still the sky is gray, still my head is sideways. Rising from this position today will require tremendous effort on my part, if only to get through the hours feeling accomplished and having created a separation between the early morning and afternoon. One must be better than the other or there is little point in trying. I can’t get the imagery out of my head right now. I see pictures of blissful, tender and impossible situations that I need badly to experience. Nothing can come of this other than more words down the page, though. I don’t see an out. Even driving out of the terminal yesterday was a massive strike I can still see. Details of her lines, the disparity between one area and another, and an overwhelming need to explore and learn. No matter what I may be doing on a given day, the dreams are always just behind me like a shadow. They will not leave. Dreams lead to sadness and then anger. Always. I have no choice in this after years of being graded aside like dirt. The first damaging dream illuminated a facet of my personality that came out of left field, and one I never expected. She is amazing and impossible. One tiny reminder of that dream – or worse, the third or fourth – and I lose the ability to concentrate upon everything, technical or otherwise. Such a vision took place early this morning and railroaded me to a spur from which there could be no escape. Now I feel lost on top of being saddened. I’ll have to complete the routine quickly this morning if I am to rise at all. The last cup of coffee is next to me, soon to be replaced by you-know-what because I am a fucking wreck. A depressant to inflame the depression. Once I switch to alcohol, I’ll care for the floor and cat stuff and then move to the kitchen, which will be simple due to ordering dinner to be delivered last night. Not much to clean. I am again feeling like tossing things into the trash this morning. I wish I could toss some of my brain into the fucking can, too. I can’t forget or otherwise suppress enough to think clearly these days. There are always one or more images or memories that cling to my attention no matter the day’s activities. The girl is ALWAYS with me. The image follows her because nothing in my life can compare to the utopian vision of us together, and more importantly, her ability to save me. ‘Her’... The pinnacle of everything. Too many years have piled under my trucks and jaded me so severely that even the simplest idea of fulfillment seems completely alien. One problem with this is that I have been affected to such a degree so as to leave me unable to feel happy during those times when I normally would have been capable. Many years ago, the simplicity of watching my favorite team combined with enjoying one of my favorite ‘sports’ meals would add up to a very comfortable, exciting feeling. Last night did not even come close because the reproach and other issues caused by people have lowered my threshold to the point of barely smiling (most of the time if someone sees me smile it is merely to avoid questions regarding my emotional state). I mentioned that what I may need most is for someone to tell me why I am still trying, or worse yet, still here. I believe that even if some insane, cosmically-driven circumstance was to place me where I need to be, I would either not believe it or most likely could not adapt after so much torment and turmoil. Days were required for me to relax enough with Andrea – and keep in mind we spent weeks together – to the point of feeling as if she actually cared. That is not my fault, and therein lies one of the driving forces behind visions of ‘her’: A person so devoted and unwavering that I would not have need to worry at all. Sitting here right now? I am worried. Actually, I am constantly worried that the remainder of life will be as the last several months, or worse. I have no confidence in anything, very little patience with human beings, and no trust remaining inside. This is bad, just as Albert said (up the page somewhere). One tidbit... The suit he was wearing in that scene was fucking beautiful. Ugh. Whatever. I’m losing this battle one day at a time. One image at a time. I fucking NEED her. She is not there. She is not anywhere. ‘The snow continues to fall and I see her blade is at the ready, yet I don’t feel completely afraid. She really does look like Justine, too. The closer, the clearer. Red eyes like when Jaime was angered or fearful. Is she Justine? The one who took such issue with my life and behavior? I don’t want to hear what she may have to say. I am hesitant. Closer. Her red eyes are darkening. I want to look at her chest but she may be rankled. Bouncing. She is raising her arm...’ I really don't need any more of this shit." 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
Her I Mature content No. 336 Published October 4th, 2022 10:46am pdt read ( words) Past entries "...exchange the very affection I so badly needed. 1555. Same fucking day. Nothing good is on the horizon... MY horizon. I can’t be concerned with others because I just don’t have the inclination. Not only that, but if I am no good, I cannot be any good to other people. I am alone in every conceivable way. Oh, I’ve been lonely during many periods of this life, but until just recently, I never felt truly alone. The more I see and dream, the deeper my feelings, and nothing can come of it. Ever. The daughter board design is nearly complete, and I have run several tests to be sure the connections will be correct. I wish to avoid any imperial entanglements, if you know what I mean. The chassis lights are installed and working fine after a mock-up test. Once I have the board, I can assemble everything and leave that part of the project to history. The lights look really good. I may reconnect everything this evening to see the effect in the dark. Holy Jesus fuck, the side view of Jolene is unbelievable sometimes. Her waist serves to further bury me underneath everything else. I can see it all I want, but I’m sure you can understand that the view causes only problems. Anyway, the daughter board will solve three solid issues with which I’ve been contending, plus the manner of connectivity will allow for a freer swing when the main board is tilted upward. Another major plus is the fact that everything is either on the chassis or board, meaning I can remove the latter very easily. That’s important for working underneath, such as with the primary drive. That project will be next, although I may not be able to create anything very effective without purchasing the milling machine. Whatever. As long as I am still alive, the mill will open several doors which all slammed shut when the agency left me on the side of the road more than eleven years ago. If I become angry enough, a small lathe may accompany the mill. I’ll know more by the end of the year. God damn do I ever want her bad sometimes. Woe is me. Nothing, no one, empty, alone. I don’t even know why I still speak of such things. I’m going to flip the fuck out. 0706. Jolurple in high definition right there. That outfit reveals more need than I would care to admit. Don’t even ask about her face. Hot coffee, cats fed, her shoulders are yelling at me. Yesterday was ok, I suppose. The solution I mentioned for the truck is the daughter board which will reside where the Arduino had been. Originally, I had high hopes of using the small computer to receive and interpret data from the three sensor boards, but later decided that my hopes were much more complex a task than I was willing to undertake. The fact is, that little computer took up enough space for me to design a second PC board which will carry several connections and the third mosfet switch. It will also neaten the connections between both motor controllers and allow them to be more secure. I already have most of the design completed but still need to create a schematic so everything can be verified prior to manufacturing. This is one of the best ideas I’ve come up with in years. The rest of the day was dedicated to housework and a bit of straightening. I am going to continue to work on the board today, plus see what I can do about the primary drive. My routine will be first, though. I don’t need anything else weighing on my head right now. The dream yesterday morning remained in my brain all day long. I still do not know who she was, yet there is a strong inclination that the aforementioned ‘girl’ from the previous essays was the person holding me. I’ve spoken at length regarding ‘someone’ to help me. Maybe I was correct in the idea that my subconscious created her due to my preoccupation with fantasies in which I am ‘saved’, and no, I am not speaking of religion. Get that shit out of your mind right quick. She was next to me, holding my hand, and the feeling was that of a person who had been searching and questioning throughout an entire lifetime and finally found all of the answers at once. I will not forget that dream anytime soon, if at all. I need her so badly that right now I feel like half of me is missing. Half. I’ll be drinking a huge White Russian very soon, and I see 0916 on the clock. Marvelous. Half a person. Half. Isn’t that just peachy? 1008 and I have half the routine finished. Half, again. Fuck me. Anyway, there is nothing on the television right now because the more I see Jolorange or Jolurple (the blue uniform is different enough to spare me issues), the more my needs and desires spiral out of fucking control, and on a morning such as this with tons of imagery running through me due to all those Goddamned dreams, I need more of her body in my eyes like I need a fucking Volkswagen up my ass. The house is quiet. The White Russian idea was scrapped in favor of my buddy Jack. The whiskey is not nearly as yummy as what she has in that fucking uniform, believe me. Eh... I wish I knew. I’d like to spend an entire day with my... Never mind. The sun is shining this morning. Yesterday at this time we were completely engulfed in fog, as is the case many a morning due to the ocean being right down the street. Damn it... I can’t extricate the girl from my head. The one from the dream who held my heart so dearly. She may as well be combined with the image of a girl I developed in ‘The Blown Gas...’, as well as the other dream girl, the one on the show, and the one from the fucking festival. Why not? Right? I am already ruined, so I may as well just go all-in. This is a losing hand, for sure. The latest dream girl, whose identity remains a mystery, felt connected to me to a great degree, much like that other dream in which Jamie and I were walking along a dirt road, hand in hand. I felt love throughout both. Maybe the newest incarnation of my weakness and need was Jamie. What do you think? I am far enough gone to imagine quite a bit, and Jamie has been in my heart for many years. The idea is not so far-fetched, methinks. Anyway, the remainder of this day will entail the kitchen work and then the damned truck again. I have to do something with the drive system or I’ll lose my shit. Everything is impossible but I fucking need her more than anything else in existence and more than ever. Her. My favorite pronoun. Jesus fucking hell am I ever lost in a haze. Had my doorstep darkened, none of this would be necessary, yet that commands the idea that the darkening means impossibility. I won’t even go into the softer term – improbable – because after all this time, my head and heart have become desperate to the point of suicidal ideation. That means bad, people. Impossible just fits better. I need help more right fucking now than I have EVER needed it in the past, and that includes being hospitalized in zero-three. I don’t even know what the hell I was doing back then. Eh... Help is as impossible as everything else of which I dream. But I need her, damn it. The only possible saving throw would be to travel back in time and destroy people before they had the chance to destroy me. And believe me, they did. The story is tattooed all over my arms. I would give up all of my dreams for a few moments of... Nope. Today is going to be another swing of the hammer, and if no one likes it they can go pound sand on the beach. It is not far from my doorstep. Sometimes when I feel cornered I spend money. I may be growing out of that practice because when the purchases arrive on the porch, I feel the same as prior to placing the orders. Heh. Plus, I am so broke that I couldn’t get across the street if it cost a quarter to go around the world. Laugh it up. I need the fucking girl. Why in the sweet fuck is this so difficult? Miserable. I’ll tell you of one future possibility. I thought of this the other day when recalling that