Her II Mature content No. 337 Published October 10th, 2022 8:54am pdt read ( words) Past entries "You had better prepare yourself for a shitload of Jamie. Put on a helmet. 1225. I have to drive to the city in a little while to pick up an item that cannot wait until the weekend. Thank goodness I already consumed the morning cocktail, otherwise this would be a huge trial. I don’t need anything tough right now, meaning the slight numbing will come in handy along with some decent music for the ride. Upon returning, I’ll take care of the second half of my routine. It should not take long. My new drill bit index arrived on the porch, too. Oh, fuck. All over again. The cuteness and my heart leaping out of my chest. This is my typical Wednesday morning with coffee and my show, yet the images are commanding my thoughts today. I guess some time will have to elapse before I can consider other aspects of the morning or latter part of the day. I still see her and hear that voice... And there is more. My brain immediately manufactured images of her lines which then took me away from myself nearly far enough to preclude behaving like an actual human being. Lines again, just like driving out of the airport or the trip to the wine store or a thousand other incidents. This one was different, though. My thoughts were immediately deviant and carnal. A heretic, to be sure. There will be more of this. The drive to the city yesterday was without incident. Some nice music and a smooth trip. We slid into the north end market on the way home for a few items, as well. I then made some lunch and watched one of the typical evening programs for a while before moving into the garage. I tried to complete some organization out there but wasn’t really feeling it. A few things moved and some crap went into the trash can, nothing more. I mostly worked on the truck axles in an effort to further smooth the rotation. I succeeded, actually. Sometimes when I go out there with the intention of tossing stuff into the garbage, I end up looking around and doing very little of anything, let alone an accomplishment. I guess I just wasn’t feeling it. Well, being derailed for the tenth time by visions of lines didn’t help, either. Maybe I will do better today. The most important step in such an idea is to attempt to push her out of my head for a little while. I have to be able to function. Yesterday was bad and I don’t want this morning to head in a similar direction. I can’t have that right now. She is becoming far more important than I would have thought a few months ago and I am worse off for the feelings. There is apparently nothing I can do about this. I just have to lump it. ‘Her’. ‘Girl’. ‘Image’. I may have been somewhat preoccupied last night, but I still performed the work on each steering hub and accomplished my goal. Afterward? I placed the truck on the floor of the garage and drove it to the limit of the power cable while simultaneously operating the steering for the first time ever. I have been concerned about stressing the steering cables (wire ropes, really) due to the weight and footprint of such huge tires. I did not want to swing the system at all unless the truck was in motion, thus reducing the chances of something going awry. I did it, and with half a snootful. The steering moves very slowly, but it worked. First. Time. Ever. I am tempted to run the thing off batteries, too. It would be freed from the cabling and allowed to move around for further testing. The downside is cost, as usual. Roughly four hundred for two batteries and a charger. Ugh. I am not going to do that right now. Bigger fish. Deviant and carnal. Desire off the fucking scale, and I am referring to the grand scale. Much like three years ago, the feelings are out of fucking control and more powerful than I can put into words (see the essay which mates with this mess). Three years ago. That was the time. Now? Just memories. Nothing but memories. The draw returns quite often and I continue to equate one with the other no matter what may have been true or false. One side is definitely true, and the other helped to create the image. I don't know if the other side was false or not, honestly. Most of the time I don't want to know. The image will not change, though. Not a bit. The desire dictates the image and helps it to take over my mind all too often. Her, too. This is bad. Everything is being fused. Sometimes I see far more than should be allowed. What I do with the information should also be disallowed. Mark my fucking words, I am not well and do not ponder these subjects like a balanced individual. 0903. Last of the coffee and Roxann looking and sounding absolutely fucking adorable beyond belief. I’ve always liked her, and this episode is a tour de force of her acting ability, right down to the slightest expressions. I can’t decide if her cuteness outshines her performance, but the fact is I appreciate both. I’ll have to hop to the routine very soon and then try to think past the norm. Sometimes the work helps, and today it is important because of the thoughts in my head. Again, see the other entry. I don’t know how I feel about myself anymore. I am hoping that once I move away from the IDE and get into something productive, my brain will push further than the last few days and allow me to step outside my typical routine and accomplish more. I honestly need it right now due to feeling partially worthless at times. I have the clock to myself nearly every hour of every day, so more should have been addressed after two-plus years of being out of the workforce. I really mean that, too. I suppose all of the turmoil, past issues and troubling situations which have come to pass have affected me severely. I feel paralyzed too often, and I simply cannot have much more of that. I don’t want to flip out. Not now, anyway. I am tired. Whichever wins the fight, be it the house or garage, the fact is I have to go further with the work today. My mental health is at stake. Not good, but at least I know what I have to do. I've been in the same frame of mind for months and it is not fucking good by any means. I need three thousand different things right now but can only grasp two. ‘This is bad, my friends.’ It is bad. I want it... ‘Her’... To the extent of feeling pain in more ways than one. I need to combine all three and gain that most wondrous and utopian representation for myself, and for all time. I need it so fucking bad that sometimes I can’t see straight. This is not like the Passion, either. It is a much more powerful draw; yet still one equally impossible. Improbable? Nope. Not even close. Not by a damned sight, people. Impossible is the only term I can employ here. ‘Her’... The end-all be-all of human existence. To me, anyway. I have been routed to this; driven. I have been affected to the point of massive, overpowering desperation and need. ‘This is bad, my friends.’ Indeed. I don’t know what to do, nor do I know if the fucking work can alleviate one fucking smidgen. I just... Don’t know anymore. God damn shit fuck hell, anyway. I want her SO FUCKING BAD. A billion miles away. I believe the operative term here is ‘unrequited’. Not good. The lines led to interest and then obsession. The obsession led to overwhelming desire. The desire led to desperation. The desperation led me to look. Now I am fallen, bereft of joy, and absent of hope. I will keep writing. I don’t know what the fuck else to do. 0944. I still have yet to move away from the editor and do something else. Drinking? Yes, and that right soon. I can’t fucking help it. The booze provides a touch of numbness and allows me to relax a bit. Well, enough to complete some chores, anyway. It is a habit, for sure. At least I keep the consumption to just one glass. On too many occasions have I gone into a second glass and donned the MDRs, only to find myself heavily depressed and borderline suicidal soon after. There is a huge plus in that last statement. I have learned something. I’ve learned that the dire thinking after too much alcohol is artificial and can be avoided. I actually fucking learned something. Amazing. The lesson is far from enough, however. Very far. My needs have outweighed damaging thoughts. My needs are a very different source of damage. There are certain combinations of which I must remain clear. I have typed so many negative words over the years that I find it difficult to branch into other terms. Maybe the positives are diminishing. 0929, Thursday morning. Half the routine is finished and I have a bit of coffee left. The fourth show is gracing my big screen for the time being, although I’ve been considering switching to the gangsters once finished here. I have also been finalizing the daughter board so I can get it ordered and further the project. I already have parts on their way to my brightly-lit doorstop. 0802 on Friday with coffee and the usual show. And since I’m in the third season again, there is Sarah with her big eyes and gorgeous lips. Damn. She was the defining end of the ‘cute’ scale during the nineties. Sarah has one of those faces that made me want to kiss her for months on end. Some sort of draw there that I cannot fully define. I think the sight of her reminded me that there were dreams this morning, very early, which I cannot fully recall. There was something intimate, though. I can feel it. Maybe all of the difficulty and sadness pushed such a sleep state on me. I think about her on and off every day, so the idea that I keep cramming myself full of visions and other imagery while dreaming of impossible situations likely will not allow me to rest comfortably. There is too much in operation right now. As I said, I think about her throughout each day no matter what I may be doing at a given time. I’m sure all of the latent dream images and memories are caused by my imagination working overtime. I can’t help it. Everything in my life appears dull and meaningless when held against the power of the girl and the image. Even when I am in the garage and deep into some very technical work on the truck, the sight of her pops into my head at random moments and forces me to take a pause. Worse, sometimes I see something that sends me flying off in bad directions, such as a person walking by my open garage. Believe it or not, every time I see a soft face turn and look in my direction, there is a very desperate, very sad little part of me that questions, ‘Is that her?’