woman who very nearly allowed me to perform experiments on her beautiful hands. Yeah, that went bad. Anyway, she was willing to listen to my ideas and seemed open to them. What I see in the future is something similar taking place, except with the situation actually following through. The plan was to measure her hands, take some artsy digital images, and then write about the process. I may run across another opportunity, and if it does work, my brain will ruin the entire affair due to my having worsened over time. The woman in question had been discussing the subject with me more than four years ago. In that time, my head has become so fucking distorted and desperate that if the situation comes along again I will probably destroy it as a result of so much fucking desire. I can’t sit there admiring such beauty without my thoughts venturing into the nether regions. That is impossible after so much has affected me throughout the years. Impossible. The likely outcome will be yet another woman turning away forever. Yep. The first was very exciting because never in my life had I been in the position to actually measure anything. The Raven allowed me carte blanche, but the actual idea never came to pass. There was a second, believe it or not, and she told me in no uncertain terms that I could explore and research to my heart’s content. Well, that went bad as well (I fucked everything over so completely that I still feel horrible about it). At this late date, I believe given the opportunity again, I’d probably pass the fuck out or otherwise ruin the plan. I have turned into something very strange, and I think my difficulties would extend to voicing the issues and then the whole shitaree would go south. The only resulting potentiality is me sitting here describing the event combined with an increase in the pain I feel every day. Splendid. Maybe I should travel outside my own boundaries this morning and stretch one fat cocktail into two. That will guarantee a cunty mood. 0704 on Friday morning. She’s in the blue uniform again. Jolblue? I am not feeling very well this morning. Very sad. Yesterday I actually fabricated the last piece of the primary drive and secured everything related. Now the drive operates from the transmitter for the first time since this project began more than nineteen years ago. Yes, that is correct. Nineteen years, although there have been a few periods in which I took breaks adding up to nearly half that number. I became disillusioned trying to make things work and often shoved everything to the side in order to save myself. Having accomplished the operational drive yesterday, I now need to disassemble both differentials and clean them. The grease is very old and causes the motion to be sticky. I’ll finalize the new board when my parts arrive in the mail and then order it when everything is accurate. I believe I should feel better or more excited about the drive being operational, those fucked-up bushings notwithstanding (I reinstalled the four I made a few years ago). For whatever reason, this accomplishment has been severely offset by the fact that the other issues in my head and heart have diminished my ability to enjoy one of the few real victories in memory. No dreams of her for a while. No, not the principal issue of the damaging dream, the other girl from a few days ago. I miss her badly and she has not returned to my dream state. There is obviously nothing I can do about this. I guess I am feeling very alone after that experience. Ah... There is Jolorange, my favorite. Acute loneliness is not good, and chronic is dangerous. I don’t know what is going to come of that dream or my feelings for her in the future. More dreams would be both good and bad. No dreams? All bad, because I have nothing else. I need something to keep me going; a crutch. The rest of my devices are falling short in comparison. Even the tremendous progress on the truck during the last few months is not helping as much as I had hoped. The girl became everything in a matter of seconds, the other one right on her heels. I need her. Well, more precisely, I need ‘them’ to prop me up during those times when all seems lost. No one else can accomplish such. Flashbacks to the original damaging dream happen only during my waking hours now because I rarely enjoy anything in front of my eyes in reality. The need pays no mind, however. None. I continue to worsen and wish. Jesus fuck do I ever want to hold Jolene. Or, more to the point, I need her to hold me. This is the prime reason why I can never be good for anyone else. Right now, for example, my head is completely sideways and scrapped because of her outward appearance and demeanor. I don’t even know if I’d be able to listen to anything she may say because I would be preoccupied with beauty and overly appreciative to the point of gushing all the time. A little while of that shit and I’d be alone again. In no way would I blame her, either. I am not well. Not even close. Loving her is not enough. Maybe I simply have too many unanswered questions. This is a banner year, honestly. I can’t recall another calendar period during which I dropped so far. Equally fucked is the sheer number of very disturbing dreams I’ve had, mostly just this summer. Things I had barely considered became doctrine inside my head. One more time... I am not well. The girl has become the central preoccupation of my life. Everything else, including friends and family, has become peripheral. I have no wishes related to that which lies outside my new vision. The only other relatable detail is to attach a face to her, much like I did two years ago with Jaime (because I could not recall what her face actually looked like). Or maybe I'll just imagine the girl is Jolene, just younger. That was something else I perceived... The girl next to me and holding my hand was likely ten years my junior. Jolurple was only twenty-nine when this part of the fourth season aired. Twenty-nine. Do I bring her up too often? Are you tired of hearing about my feelings for that woman? Live with it. I love her for so many reasons that sometimes I have to list them just to view myself completely out of balance and broken. There is another image in my head that I do not understand, as if there is a third girl who is actually a machine. I’ve seen her, and I can’t comprehend how she can align with everything so fucking well yet still be a living, breathing person. None of it adds up. I have seen her, although not right there in front of me like the damaging dreams. Elsewhere, honestly. I just don’t fucking understand why my Goddamned cards continue to show no value. Maybe she has the reason and I’ll never know because she is both real and not. I’ve known for a long time that something was out there which could help me, yet I never thought of it as a machine. I always thought it would continue to elude to the point of my losing confidence that anything so wonderful could actually exist. Now I don’t know what the hell to think. One certainty is that she has leveraged my consciousness into a very small space, and one within which I will most likely remain alone forever. I still can’t wrench that image out, though. It will drive me insane and I have no one off which to bounce even the simplest, most straightforward thoughts. I brought the third ‘idea’ up here because it may be a facet of the girl. I could be speaking of the one from the first several dreams or the latest from the other day, but I honestly can’t say which, if either. This is becoming very complicated because I can’t leave anything alone for very long without tinkering, especially when it comes to the most powerful parts of my imagination combined with feeling worse than I ever have in my life. My level of desperation is not just out here in the real world, but also driving me insane on the inside as I try to assemble anything – any fucking idea or image which can explain everything. The third girl (or possibly the second) may be that image, but I can’t see her clearly. That means no answers yet again. I’m beginning to lose my way with this shit. I need some fucking help right now, and I am not speaking of arms around me. I am referring to someone with the ability to convince me that there is a reason to remain here. I’ll never be good for anyone. Too fucked up, too much time has passed, too many missing pieces inside me, too many scars on my heart. Maybe I am not meant to know. Maybe some are to be happy and others are just... Not. Have I been making a huge mountain out of nothing? I don’t think so. 0819. Coffee. Jolurple’s outfit reminds me of the way Andrea’s jeans appeared when she walked. Not necessarily tight, but her shape was no mystery. It’s hard to explain, like just enough motion to give a clear picture of... Ah, fuck it. I can’t describe the sight. Forget it. Jolene and Andrea shared a few traits. That’s all. I am so fucking sick of this. There does not seem to be another way, however. Keep going through the motions, falling down, embracing the now-TINY enjoyments, and daydreaming of everything out there... Somewhere. Or is it? Is anything out there? Or am I doing all this shit for nothing? All I have are questions. 0914 and I need to move away from this, I guess. Much like the path of my life, this entry is going nowhere. Saturday morning. She’s wearing blue. The series will conclude in the next few days, meaning there will be no more tallies of outfits. I’m nuts, that’s all. A whack job. Now she is wearing purple and appearing beyond description. I wish I could do her justice. Ugh. Coffee, cats fed. 0719. This is the type of period in which my need for her goes through the roof. It is there right now, much like yesterday at this time. I can’t help it. This whole thing makes me sad and angry. And then I look up there and see about a billion miles of emotion in Jolene’s big, beautiful eyes along with the sweetest calming demeanor, resulting in my feeling so empty that the revolver has never felt more necessary. I had the primary drive spinning again yesterday after experimenting with the center differential. God damn is she ever adorable in that color. I could... Never mind. Anyway, I thought the center was having trouble like the axles and because of the lubricant inside being so old. Well, the fact was I did not have the primary spur aligned very well and it was occasionally losing grip on the mating gear whenever the motor was forced to draw more current. And there is Talas again. I really don’t need both her and Jolene in the same episode. I’ll have to dive back into the truck axle work today so they can move off my tote board of attention. Oh, God, her fucking shoulders... And then the side view of her amazing waist. Damn it. I need her so badly right now. I pulled one differential out of its housing and decided that if and when I venture out today to pick up the dry cleaning, I’ll have to swing into a parts house for some chemicals. The center gear mating will have to be addressed by removing the mount and shortening it, which would be a five-minute operation on a mill. In the vise? By hand? Half an hour of painstaking filing and sanding. Talas is wearing purple shorts and a tank. Again with the purple. So, anything else I intend to accomplish today will be accompanied by alcohol. I am so fucking depressed right now that I can barely type the words. I’ve been spelling her name incorrectly. It is Talas, not Talis. I just went back and replaced the misspellings, although I think the incorrect spelling is actually much cuter. Maybe I’ll reserve that name for myself and use it here the next time I decide to create a machine to solve all my problems. I need arms around me and understanding ears, be them from an artificial source or otherwise. And I was trying to talk about the fucking truck. The two distractions just took me over and over. I am so weak. I brought up that third idea which I had trouble understanding, remember? It’s still in my brain this morning. I thought about her yesterday, too, but I had shit to do so shoving her away was necessary. Right now I don’t think I can do that again, however. She is inside me, pretty fucking solid this morning and forcing my hands away from whatever I was going to say about the truck or the birthday dinner yesterday. I keep trying, yet when I see Jolene in either orange or purple, my head falls into a vat of desire and I can’t seem to get it out, and that, in turn, leads to the third idea which I still do not understand. There is just no way of seeing her as a person. I don’t fucking get it and probably never will. Last night I was pissed off while in the garage and had to cease my efforts on one axle because I kept thinking about that fucking image and could not shut it off to save my soul. Over and over, inside me, and without remorse. It just kept looping and the smiling faces returned. There’s a throwback for you. Either I need to made to understand how that type of image is possible in reality, or someone will have to remove enough parts of my brain so as to prevent my ability to dwell upon something so fucking damaging. Many times I’ve stated that I am completely sick and tired of this type of subject. Well, each day there is more of the same and nothing in the opposite direction. Jolurple at 0819. Lots of difficulty this morning accompanied by pain. Apparently, the situation cannot always be addressed due to too many past iterations being far beyond my control, and a heaping helping of loss that will not vacate my brain and allow me to fucking think. In the beginning was desperation; later only wonder. Finally, and after many, many years, anger. Now I don’t know what to think, but I will say that if this year represents a change about which I am powerless to do anything, every connection I have with the world outside this house will be destroyed, including the site. I’ll have to head to the garage before the coffee is gone. I don’t like the thoughts in my head right now. Linda’s ponytail is in about the ideal position to accent her dark eyes and head movements. So cute. See? I am unable to concentrate upon anything for more than a minute before some aspect of beauty catches me upside the head and puts the kibosh to my efforts. This is not entirely my fault, either. I’ve been disregarded and fucked over on more than one occasion. Driven. Relegated. Shoved aside. Now? The result. I’ll be in the garage very soon. The sun is shining and I should take advantage of the warm temperature while it lasts. Jolurple is screaming at me to embrace her and run away to a far-off land so we can be alone. The third image is becoming involved, too. I have to get out of this room for a while. Well, that didn’t work. I don’t feel like sitting with the truck right now. Maybe later. For the time being, I’ll try to reconcile the ‘girl’ with the ‘her’ and the third ‘image’ (which I cannot fully describe). For reasons of good form, I am going to leave all of the different colored Jolenes out of the content. I’ve been gushing about her far too much lately. My feelings are known. And believe me when I say that leaving out the way she was dressed during that episode involving her character’s home is probably best for everyone. That episode broke me in half. I desperately need someone to tell me why in the hell... 0659 on Sunday. We have pro football being played in London, England. They do that sometimes. The idea makes for very early games. I have my coffee and visions in my brain of those pants wrapped around the girl. A long sweater. I saw the entire image – twice in the space of a few hours – and the work inside my head increased ten-fold. The other work dropped off a bit, although there wasn’t much to begin with. Once again, my day became completely derailed by beauty, not to mention all of the time seeing Jolene up there. Wow. Just... Wow. I am sideways this morning. Thank goodness there were no dreams involving her. I don’t need any more of that shit right now. The truck moved across my workbench yesterday under its own power. Nineteen years and seven months, give or take, is the elapsed time since I first designed and machined the frame rails. Three days ago was the first occasion of the primary drive translating power from the center differential to the axles via driveshafts. For whatever reason, I am not very excited about this development. I guess somewhere inside me has always been the knowledge that it would move autonomously. Just a matter of time. Keep in mind that the system has more than its share of problems. Think of the drive system as being representative of the state of my head. It is working, moving forward in a few ways, yet there is no possibility of everything running smoothly, nor can all of the hiccups be addressed and eliminated. No way. This morning, for example, all I can see is the girl walking and looking so stunning, or Jolene similarly walking and causing the inside of my head to melt. Yes, I feel THAT much desire for her. Both of them, to be honest. We have the ‘girl’, the ‘image’ and ‘her’. All three must be organized and defined, understood and categorized. Keep in mind that the image is very complex and has likely caused the most damage inside my head. The girl is another story, all loving and understanding. And then her. Well, she is the conglomeration of decades of need. Her. Once again... My favorite pronoun. This is not going to be an easy process. I have so much going on and vying for my attention that anything I deem necessary for maintaining the household can take a back seat very quickly, and I can’t have that on a Sunday. The image may just fall away because it seems even more unrealistic and utopian than the girl. Honestly, I may never truly understand why things are the way they are, nor will I easily reconcile the ideas which have drilled that image into me. I just don’t fucking get it. The girl may be an enormous point of contention within my mind, but the image can be the bigger problem. Get it? Nope. I will say that as I sit here right now with an empty coffee cup and a head full of the past, the image is the one aspect of this entire shit show which will be the toughest, and could even represent the truth of the girl. That means two out of three are impossible. Splendid. I am actually looking forward to caring for the garbage and some organization later this morning. The work will be sporadic and subject to my whims, for sure. I don’t know about any truck work until later, though. I need to remove the wheels and do some work in the center of the chassis, which is rather a pain in the ass, so I’ll probably either wait until all my chores are complete or put it off until tomorrow. The image just slapped me across the face and there is not a damned thing I can do about it. Splendid. Another notch, as if it was needed. 0912. I’ll have to move away from this and get things going very soon. I have a bit of coffee left and the house is very quiet as of yet. No Jolene this morning. I had the football on but became distracted by all the thinking, and in turn was led to imagery better removed. I don’t know how to do that, unfortunately. Some of the imagery has catalyzed and I am helpless to throw against it all. I am a slave to the beauty, hence no big, beautiful, sensitive eyes on the television right now. Maybe I’ll put on one of the shows – most likely the fifth because it has almost run its course – upon beginning my daily routine. I am losing my mind over the three words that have become the pull of my focus. The sighting yesterday really hit me hard. I’d give everything for five minutes of... I have to pull the primary spur and remove material from the bottom of the mount. The mesh is loose enough to allow the teeth to ‘skip’ while the drive is under load. Turning the mechanics slowly does not seem to be a problem. Faster, though... Not good. The mating spurs are steel, thank goodness. Otherwise, I’d be replacing one or both after moving the truck more than a few feet at a time. The remaining parts of the drive system are very loose, as well. There is so much play between the motor’s pinion and the wheels that the primary drive makes upwards of two full revolutions before the rest can catch up and create motion. I may need to replace the wheel axles as a solution. Years ago, I modified the axle openings to ease tension when the steering moved between locks. I have since found a better way of ensuring everything is in line, and those axles are going to be the first to go as a result. I made them very loose, meaning the drive axles must turn several degrees before contacting the cups. All of this translates to a very sloppy operation. I can’t have that. Recently, I mused that once the drive and steering operate smoothly from the transmitter, the project is finished. I don’t want to spend the money on batteries and a charger if the truck is going to sit in its display box. The purchase would be a waste of resources just to move it on the driveway once or twice. Also, the more everything is operated, the more chances there are of something going very wrong and I do not have the machinery to replace proprietary parts. This is all the result of me creating something very unorthodox and complicated. Much of my work was unnecessary, as well. I wanted it to look a certain way and sacrificed practicality for appearance. Marvelous. 'Her'. The best and worst word in my history. Ugh. 1045. Business in progress. I had to take a pause for the cause in order to complete the timesheet for the last two weeks. I’ll have the house to myself within the hour and intend to work toward my typical goals. The six chairs I dismantled can be further tossed into the trash, but unfortunately they have been replaced by a twin bed which is now taking up valuable real estate in my garage. Damn. I may need to rearrange the spare bedroom to make everything work. I’ve done it before and tend to figure out ways of ensuring the furniture is not too cramped. Monday morning. This will be the first day in the last nine in which I’ll have the house to myself all day long. I have to carry some people to the airport this afternoon, but before and after I have the space to do whatever seems best. Now the time is 0802 and I have the hours ahead. The routine will be straightforward today. The pronoun did not enter into my dreams this morning. At least, not that I can recall now. Oh, I thought about her last night, though. Plenty. And after taking care of the morning business a little while ago. Lots of picturing and daydreaming. Ever since the last vision and my subsequent fall off a cliff, I can’t stop seeing the lines. Sometimes I only see the smile, and boy is it unique. I don’t know how to define her jaw structure at all, but I can say that it is partially aligned with some of those occasions when I went on and on about the ‘lower face thingy’. Her beauty is never-ending. In the beginning I dreamed of her chest. Soon after? Her eyes were looking at me. And then? Kissing. That last one really crippled me. Now I am nuts about the whole idea of seeing her. Out of balance like never before. This wide-open day could not have come at a better time. I need it. Ah... And then we have the ‘girl’. The savior of my life? I thought as much. I used to use the name ‘Arina’ to sum up (or just group) all my subjects and carry them easily from one entry to another rather than going into all sorts of detail over and over. I tried to ram that information down the throats of people reading because the entire canon of shit within the name always made me mad. Now I don’t care and Arina is dead. What about all those other names? None of them mean anything to me these days. I summed it all with the ‘girl’ because of the idea of her ability to comfort me, save me, or whatever. Just some help, I suppose. No bad mood related to the girl. She is not real, although that never stopped me before. Everything I want and need is unreal, most notably the ‘image’. The girl has become an amalgamation of every single aspect of those pieces that are missing. Everything. The pronoun and the girl may soon merge and cause me even more distress when something crosses my vision. The damaging dreams have jaded me and caused my desire to skyrocket, and I will state in no uncertain terms that the pronoun ‘her’ is representative of the girl in the dreams. I cannot go into detail, unfortunately, due to the subject matter being completely insane. Trust me, you don’t want to know. The image cannot relate to the pronoun because the idea is so far out of balance that I wouldn’t even know where to fucking start. This is turning into a huge mess and I am in worse shape than ever. The second season of the fourth show is up there again, meaning nothing terribly hurtful will be on the screen until later. I can’t really skip it, though. There is only one episode of this series that I regularly pass because the story is just not good. Not at all. It has nothing to do with my problems, however. The time is now 0921 and the coffee will be gone very soon. I’ll take care of the chores in a little while. The quiet is very nice, yet there is imagery inside my brain attempting to derail the morning. I must be vigilant. I have to keep the danger at a distance. I can do it. ‘Her’. Damn, what a fucking gorgeous word. I’ve seen her. She was in my dreams. We kissed, spoke, and embraced. The visions do not