. Yes, such a state of mind is both insane and very unhealthy. I know. I am still waiting for that girl to come and save me. And now I have to stop talking about this or my day will end before it has a chance to begin. I ordered the remaining parts and the board itself yesterday. If I leave the thing on the computer, I’ll continue to unnecessarily tweak the design for weeks. The board needs to be built and connected, so I left it alone and placed the order. It is going to solve lots of little issues and expand the function of the main board. I am looking forward to seeing the completed project in place. Yesterday I disassembled the temporary mosfet setup to get the main board ready for expansion and ran additional testing on the drive. One thing I failed to mention yesterday is the hub/axle situation. For years, whenever I installed the wheels they could not be fully tightened due to the wheel axles seizing against the inside of each hub. Apparently, I had the e-clips and washers mixed up which allowed everything to hold tight to the aluminum hubs themselves. After experimenting and moving a few things around, the wheels now rotate freely while completely tight against the axles. All I need to do now is await a set of coupling nuts to replace the thumb hardware so they can be wrenched instead of hand tight. The other night I actually placed the truck on the garage floor and drove it forward and back while operating the steering. To my surprise, there was no power issue within the steering. I still believe the system lacks enough torque to swing the four wheels without the vehicle rolling, much like a real car with manual steering. I may yet replace the entire self-made steering system with a servo on each axle in the interest of being able to drive the truck without worry. That would represent a blow to my design, however. I both like and dislike the idea, although such a change may be necessary to avoid breaking parts. My impractical design and engineering have succeeded, and that means simplifying everything so I can run the truck is not a failure. My system has worked. It’s just one-sided with regard to movement, meaning if the wheels hit something they cannot turn without the wire ropes pulling loose. Normally, an impact can force the servo(s) to rotate, therefore adding some ‘cushion’. The way I designed the steering is such that the steering cannot be forced to move by way of the wheels, only the motor. As I said, all the work that has gone into the system is a success. 0931. I have to drive south in a little while to drop off some items. On the return trip I will swing into the market for a few things for dinner tonight. I honestly hope there is nothing to see because the entire morning has been an uphill battle. I have been trying desperately to keep my head in line and avoid falling down. Also, I had to switch to the gangsters because Paramount’s streaming application is fucked again. Now I have to see Jamie, as if there is not enough driving nails into my head already. Perhaps the drive and time involved will help me to remain upright when I arrive home. Right now I need to sit here and relax with the last of my coffee. I am completely sideways and out of my mind. I’ve never felt so fucking depressed. For years I’ve thought to myself that what I am asking is not out of line. I just need... ‘Her’. There has been far too much insouciance in my life, and at the hands of those I would rather avoid, honestly. Again, this is all time and fucking circumstance. My condition has taken a set and forced the idea that whatever may come along in the future will most likely be quickly destroyed due to desperation. Questioning my verisimilitude will only cause more destruction. Lying here on the site is akin to cheating at solitaire. Get it? I am not well. 1200. High noon. Maybe Gary Cooper will come up the driveway and challenge me with a draw. I took the drive and returned with a brief stop at the market. The only bad part of the whole shitaree was my brain. I have half the routine finished but decided to take a pause while I finish my enormous glass of depressant (whiskey). I indeed saw Jamie twice while cleaning the kitchen. I love her. I need her. I need ‘her’. I don’t know what I am anymore. A word comes to mind. In a little while I am going to reconfigure the spare bedroom a little bit to fit the newly-inherited twin bed. The storage containers can sit atop the mattress for the time being, or at least until we hit a massive lottery windfall and expand this house while I sit on the stern of a huge yacht. That means they will reside there forever. I have a bit of dry cleaning and organization, too. Other than those chores, my plan is to take it easy. Thank Christ Friday is one of those days in which I drink alcohol. Oh, God... There she is again. I believe anyone who has visited here in the last two-plus years already has a decent idea of how I feel about her character, but let me say in no uncertain terms that my love for her is beyond even that of Jolene, and very different, as unlikely as that may sound. Wow, do I ever need her to hold me. So sad. Everything is just so fucking sad. I am sad, and I don’t refer to just the mood. I am a sad individual. Sad, meaning pathetic. The eyes have it. My eyes? The toughest job in my history is hiding everything. I am a master of the most elaborate bullshit facade. I need her. I need ‘her’. Maybe I need too much. The whiskey is going away fast. I don’t understand why some of Adriana’s bras seem to have two straps atop each cup. Well, at least one bra. I am no expert on lingerie, believe me. The style is nice, though. Oh, maybe they are the types which convert from one strap configuration to another? Maybe? You know, the straps can be removed (I think) so they can be worn under a strapless or off-the-shoulder dress. I could be wrong, however. Eh... Fuck it. I don’t know. Ade is a sister in my heart, nothing more. There is only one bra commanding my attention these days, anyway, and I can’t talk about it. I keep picturing a goddess... Andrea next to me as we stood by the Bellagio fountains. I am not the type to employ what I've always considered 'vulgarity' when speaking to a woman, but what she whispered into my ear at that moment was endearing, loving, and any number of other descriptors which made my heart fucking explode. Never before did such a thing happen. Never. And since? Nope. Not even the Raven and the 'sailor-language' that emanated from Her beautiful mouth on too many occasions to recall. 