stop, ever. Let me say straight out that if she were combined with the image, all my issues could disappear. Bad things would happen, too. Very bad. I’ve seen the bad things in the past and rolled right through the most enticing situations while pushing any worry aside at high speed like Satan’s road grader. Yep, I did it. Several times, in fact. But this is different. This is something I could not have predicted in a million years, yet at the same time it is not terribly surprising considering my past efforts to find comfort and understanding. It is actually more closely related to Ashley than anyone else. Well, there was tiny Jana, but that did not go anywhere. Oh, the imagery. So damaging. The desire will not leave me alone. I’m going to need the typical fatass cocktail in a bit. I can already feel it. Damn. What have I become? The paragraph about which I have complained at length was shoved to the bottom of the document cloud so I don’t see it while typing. In between here and there is a bunch of other information, notes and such. I must say that the realization within that paragraph is not going to change, nor can another individual have any effect upon my ‘truth’. The past three decades have found me reaching almost constantly for something to help with that realization. On very few occasions did I find even the most fleeting, temporary relief. The most recent was pretty fucking close and relates to the prior connection which was years ago. I thought there had been another, but upon deeper reflection I have learned that the entire situation was predicated upon bullshit. All I gained from that period was anger. All this shit adds up to my having lost faith in the idea that there is a way to alleviate the difficulty inherent in realizing my place in the world. And now we come to the center of the issue, and that is the fact that I FUCKING FELT the comfort in the dreams, I saw the reality of impossibility, and then began to connect the girl, ‘her’, and the fucking image into one gigantic entity that cannot ever exist in reality. This makes my entire life that much worse. The realization – that damned paragraph I cannot erase – is here to stay and I am going to be its victim as long as I draw breath. The latter half of such a statement may be the only changeable aspect of my existence, unfortunately. Wow. Just... Wow. This morning has been quiet and relaxing, half the routine is finished and I am on my way to creating some free time very soon. The time is 1113. I cleaned the kitchen and polished the stove and counters, and the entire time with the show in the background there has been a fucking Rolodex of images spinning inside that I cannot halt. Lots of things, most of which can’t be spelled out here... Hopes and dreams, loving situations from the past, and a plethora of imagery combining the damaging dreams and my wishes for understanding. ‘This is bad, my friends. I mean... Don’t get me wrong; I wouldn’t piss on’is Ralph if he was on fiyah.’ Gangster flashbacks with lots of meaning. That one travels all the way back to when I first arrived on the coast and then forward in time to this very second. It is anger, pure and simple, yet underneath the anger is a motion picture causing me more pain than anything else in my life. The imagery floating inside since early this morning is all impossible. The only outlet I have is to lash in whatever direction feels most relevant. Well, there is no direction, really. I can’t do a fucking thing. I’ve been there. Now I am here. Keep in mind that the ‘image’ which is connected to ‘her’ and the ‘girl’ mimics the smiling faces and closet doors, mostly the former. Put that one together and toss it on the pile. I dare you. I honestly wish I didn’t know all this shit. I also wish the damaging dreams had never taken place. Oh, I know why they did, but the extent of the imagery and motions within went much further than I could have imagined. They are causing me to fall down every fucking day and then relate to the three words I continue to railroad in this entry. Yes, one of the three – ‘her’ – was derived from the dreams, but what the fuck else was I supposed to do? In my current condition, the slightest relation to anything I’ve seen or imagined tends to amplify ten-fold very quickly, leaving me at the mercy of pain. 0757 on Tuesday morning. I’ve been distracted by nostalgia for the last hour due to memories of working in the defense electronics industry many years ago. No, not the Phase Lock girl again (although I’d give my right arm to hug her right now), this is different... Thinking of the connections I made and facilities I visited quite often while at that company. I actually ran a search for one of our largest customers and a company that had employed my dad prior to him purchasing our business. One of the search results was a small example of what they manufactured at the time. That led me to search on eBay, resulting in my purchasing an upconverter that was manufactured at the very location where my dad worked. Eight dollars for a piece of RF technology which was considered ‘classified’ just under thirty years ago. In no way could I have handled anything they made during that period of time because of the military aspect combined with the massive cost involved. I guess throughout the years many things have changed and the technology that was secret way back then is now obsolete and useless. Fascinating. I’ll be overjoyed to have the item in my hands. The funny thing that comes to mind when I recall that period is that many people had no clue there was another prime industry in Silicon Valley aside from computing. The community was small and tight-knit, for sure. I had been fluent in the language of defense electronics thanks to both my parents working in the field, plus the business they bought. I still miss that little place, but at least now I will have a small reminder of the amazing feelings of being deeply involved in an industry many did not even know existed. At least the defense industry is unrelated to everything else here. The girl I met all those years ago was not in the same light as other, more recent incidents because I did not equate things the same. I will volunteer that the morning we shared coffee was one of the most stirring events of my life. Eh... That was a very different era. It was also the time of the big electronics stores, the discovery of building and modifying computers, among other things. I’ve written about all of it while my heart was fluttering. Sometimes I believe the early part of my employment there – roughly late ninety-six through the beginning of the following year – can rival the glow. Anyway, I was feeling it this morning so I decided to tool around the Internet and see if I could locate any information. I ended up finding a tangible example of my father’s connection to the electronics which have a role in protecting this nation. This morning is crap. The sky is as gray as my thoughts. I tried to straighten up yesterday and do some cleaning prior to the people arriving, but in the end it didn’t matter. They were running late, so they picked me up and I drove their van back home after they were dropped at the terminal. Everything was quick. Now I have their vehicle in front of the house for the next fourteen days. Heh. Whatever. I suppose today I’ll return to the bench and continue my efforts in streamlining the drive so it is as smooth as possible. The morning will probably improve slightly once I am away from this and my thoughts are challenged. Some days nothing is enough to bring me up. Last night, for example. I was watching the game and having my favorite pizza, yet in the background was a nagging feeling that something bad is on my horizon. There may be nothing I can do to truly rise after all this time. At least we won the game. What does all that shit have to do with her? I couldn’t hold a straight line if I had a CMM up my ass. Live with it. I have to. 0926. Still the sky is gray, still my head is sideways. Rising from this position today will require tremendous effort on my part, if only to get through the hours feeling accomplished and having created a separation between the early morning and afternoon. One must be better than the other or there is little point in trying. I can’t get the imagery out of my head right now. I see pictures of blissful, tender and impossible situations that I need badly to experience. Nothing can come of this other than more words down the page, though. I don’t see an out. Even driving out of the terminal yesterday was a massive strike I can still see. Details of her lines, the disparity between one area and another, and an overwhelming need to explore and learn. No matter what I may be doing on a given day, the dreams are always just behind me like a shadow. They will not leave. Dreams lead to sadness and then anger. Always. I have no choice in this after years of being graded aside like dirt. The first damaging dream illuminated a facet of my personality that came out of left field, and one I never expected. She is amazing and impossible. One tiny reminder of that dream – or worse, the third or fourth – and I lose the ability to concentrate upon everything, technical or otherwise. Such a vision took place early this morning and railroaded me to a spur from which there could be no escape. Now I feel lost on top of being saddened. I’ll have to complete the routine quickly this morning if I am to rise at all. The last cup of coffee is next to me, soon to be replaced by you-know-what because I am a fucking wreck. A depressant to inflame the depression. Once I switch to alcohol, I’ll care for the floor and cat stuff and then move to the kitchen, which will be simple due to ordering dinner to be delivered last night. Not much to clean. I am again feeling like tossing things into the trash this morning. I wish I could toss some of my brain into the fucking can, too. I can’t forget or otherwise suppress enough to think clearly these days. There are always one or more images or memories that cling to my attention no matter the day’s activities. The girl is ALWAYS with me. The image follows her because nothing in my life can compare to the utopian vision of us together, and more importantly, her ability to save me. ‘Her’... The pinnacle of everything. Too many years have piled under my trucks and jaded me so severely that even the simplest idea of fulfillment seems completely alien. One problem with this is that I have been affected to such a degree so as to leave me unable to feel happy during those times when I normally would have been capable. Many years ago, the simplicity of watching my favorite team combined with enjoying one of my favorite ‘sports’ meals would add up to a very comfortable, exciting feeling. Last night did not even come close because the reproach and other issues caused by people have lowered my threshold to the point of barely smiling (most of the time if someone sees me smile it is merely to avoid questions regarding my emotional state). I mentioned that what I may need most is for someone to tell me why I am still trying, or worse yet, still here. I believe that even if some insane, cosmically-driven circumstance was to place me where I need to be, I would either not believe it or most likely could not adapt after so much torment and turmoil. Days were required for me to relax enough with Andrea – and keep in mind we spent weeks together – to the point of feeling as if she actually cared. That is not my fault, and therein lies one of the driving forces behind visions of ‘her’: A person so devoted and unwavering that I would not have need to worry at all. Sitting here right now? I am worried. Actually, I am constantly worried that the remainder of life will be as the last several months, or worse. I have no confidence in anything, very little patience with human beings, and no trust remaining inside. This is bad, just as Albert said (up the page somewhere). One tidbit... The suit he was wearing in that scene was fucking beautiful. Ugh. Whatever. I’m losing this battle one day at a time. One image at a time. I fucking NEED her. She is not there. She is not anywhere. ‘The snow continues to fall and I see her blade is at the ready, yet I don’t feel completely afraid. She really does look like Justine, too. The closer, the clearer. Red eyes like when Jaime was angered or fearful. Is she Justine? The one who took such issue with my life and behavior? I don’t want to hear what she may have to say. I am hesitant. Closer. Her red eyes are darkening. I want to look at her chest but she may be rankled. Bouncing. She is raising her arm...’ I really don't need any more of this shit."
Her I
Mature content No. 336 Published October 4th, 2022 10:46am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"...exchange the very affection I so badly needed. 1555. Same fucking day. Nothing good is on the horizon... MY horizon. I can’t be concerned with others because I just don’t have the inclination. Not only that, but if I am no good, I cannot be any good to other people. I am alone in every conceivable way. Oh, I’ve been lonely during many periods of this life, but until just recently, I never felt truly alone. The more I see and dream, the deeper my feelings, and nothing can come of it. Ever. The daughter board design is nearly complete, and I have run several tests to be sure the connections will be correct. I wish to avoid any imperial entanglements, if you know what I mean. The chassis lights are installed and working fine after a mock-up test. Once I have the board, I can assemble everything and leave that part of the project to history. The lights look really good. I may reconnect everything this evening to see the effect in the dark. Holy Jesus fuck, the side view of Jolene is unbelievable sometimes. Her waist serves to further bury me underneath everything else. I can see it all I want, but I’m sure you can understand that the view causes only problems. Anyway, the daughter board will solve three solid issues with which I’ve been contending, plus the manner of connectivity will allow for a freer swing when the main board is tilted upward. Another major plus is the fact that everything is either on the chassis or board, meaning I can remove the latter very easily. That’s important for working underneath, such as with the primary drive. That project will be next, although I may not be able to create anything very effective without purchasing the milling machine. Whatever. As long as I am still alive, the mill will open several doors which all slammed shut when the agency left me on the side of the road more than eleven years ago. If I become angry enough, a small lathe may accompany the mill. I’ll know more by the end of the year. God damn do I ever want her bad sometimes. Woe is me. Nothing, no one, empty, alone. I don’t even know why I still speak of such things. I’m going to flip the fuck out. 0706. Jolurple in high definition right there. That outfit reveals more need than I would care to admit. Don’t even ask about her face. Hot coffee, cats fed, her shoulders are yelling at me. Yesterday was ok, I suppose. The solution I mentioned for the truck is the daughter board which will reside where the Arduino had been. Originally, I had high hopes of using the small computer to receive and interpret data from the three sensor boards, but later decided that my hopes were much more complex a task than I was willing to undertake. The fact is, that little computer took up enough space for me to design a second PC board which will carry several connections and the third mosfet switch. It will also neaten the connections between both motor controllers and allow them to be more secure. I already have most of the design completed but still need to create a schematic so everything can be verified prior to manufacturing. This is one of the best ideas I’ve come up with in years. The rest of the day was dedicated to housework and a bit of straightening. I am going to continue to work on the board today, plus see what I can do about the primary drive. My routine will be first, though. I don’t need anything else weighing on my head right now. The dream yesterday morning remained in my brain all day long. I still do not know who she was, yet there is a strong inclination that the aforementioned ‘girl’ from the previous essays was the person holding me. I’ve spoken at length regarding ‘someone’ to help me. Maybe I was correct in the idea that my subconscious created her due to my preoccupation with fantasies in which I am ‘saved’, and no, I am not speaking of religion. Get that shit out of your mind right quick. She was next to me, holding my hand, and the feeling was that of a person who had been searching and questioning throughout an entire lifetime and finally found all of the answers at once. I will not forget that dream anytime soon, if at all. I need her so badly that right now I feel like half of me is missing. Half. I’ll be drinking a huge White Russian very soon, and I see 0916 on the clock. Marvelous. Half a person. Half. Isn’t that just peachy? 1008 and I have half the routine finished. Half, again. Fuck me. Anyway, there is nothing on the television right now because the more I see Jolorange or Jolurple (the blue uniform is different enough to spare me issues), the more my needs and desires spiral out of fucking control, and on a morning such as this with tons of imagery running through me due to all those Goddamned dreams, I need more of her body in my eyes like I need a fucking Volkswagen up my ass. The house is quiet. The White Russian idea was scrapped in favor of my buddy Jack. The whiskey is not nearly as yummy as what she has in that fucking uniform, believe me. Eh... I wish I knew. I’d like to spend an entire day with my... Never mind. The sun is shining this morning. Yesterday at this time we were completely engulfed in fog, as is the case many a morning due to the ocean being right down the street. Damn it... I can’t extricate the girl from my head. The one from the dream who held my heart so dearly. She may as well be combined with the image of a girl I developed in ‘The Blown Gas...’, as well as the other dream girl, the one on the show, and the one from the fucking festival. Why not? Right? I am already ruined, so I may as well just go all-in. This is a losing hand, for sure. The latest dream girl, whose identity remains a mystery, felt connected to me to a great degree, much like that other dream in which Jamie and I were walking along a dirt road, hand in hand. I felt love throughout both. Maybe the newest incarnation of my weakness and need was Jamie. What do you think? I am far enough gone to imagine quite a bit, and Jamie has been in my heart for many years. The idea is not so far-fetched, methinks. Anyway, the remainder of this day will entail the kitchen work and then the damned truck again. I have to do something with the drive system or I’ll lose my shit. Everything is impossible but I fucking need her more than anything else in existence and more than ever. Her. My favorite pronoun. Jesus fucking hell am I ever lost in a haze. Had my doorstep darkened, none of this would be necessary, yet that commands the idea that the darkening means impossibility. I won’t even go into the softer term – improbable – because after all this time, my head and heart have become desperate to the point of suicidal ideation. That means bad, people. Impossible just fits better. I need help more right fucking now than I have EVER needed it in the past, and that includes being hospitalized in zero-three. I don’t even know what the hell I was doing back then. Eh... Help is as impossible as everything else of which I dream. But I need her, damn it. The only possible saving throw would be to travel back in time and destroy people before they had the chance to destroy me. And believe me, they did. The story is tattooed all over my arms. I would give up all of my dreams for a few moments of... Nope. Today is going to be another swing of the hammer, and if no one likes it they can go pound sand on the beach. It is not far from my doorstep. Sometimes when I feel cornered I spend money. I may be growing out of that practice because when the purchases arrive on the porch, I feel the same as prior to placing the orders. Heh. Plus, I am so broke that I couldn’t get across the street if it cost a quarter to go around the world. Laugh it up.