'Fuck me'. I should have killed myself after hearing Andrea's booties click across the marble floor as she exited my life, not to mention the universe of love, caring and understanding we had created. Had I done so, much pain would have been averted. More pain, in fact, that one person should have to endure. And? FUCK YOU FOR THINKING I AM FEELING SORRY FOR MYSELF. That is the last position I would EVER take. Just... Fuck you. I am lonely, angry, desperate, and have been disregarded for so long that I've been driven to this. I do not feel sorry for myself. I feel sorry for people who must deal with me. Believe it, motherfucks. Approach my fucking garage on a weekday. I'll show you. Saturday morning, early. I’ll have a touch of morning business and then a few hours alone. I ended yesterday pretty fucked up, too. This morning I’ll need some time to cool off before any possible interaction with people. I took care of business, went outside the routine a bit, and then worked on the truck for a while. My mood never improved from the morning. I just worked and daydreamed of her, as usual. Moving around the house yesterday was very tiring, as if I had a trailer hitch attached to my back and I was hauling a container full of problems with each step. At one point I became so distraught that I began to increase the volume of the music and the rate at which I had been consuming beer. All that shit came to a head in the evening when I couldn’t follow along with the show. I fell down, became quite rankled, and made a short, very pointed speech about my inability to both hear and recall details. That shit blew over and I started feeling sadder than ever. I’ll admit that the item I ordered as a representation of the past didn’t fucking help. The comparator is here. It reminds me of working inside my dad’s place of employment during the late nineties. That was one of the most fascinating and enjoyable jobs ever. Seeing the comparator sent me flying, and then to add all the shit already on my mind prior to opening the package, well... I was pretty upset. Post-glow, for sure, yet still a wondrous period for a while. Last night was the type of situation that I must learn to avoid entirely. Damn. This morning? Everything is fine. Mostly. Sarah was just twenty-five when this episode first aired. Wow. I guess I still want to kiss her for months at a time. More, even. Never mind. 0806. I am trying to keep my head together and think clearly. God damn, this guest actor is amazing. Her waist is accentuated by height. Beautiful. I need the image to leave my mind, yet the more I try to push it away, the more it tends to overtake whatever I am attempting to do at a given time, such as yesterday when I returned from the market and began my routine. There was a woman walking across the parking lot wearing colorful scrubs and I could tell she was something special, but she soon disappeared just like all the rest. Well, the image brought back those dreams from last year in which I was actually where I wanted and needed to be. Once I finished everything in the house, moving to the garage was accompanied by mental imagery I could not control. Anger was the result. I don’t know what the fuck I can do to get around such situations. Sitting here right now is a prime example of how the past can nearly completely control my mind. This is not good. She can help me, maybe. ‘She’. ‘Her’. Damn it all. I can’t get her to leave my thoughts. This is going to cause more problems. Wait a minute... It already did. While in the garage I was able to further break down the chair parts, plus I disassembled the final chair which had been slated to live in the house. I changed my mind, so it went to pieces like the rest. Now I just have to slice up the remaining flat (slightly curved) segments so they can be tossed away. I also relocated the old table to the patio and moved the picnic table back to its old home on the concrete pad. I then transplanted the pine tree so it can enjoy a larger pot. All of the work was in hopes of eventually moving the new twin bed to the spare bedroom. I’ll get to that eventually. The motivation came from seeing my precious garage filled with stuff after I spent years trying to yield empty space out there. 0909. I have my last cup of coffee and the fourth show on the big television screen. This morning has not been ideal, though. The imagery and feelings took my mind away and I have to get it back. I don’t even know how. The hills have disappeared into a haze of fog this morning. Yesterday was much the same, meaning while in the garage I had to don a light sweatshirt. I am not used to doing that after months of mild to warm weather and the house remaining very consistent. I need to stay inside for a while, anyway. There is much organization on tap and the usual routine to be completed. The show – my loving, extended family – shall follow me at each step. I may yet switch to the gangsters, however. Seeing Jamie yesterday fucked my head up so bad that I had to move away from that show, but while alone it is not as difficult (in some ways). Her character pulls at my heart more than any fucking thing in the world, past or present. More than anything. I don’t know how it happened, even after all this time. In no uncertain terms, I am completely IN LOVE with her. She could save me from everything. She looked up and smiled with those big, beautiful eyes shooting little cupid arrows into my smashed heart. I need her to hold me and tell me that everything will be alright, but... There is a word attached. A word that ruins it all. Anyway, if I switch shows at some point, I’ll have to stay away from the keyboard and try to focus upon the housework. I don’t think anyone wants to read more about Jamie. Oh, and yesterday one of my favorite songs played in the garage at close to dangerous volume. I’ve brought it up before, I think. The singer’s name is JAMIE. Heh. Not funny. 1046. Half the routine is finished, as is my custom of late. I can’t seem to care for everything concurrently these days. The cocktail notwithstanding, I tend to work on either one half or the other, and then feel the need to sit here and type. Moreover, I see the big eyes on the screen again in all their high definition glory. They may well be the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Keep in mind the feeling has grown exponentially since the beginning of the pandemic, and have aligned with my deep-seated need for help. The dream of Jamie and I walking along a dirt road on farmland likely amplified everything. Conversely, my gushing about her for years probably created the dream in the first place. I am still that little boy who becomes enamored with the subject of an emotional dream, mostly those in which I am being held in a loving manner and by a beautiful woman. Well, beauty does not rise higher than Jamie. The hand-holding is the same. The routine has been split, even delayed at times, because the trouble inherent in believing I can be ‘saved’ takes over my psyche and forces me to sit here and explore my feelings. I begin to yearn for comfort, fall down, and then lose the drive to do any housework. Later, I feel bad for ceasing the effort and then pick up where I left off. This is a symptom, really. Two years ago when I was making the drive twice daily and had just installed the television in the kitchen, the routine was very comforting. That feeling has faded in the space of a month, and I know why. I am too weak to avoid typing about everything that is going through my broken head. ‘Her’. Oh my fucking God, when she walks into the apartment with her hair down and a smile, my heart leaps like never before. I believe Jamie has the sweetest eyes on the planet. So in love with her... That is a fucking enormous problem – that last statement. The entire scale of beauty and love has been permanently skewed due to my feelings for a fictional character. You wanna talk about an unhealthy and unrealistic way of living? It doesn’t get much worse. Wait... It will get worse. I already know my feelings for her will continue to grow and become more ridiculous as the days roll under my trucks. This train has only one destination. As if I wasn’t already completely fucked in the head, I realized that much of what I have been saying is my own doing. At least I know. Maybe Jamie’s character is ‘her’. And maybe time travels backward at the speed of light. Equally impossible. There should be an accelerometer inside me to track and record my regression. This is just so bad. I can’t say that enough. Fuck, there she is again, hair down. Good God... What in the sweet fuck have I become? Say it with me – so in love with her. My feelings are going to preclude ANYTHING in the world blowing my skirt up because nothing can compare to imagination and an impossible dream. Period. I am creating the doom. Would you like to read another horrible thought? The way my heart feels right now tells me truthfully that my past relationships cannot compare. That means that my love for people throughout decades may not have been real. All of them. I love her. The cliché is as follows; ‘I’ve never felt this way about anyone’. Well, I have not. I fucking love her so much that there are not enough words, letters, days, anything. Not enough. I can’t stress this enough. Maybe I should have stuck with science fiction programs. I don’t understand why Finn has the hots for Felicia when he is in a relationship with the most beautiful, kind and sweet woman imaginable. Yes, Felicia is adorable and exotic, plus showing off darkness and lovely hair, but Jesus... She is a tiny asteroid floating inside a universe of amazing beauty that is Jamie. And you thought I went on a tirade about Jolene? The two could not be more different, trust me. I am recalling ‘Jolaimora’... Jolene, Jamie, Nora. All vastly different, but all in my heart. And don’t take issue with the spelling because there has been a deeply loving correlation between Jamie on the television and Jaime the machine that I created in the fiction. The point is that of the three, Jolene and Nora are objects of desire, whereas Jamie may be the only woman I have ever truly loved. Jesus fucking Christ on a rubber crutch in Winter, did you read that? I don’t know if there is a person anywhere in the world more fucked up and out of balance than yours truly. Not kidding. I feel so disfigured that I would have to attain a doctorate in English grammar to fully get the fucking point across. I am so in love