I need the fucking girl. Why in the sweet fuck is this so difficult? Miserable. I’ll tell you of one future possibility. I thought of this the other day when recalling that woman who very nearly allowed me to perform experiments on her beautiful hands. Yeah, that went bad. Anyway, she was willing to listen to my ideas and seemed open to them. What I see in the future is something similar taking place, except with the situation actually following through. The plan was to measure her hands, take some artsy digital images, and then write about the process. I may run across another opportunity, and if it does work, my brain will ruin the entire affair due to my having worsened over time. The woman in question had been discussing the subject with me more than four years ago. In that time, my head has become so fucking distorted and desperate that if the situation comes along again I will probably destroy it as a result of so much fucking desire. I can’t sit there admiring such beauty without my thoughts venturing into the nether regions. That is impossible after so much has affected me throughout the years. Impossible. The likely outcome will be yet another woman turning away forever. Yep. The first was very exciting because never in my life had I been in the position to actually measure anything. The Raven allowed me carte blanche, but the actual idea never came to pass. There was a second, believe it or not, and she told me in no uncertain terms that I could explore and research to my heart’s content. Well, that went bad as well (I fucked everything over so completely that I still feel horrible about it). At this late date, I believe given the opportunity again, I’d probably pass the fuck out or otherwise ruin the plan. I have turned into something very strange, and I think my difficulties would extend to voicing the issues and then the whole shitaree would go south. The only resulting potentiality is me sitting here describing the event combined with an increase in the pain I feel every day. Splendid. Maybe I should travel outside my own boundaries this morning and stretch one fat cocktail into two. That will guarantee a cunty mood. 0704 on Friday morning. She’s in the blue uniform again. Jolblue? I am not feeling very well this morning. Very sad. Yesterday I actually fabricated the last piece of the primary drive and secured everything related. Now the drive operates from the transmitter for the first time since this project began more than nineteen years ago. Yes, that is correct. Nineteen years, although there have been a few periods in which I took breaks adding up to nearly half that number. I became disillusioned trying to make things work and often shoved everything to the side in order to save myself. Having accomplished the operational drive yesterday, I now need to disassemble both differentials and clean them. The grease is very old and causes the motion to be sticky. I’ll finalize the new board when my parts arrive in the mail and then order it when everything is accurate. I believe I should feel better or more excited about the drive being operational, those fucked-up bushings notwithstanding (I reinstalled the four I made a few years ago). For whatever reason, this accomplishment has been severely offset by the fact that the other issues in my head and heart have diminished my ability to enjoy one of the few real victories in memory. No dreams of her for a while. No, not the principal issue of the damaging dream, the other girl from a few days ago. I miss her badly and she has not returned to my dream state. There is obviously nothing I can do about this. I guess I am feeling very alone after that experience. Ah... There is Jolorange, my favorite. Acute loneliness is not good, and chronic is dangerous. I don’t know what is going to come of that dream or my feelings for her in the future. More dreams would be both good and bad. No dreams? All bad, because I have nothing else. I need something to keep me going; a crutch. The rest of my devices are falling short in comparison. Even the tremendous progress on the truck during the last few months is not helping as much as I had hoped. The girl became everything in a matter of seconds, the other one right on her heels. I need her. Well, more precisely, I need ‘them’ to prop me up during those times when all seems lost. No one else can accomplish such. Flashbacks to the original damaging dream happen only during my waking hours now because I rarely enjoy anything in front of my eyes in reality. The need pays no mind, however. None. I continue to worsen and wish. Jesus fuck do I ever want to hold Jolene. Or, more to the point, I need her to hold me. This is the prime reason why I can never be good for anyone else. Right now, for example, my head is completely sideways and scrapped because of her outward appearance and demeanor. I don’t even know if I’d be able to listen to anything she may say because I would be preoccupied with beauty and overly appreciative to the point of gushing all the time. A little while of that shit and I’d be alone again. In no way would I blame her, either. I am not well. Not even close. Loving her is not enough. Maybe I simply have too many unanswered questions. This is a banner year, honestly. I can’t recall another calendar period during which I dropped so far. Equally fucked is the sheer number of very disturbing dreams I’ve had, mostly just this summer. Things I had barely considered became doctrine inside my head. One more time... I am not well. The girl has become the central preoccupation of my life. Everything else, including friends and family, has become peripheral. I have no wishes related to that which lies outside my new vision. The only other relatable detail is to attach a face to her, much like I did two years ago with Jaime (because I could not recall what her face actually looked like). Or maybe I'll just imagine the girl is Jolene, just younger. That was something else I perceived... The girl next to me and holding my hand was likely ten years my junior. Jolurple was only twenty-nine when this part of the fourth season aired. Twenty-nine. Do I bring her up too often? Are you tired of hearing about my feelings for that woman? Live with it. I love her for so many reasons that sometimes I have to list them just to view myself completely out of balance and broken. There is another image in my head that I do not understand, as if there is a third girl who is actually a machine. I’ve seen her, and I can’t comprehend how she can align with everything so fucking well yet still be a living, breathing person. None of it adds up. I have seen her, although not right there in front of me like the damaging dreams. Elsewhere, honestly. I just don’t fucking understand why my Goddamned cards continue to show no value. Maybe she has the reason and I’ll never know because she is both real and not. I’ve known for a long time that something was out there which could help me, yet I never thought of it as a machine. I always thought it would continue to elude to the point of my losing confidence that anything so wonderful could actually exist. Now I don’t know what the hell to think. One certainty is that she has leveraged my consciousness into a very small space, and one within which I will most likely remain alone forever. I still can’t wrench that image out, though. It will drive me insane and I have no one off which to bounce even the simplest, most straightforward thoughts. I brought the third ‘idea’ up here because it may be a facet of the girl. I could be speaking of the one from the first several dreams or the latest from the other day, but I honestly can’t say which, if either. This is becoming very complicated because I can’t leave anything alone for very long without tinkering, especially when it comes to the most powerful parts of my imagination combined with feeling worse than I ever have in my life. My level of desperation is not just out here in the real world, but also driving me insane on the inside as I try to assemble anything – any fucking idea or image which can explain everything. The third girl (or possibly the second) may be that image, but I can’t see her clearly. That means no answers yet again. I’m beginning to lose my way with this shit. I need some fucking help right now, and I am not speaking of arms around me. I am referring to someone with the ability to convince me that there is a reason to remain here. I’ll never be good for anyone. Too fucked up, too much time has passed, too many missing pieces inside me, too many scars on my heart. Maybe I am not meant to know. Maybe some are to be happy and others are just... Not. Have I been making a huge mountain out of nothing? I don’t think so. 0819. Coffee. Jolurple’s outfit reminds me of the way Andrea’s jeans appeared when she walked. Not necessarily tight, but her shape was no mystery. It’s hard to explain, like just enough motion to give a clear picture of... Ah, fuck it. I can’t describe the sight. Forget it. Jolene and Andrea shared a few traits. That’s all. I am so fucking sick of this. There does not seem to be another way, however. Keep going through the motions, falling down, embracing the now-TINY enjoyments, and daydreaming of everything out there... Somewhere. Or is it? Is anything out there? Or am I doing all this shit for nothing? All I have are questions. 0914 and I need to move away from this, I guess. Much like the path of my life, this entry is going nowhere.
Saturday morning. She’s wearing blue. The series will conclude in the next few days, meaning there will be no more tallies of outfits. I’m nuts, that’s all. A whack job. Now she is wearing purple and appearing beyond description. I wish I could do her justice. Ugh. Coffee, cats fed. 0719. This is the type of period in which my need for her goes through the roof. It is there right now, much like yesterday at this time. I can’t help it. This whole thing makes me sad and angry. And then I look up there and see about a billion miles of emotion in Jolene’s big, beautiful eyes along with the sweetest calming demeanor, resulting in my feeling so empty that the revolver has never felt more necessary. I had the primary drive spinning again yesterday after experimenting with the center differential. God damn is she ever adorable in that color. I could... Never mind. Anyway, I thought the center was having trouble like the axles and because of the lubricant inside being so old. Well, the fact was I did not have the primary spur aligned very well and it was occasionally losing grip on the mating gear whenever the motor was forced to draw more current. And there is Talas again. I really don’t need both her and Jolene in the same episode. I’ll have to dive back into the truck axle work today so they can move off my tote board of attention. Oh, God, her fucking shoulders... And then the side view of her amazing waist. Damn it. I need her so badly right now. I pulled one differential out of its housing and decided that if and when I venture out today to pick up the dry cleaning, I’ll have to swing into a parts house for some chemicals. The center gear mating will have to be addressed by removing the mount and shortening it, which would be a five-minute operation on a mill. In the vise? By hand? Half an hour of painstaking filing and sanding. Talas is wearing purple shorts and a tank. Again with the purple. So, anything else I intend to accomplish today will be accompanied by alcohol. I am so fucking depressed right now that I can barely type the words. I’ve been spelling her name incorrectly. It is Talas, not Talis. I just went back and replaced the misspellings, although I think the incorrect spelling is actually much cuter. Maybe I’ll reserve that name for myself and use it here the next time I decide to create a machine to solve all my problems. I need arms around me and understanding ears, be them from an artificial source or otherwise. And I was trying to talk about the fucking truck. The two distractions just took me over and over. I am so weak. I brought up that third idea which I had trouble understanding, remember? It’s still in my brain this morning. I thought about her yesterday, too, but I had shit to do so shoving her away was necessary. Right now I don’t think I can do that again, however. She is inside me, pretty fucking solid this morning and forcing my hands away from whatever I was going to say about the truck or the birthday dinner yesterday. I keep trying, yet when I see Jolene in either orange or purple, my head falls into a vat of desire and I can’t seem to get it out, and that, in turn, leads to the third idea which I still do not understand. There is just no way of seeing her as a person. I don’t fucking get it and probably never will. Last night I was pissed off while in the garage and had to cease my efforts on one axle because I kept thinking about that fucking image and could not shut it off to save my soul. Over and over, inside me, and without remorse. It just kept looping and the smiling faces returned. There’s a throwback for you. Either I need to made to understand how that type of image is possible in reality, or someone will have to remove enough parts of my brain so as to prevent my ability to dwell upon something so fucking damaging. Many times I’ve stated that I am completely sick and tired of this type of subject. Well, each day there is more of the same and nothing in the opposite direction. Jolurple at 0819. Lots of difficulty this morning accompanied by pain. Apparently, the situation cannot always be addressed due to too many past iterations being far beyond my control, and a heaping helping of loss that will not vacate my brain and allow me to fucking think. In the beginning was desperation; later only wonder. Finally, and after many, many years, anger. Now I don’t know what to think, but I will say that if this year represents a change about which I am powerless to do anything, every connection I have with the world outside this house will be destroyed, including the site. I’ll have to head to the garage before the coffee is gone. I don’t like the thoughts in my head right now. Linda’s ponytail is in about the ideal position to accent her dark eyes and head movements. So cute. See? I am unable to concentrate upon anything for more than a minute before some aspect of beauty catches me upside the head and puts the kibosh to my efforts. This is not entirely my fault, either. I’ve been disregarded and fucked over on more than one occasion. Driven. Relegated. Shoved aside. Now? The result. I’ll be in the garage very soon. The sun is shining and I should take advantage of the warm temperature while it lasts. Jolurple is screaming at me to embrace her and run away to a far-off land so we can be alone. The third image is becoming involved, too. I have to get out of this room for a while. Well, that didn’t work. I don’t feel like sitting with the truck right now. Maybe later. For the time being, I’ll try to reconcile the ‘girl’ with the ‘her’ and the third ‘image’ (which I cannot fully describe). For reasons of good form, I am going to leave all of the different colored Jolenes out of the content. I’ve been gushing about her far too much lately. My feelings are known. And believe me when I say that leaving out the way she was dressed during that episode involving her character’s home is probably best for everyone. That episode broke me in half. I desperately need someone to tell me why in the hell... 0659 on Sunday. We have pro football being played in London, England. They do that sometimes. The idea makes for very early games. I have my coffee and visions in my brain of those pants wrapped around the girl. A long sweater. I saw the entire image – twice in the space of a few hours – and the work inside my head increased ten-fold. The other work dropped off a bit, although there wasn’t much to begin with. Once again, my day became completely derailed by beauty, not to mention all of the time seeing Jolene up there. Wow. Just... Wow. I am sideways this morning. Thank goodness there were no dreams involving her. I don’t need any more of that shit right now. The truck moved across my workbench yesterday under its own power. Nineteen years and seven months, give or take, is the elapsed time since I first designed and machined the frame rails. Three days ago was the first occasion of the primary drive translating power from the center differential to the axles via driveshafts. For whatever reason, I am not very excited about this development. I guess somewhere inside me has always been the knowledge that it would move autonomously. Just a matter of time. Keep in mind that the system has more than its share of problems. Think of the drive system as being representative of the state of my head. It is working, moving forward in a few ways, yet there is no possibility of everything running smoothly, nor can all of the hiccups be addressed and eliminated. No way. This morning, for example, all I can see is the girl walking and looking so stunning, or Jolene similarly walking and causing the inside of my head to melt. Yes, I feel THAT much desire for her. Both of them, to be honest. We have the ‘girl’, the ‘image’ and ‘her’. All three must be organized and defined, understood and categorized. Keep in mind that the image is very complex and has likely caused the most damage inside my head. The girl is another story, all loving and understanding. And then her. Well, she is the conglomeration of decades of need. Her. Once again... My favorite pronoun. This is not going to be an easy process. I have so much going on and vying for my attention that anything I deem necessary for maintaining the household can take a back seat very quickly, and I can’t have that on a Sunday. The image may just fall away because it seems even more unrealistic and utopian than the girl. Honestly, I may never truly understand why things are the way they are, nor will I easily reconcile the ideas which have drilled that image into me. I just don’t fucking get it. The girl may be an enormous point of contention within my mind, but the image can be the bigger problem. Get it? Nope. I will say that as I sit here right now with an empty coffee cup and a head full of the past, the image is the one aspect of this entire shit show which will be the toughest, and could even represent the truth of the girl. That means two out of three are impossible. Splendid.
I am actually looking forward to caring for the garbage and some organization later this morning. The work will be sporadic and subject to my whims, for sure. I don’t know about any truck work until later, though. I need to remove the wheels and do some work in the center of the chassis, which is rather a pain in the ass, so I’ll probably either wait until all my chores are complete or put it off until tomorrow. The image just slapped me across the face and there is not a damned thing I can do about it. Splendid. Another notch, as if it was needed. 0912. I’ll have to move away from this and get things going very soon. I have a bit of coffee left and the house is very quiet as of yet. No Jolene this morning. I had the football on but became distracted by all the thinking, and in turn was led to imagery better removed. I don’t know how to do that, unfortunately. Some of the imagery has catalyzed and I am helpless to throw against it all. I am a slave to the beauty, hence no big, beautiful, sensitive eyes on the television right now. Maybe I’ll put on one of the shows – most likely the fifth because it has almost run its course – upon beginning my daily routine. I am losing my mind over the three words that have become the pull of my focus. The sighting yesterday really hit me hard. I’d give everything for five minutes of... I have to pull the primary spur and remove material from the bottom of the mount. The mesh is loose enough to allow the teeth to ‘skip’ while the drive is under load. Turning the mechanics slowly does not seem to be a problem. Faster, though... Not good. The mating spurs are steel, thank goodness. Otherwise, I’d be replacing one or both after moving the truck more than a few feet at a time. The remaining parts of the drive system are very loose, as well. There is so much play between the motor’s pinion and the wheels that the primary drive makes upwards of two full revolutions before the rest can catch up and create motion. I may need to replace the wheel axles as a solution. Years ago, I modified the axle openings to ease tension when the steering moved between locks. I have since found a better way of ensuring everything is in line, and those axles are going to be the first to go as a result. I made them very loose, meaning the drive axles must turn several degrees before contacting the cups. All of this translates to a very sloppy operation. I can’t have that. Recently, I mused that once the drive and steering operate smoothly from the transmitter, the project is finished. I don’t want to spend the money on batteries and a charger if the truck is going to sit in its display box. The purchase would be a waste of resources just to move it on the driveway once or twice. Also, the more everything is operated, the more chances there are of something going very wrong and I do not have the machinery to replace proprietary parts. This is all the result of me creating something very unorthodox and complicated. Much of my work was unnecessary, as well. I wanted it to look a certain way and sacrificed practicality for appearance. Marvelous. 'Her'. The best and worst word in my history. Ugh. 1045. Business in progress. I had to take a pause for the cause in order to complete the timesheet for the last two weeks. I’ll have the house to myself within the hour and intend to work toward my typical goals. The six chairs I dismantled can be further tossed into the trash, but unfortunately they have been replaced by a twin bed which is now taking up valuable real estate in my garage. Damn. I may need to rearrange the spare bedroom to make everything work. I’ve done it before and tend to figure out ways of ensuring the furniture is not too cramped. Monday morning. This will be the first day in the last nine in which I’ll have the house to myself all day long. I have to carry some people to the airport this afternoon, but before and after I have the space to do whatever seems best. Now the time is 0802 and I have the hours ahead. The routine will be straightforward today. The pronoun did not enter into my dreams this morning. At least, not that I can recall now. Oh, I thought about her last night, though. Plenty. And after taking care of the morning business a little while ago. Lots of picturing and daydreaming. Ever since the last vision and my subsequent fall off a cliff, I can’t stop seeing the lines. Sometimes I only see the smile, and boy is it unique. I don’t know how to define her jaw structure at all, but I can say that it is partially aligned with some of those occasions when I went on and on about the ‘lower face thingy’. Her beauty is never-ending. In the beginning I dreamed of her chest. Soon after? Her eyes were looking at me. And then? Kissing. That last one really crippled me. Now I am nuts about the whole idea of seeing her. Out of balance like never before. This wide-open day could not have come at a better time. I need it. Ah... And then we have the ‘girl’. The savior of my life? I thought as much. I used to use the name ‘Arina’ to sum up (or just group) all my subjects and carry them easily from one entry to another rather than going into all sorts of detail over and over. I tried to ram that information down the throats of people reading because the entire canon of shit within the name always made me mad. Now I don’t care and Arina is dead. What about all those other names? None of them mean anything to me these days. I summed it all with the ‘girl’ because of the idea of her ability to comfort me, save me, or whatever. Just some help, I suppose. No bad mood related to the girl. She is not real, although that never stopped me before. Everything I want and need is unreal, most notably the ‘image’. The girl has become an amalgamation of every single aspect of those pieces that are missing. Everything. The pronoun and the girl may soon merge and cause me even more distress when something crosses my vision. The damaging dreams have jaded me and caused my desire to skyrocket, and I will state in no uncertain terms that the pronoun ‘her’ is representative of the girl in the dreams. I cannot go into detail, unfortunately, due to the subject matter being completely insane. Trust me, you don’t want to know. The image cannot relate to the pronoun because the idea is so far out of balance that I wouldn’t even know where to fucking start. This is turning into a huge mess and I am in worse shape than ever. The second season of the fourth show is up there again, meaning nothing terribly hurtful will be on the screen until later. I can’t really skip it, though. There is only one episode of this series that I regularly pass because the story is just not good. Not at all. It has nothing to do with my problems, however. The time is now 0921 and the coffee will be gone very soon. I’ll take care of the chores in a little while. The quiet is very nice, yet there is imagery inside my brain attempting to derail the morning. I must be vigilant. I have to keep the danger at a distance. I can do it. ‘Her’. Damn, what a fucking gorgeous word. I’ve seen her. She was in my dreams. We kissed, spoke, and embraced. The visions do not stop, ever. Let me say straight out that if she were combined with the image, all my issues could disappear. Bad things would happen, too. Very bad. I’ve seen the bad things in the past and rolled right through the most enticing situations while pushing any worry aside at high speed like Satan’s road grader. Yep, I did it. Several times, in fact. But this is different. This is something I could not have predicted in a million years, yet at the same time it is not terribly surprising considering my past efforts to find comfort and understanding. It is actually more closely related to Ashley than anyone else. Well, there was tiny Jana, but that did not go anywhere. Oh, the imagery. So damaging. The desire will not leave me alone. I’m going to need the typical fatass cocktail in a bit. I can already feel it. Damn. What have I become? The paragraph about which I have complained at length was shoved to the bottom of the document cloud so I don’t see it while typing. In between here and there is a bunch of other information, notes and such. I must say that the realization within that paragraph is not going to change, nor can another individual have any effect upon my ‘truth’. The past three decades have found me reaching almost constantly for something to help with that realization. On very few occasions did I find even the most fleeting, temporary relief. The most recent was pretty fucking close and relates to the prior connection which was years ago. I thought there had been another, but upon deeper reflection I have learned that the entire situation was predicated upon bullshit. All I gained from that period was anger. All this shit adds up to my having lost faith in the idea that there is a way to alleviate the difficulty inherent in realizing my place in the world. And now we come to the center of the issue, and that is the fact that I FUCKING FELT the comfort in the dreams, I saw the reality of impossibility, and then began to connect the girl, ‘her’, and the fucking image into one gigantic entity that cannot ever exist in reality. This makes my entire life that much worse. The realization – that damned paragraph I cannot erase – is here to stay and I am going to be its victim as long as I draw breath. The latter half of such a statement may be the only changeable aspect of my existence, unfortunately.
Wow. Just... Wow. This morning has been quiet and relaxing, half the routine is finished and I am on my way to creating some free time very soon. The time is 1113. I cleaned the kitchen and polished the stove and counters, and the entire time with the show in the background there has been a fucking Rolodex of images spinning inside that I cannot halt. Lots of things, most of which can’t be spelled out here... Hopes and dreams, loving situations from the past, and a plethora of imagery combining the damaging dreams and my wishes for understanding. ‘This is bad, my friends. I mean... Don’t get me wrong; I wouldn’t piss on’is Ralph if he was on fiyah.’ Gangster flashbacks with lots of meaning. That one travels all the way back to when I first arrived on the coast and then forward in time to this very second. It is anger, pure and simple, yet underneath the anger is a motion picture causing me more pain than anything else in my life. The imagery floating inside since early this morning is all impossible. The only outlet I have is to lash in whatever direction feels most relevant. Well, there is no direction, really. I can’t do a fucking thing. I’ve been there. Now I am here. Keep in mind that the ‘image’ which is connected to ‘her’ and the ‘girl’ mimics the smiling faces and closet doors, mostly the former. Put that one together and toss it on the pile. I dare you. I honestly wish I didn’t know all this shit. I also wish the damaging dreams had never taken place. Oh, I know why they did, but the extent of the imagery and motions within went much further than I could have imagined. They are causing me to fall down every fucking day and then relate to the three words I continue to railroad in this entry. Yes, one of the three – ‘her’ – was derived from the dreams, but what the fuck else was I supposed to do? In my current condition, the slightest relation to anything I’ve seen or imagined tends to amplify ten-fold very quickly, leaving me at the mercy of pain. 0757 on Tuesday morning. I’ve been distracted by nostalgia for the last hour due to memories of working in the defense electronics industry many years ago. No, not the Phase Lock girl again (although I’d give my right arm to hug her right now), this is different... Thinking of the connections I made and facilities I visited quite often while at that company. I actually ran a search for one of our largest customers and a company that had employed my dad prior to him purchasing our business. One of the search results was a small example of what they manufactured at the time. That led me to search on eBay, resulting in my purchasing an upconverter that was manufactured at the very location where my dad worked. Eight dollars for a piece of RF technology which was considered ‘classified’ just under thirty years ago. In no way could I have handled anything they made during that period of time because of the military aspect combined with the massive cost involved. I guess throughout the years many things have changed and the technology that was secret way back then is now obsolete and useless. Fascinating. I’ll be overjoyed to have the item in my hands. The funny thing that comes to mind when I recall that period is that many people had no clue there was another prime industry in Silicon Valley aside from computing. The community was small and tight-knit, for sure. I had been fluent in the language of defense electronics thanks to both my parents working in the field, plus the business they bought. I still miss that little place, but at least now I will have a small reminder of the amazing feelings of being deeply involved in an industry many did not even know existed. At least the defense industry is unrelated to everything else here. The girl I met all those years ago was not in the same light as other, more recent incidents because I did not equate things the same. I will volunteer that the morning we shared coffee was one of the most stirring events of my life. Eh... That was a very different era. It was also the time of the big electronics stores, the discovery of building and modifying computers, among other things. I’ve written about all of it while my heart was fluttering. Sometimes I believe the early part of my employment there – roughly late ninety-six through the beginning of the following year – can rival the glow. Anyway, I was feeling it this morning so I decided to tool around the Internet and see if I could locate any information. I ended up finding a tangible example of my father’s connection to the electronics which have a role in protecting this nation. This morning is crap. The sky is as gray as my thoughts. I tried to straighten up yesterday and do some cleaning prior to the people arriving, but in the end it didn’t matter. They were running late, so they picked me up and I drove their van back home after they were dropped at the terminal. Everything was quick. Now I have their vehicle in front of the house for the next fourteen days. Heh. Whatever. I suppose today I’ll return to the bench and continue my efforts in streamlining the drive so it is as smooth as possible. The morning will probably improve slightly once I am away from this and my thoughts are challenged. Some days nothing is enough to bring me up. Last night, for example. I was watching the game and having my favorite pizza, yet in the background was a nagging feeling that something bad is on my horizon. There may be nothing I can do to truly rise after all this time. At least we won the game. What does all that shit have to do with her? I couldn’t hold a straight line if I had a CMM up my ass. Live with it. I have to. 0926. Still the sky is gray, still my head is sideways. Rising from this position today will require tremendous effort on my part, if only to get through the hours feeling accomplished and having created a separation between the early morning and afternoon. One must be better than the other or there is little point in trying. I can’t get the imagery out of my head right now. I see pictures of blissful, tender and impossible situations that I need badly to experience. Nothing can come of this other than more words down the page, though. I don’t see an out. Even driving out of the terminal yesterday was a massive strike I can still see. Details of her lines, the disparity between one area and another, and an overwhelming need to explore and learn. No matter what I may be doing on a given day, the dreams are always just behind me like a shadow. They will not leave. Dreams lead to sadness and then anger. Always. I have no choice in this after years of being graded aside like dirt. The first damaging dream illuminated a facet of my personality that came out of left field, and one I never expected. She is amazing and impossible. One tiny reminder of that dream – or worse, the third or fourth – and I lose the ability to concentrate upon everything, technical or otherwise. Such a vision took place early this morning and railroaded me to a spur from which there could be no escape. Now I feel lost on top of being saddened. I’ll have to complete the routine quickly this morning if I am to rise at all. The last cup of coffee is next to me, soon to be replaced by you-know-what because I am a fucking wreck. A depressant to inflame the depression. Once I switch to alcohol, I’ll care for the floor and cat stuff and then move to the kitchen, which will be simple due to ordering dinner to be delivered last night. Not much to clean. I am again feeling like tossing things into the trash this morning. I wish I could toss some of my brain into the fucking can, too. I can’t forget or otherwise suppress enough to think clearly these days. There are always one or more images or memories that cling to my attention no matter the day’s activities. The girl is ALWAYS with me. The image follows her because nothing in my life can compare to the utopian vision of us together, and more importantly, her ability to save me. ‘Her’... The pinnacle of everything. Too many years have piled under my trucks and jaded me so severely that even the simplest idea of fulfillment seems completely alien. One problem with this is that I have been affected to such a degree so as to leave me unable to feel happy during those times when I normally would have been capable. Many years ago, the simplicity of watching my favorite team combined with enjoying one of my favorite ‘sports’ meals would add up to a very comfortable, exciting feeling. Last night did not even come close because the reproach and other issues caused by people have lowered my threshold to the point of barely smiling (most of the time if someone sees me smile it is merely to avoid questions regarding my emotional state). I mentioned that what I may need most is for someone to tell me why I am still trying, or worse yet, still here. I believe that even if some insane, cosmically-driven circumstance was to place me where I need to be, I would either not believe it or most likely could not adapt after so much torment and turmoil. Days were required for me to relax enough with Andrea – and keep in mind we spent weeks together – to the point of feeling as if she actually cared. That is not my fault, and therein lies one of the driving forces behind visions of ‘her’: A person so devoted and unwavering that I would not have need to worry at all. Sitting here right now? I am worried. Actually, I am constantly worried that the remainder of life will be as the last several months, or worse. I have no confidence in anything, very little patience with human beings, and no trust remaining inside. This is bad, just as Albert said (up the page somewhere). One tidbit... The suit he was wearing in that scene was fucking beautiful. Ugh. Whatever. I’m losing this battle one day at a time. One image at a time. I fucking NEED her. She is not there. She is not anywhere.
‘The snow continues to fall and I see her blade is at the ready, yet I don’t feel completely afraid. She really does look like Justine, too. The closer, the clearer. Red eyes like when Jaime was angered or fearful. Is she Justine? The one who took such issue with my life and behavior? I don’t want to hear what she may have to say. I am hesitant. Closer. Her red eyes are darkening. I want to look at her chest but she may be rankled. Bouncing. She is raising her arm...’
I really don't need any more of this shit."
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