with her... Sunday morning. Coffee and gangsters, cats and Jamie. Yesterday I fabricated a ten-foot extension for powering the truck’s main board and motors. I then connected everything and drove it across the garage floor a few times. Other than one of the wheels appearing a little crooked, everything worked fine. I am still considering scrapping the entire steering system in favor of twin high-torque servos. That would represent a good month of work and I don’t care. The other motor is still squealing whenever I increase the speed from the transmitter. Perhaps those little gearboxes are without decent longevity. That motor has to stay for the time being, though. The primary drive is not easy to modify. Remember the dog walker? What was that... Like two years ago? Wow. I ran a search and it appears the first mention was just after the county-wide shutdown during spring of twenty. Anyway, I saw a different girl walking a beautiful dog yesterday, one which shoved the original figure to the rear with great force. The appearance of such a gorgeous form strolling along the sidewalk caught me off-guard because I’ve seen very little out there for months. And now there is Jamie on the screen, no makeup and hair all fucked up, looking like everything of which I have ever dreamed, yearned for, or needed wrapped around my broken self. Jesus, if I could just be near her for a little while, maybe I’d feel a bit better. Ugh. So, the girl walking the dog quickly became just one more ridiculous example of how weak I’ve become. The van is backed into the driveway these days, meaning I don’t have a clear view of the street like prior to parking it. I craned my neck a bit and then jumped off the stool to move across the garage and watch her walk for three fucking seconds. Do you fucking believe this? I could be in the encyclopedia under ‘desperation’ or ‘things to avoid in life’. What a maroon. I am a fragment of what I used to be and even less of what I could have been. A girl walking a dog in black pants derailed my truck work and caused me to take a break and regain my composure, all while I was completely alone. No wonder I’ve fallen in love with fiction. I remember Richard, the calibration coordinator slash asset officer at our largest client in ninety-six. He was the type to keep to himself all the time and only wandered the halls when necessary. I got the impression that he had been trying to avoid a portion of the goddess contingent that was typically everywhere in those days. That company must have had ten times its share of attractive women. I had much difficulty working in those laboratories most of the time. Anyway, Richard was pretty fucking shy and introverted, sometimes to the point of trying desperately to catch a glimpse of a beautiful woman every now and then; the rest of the time being holed up in his big office. I am beginning to head in the same direction, seeing everything out there in society as actually not real. More like a dream world, and one I am not allowed to enjoy. Unattainable, just like happiness and fulfillment, even in small measure. I think the main reason for Jamie appearing in this content so much is because when I see her up there I feel infinitely more than while gazing at anyone else. She has everything, honestly, from the fucking lines to the darkness and on to the most beautiful, feeling eyes I have ever seen. Sometimes when I look at her I feel pain in my heart because she is not real. Other times? I just daydream and recall walking the farmland while we held hands. Jamie was right next to me, something of which I have desperately yearned for years. Those eyes were sensitive and understanding to the point of making me insane. Upon awakening that morning, I wanted to go outside and slam my head into the concrete over and over. She was right there and I knew everything would be alright, and then she was torn away along with sections of my heart. There is a distinct possibility that my lack of mentioning her in this content throughout the last few months is solely due to my search for ‘her’. Well, Jamie is probably ‘her’. Maybe. And then? Maybe not. Much like some other key terms here, her name is an idea... An image of what I so desperately need in life. The word ‘her’ is the same. Recently, the pronoun ‘her’ or when I speak of the ‘girl’, they are carrying the same meaning: Need. All those terms have stemmed from the dream I’ve had for years; someone to save me. And here I go again repeating myself with different sentences. This is not easy. I mean, I’ve basically laid out so much of my personality that I wouldn’t be surprised if some random person sends me an email asking if this is real or just a fucking plea for help. The ideas all add up. The sum is impossible. Jamie is portraying (or, has portrayed) a fictional character just like the others. Not a real person, nor anyone I can ever know personally. This is so stupid. ‘Her’ is the word I’ve decided to use because I don’t know what else to do. I love ‘her’, yet I have not one fucking clue as to who that person may be. Probably no one. I created an idea and have tried over and over to put a face to it. I guess I’m in love with an idea. I turned off the gangsters in favor of the early game from London, just like last week. And I can’t look at Jamie sometimes because there is too much pain involved. I am to be alone, forever. Such a fact has more leverage on me than anything else in life. I wish I didn’t know. I have the usual business today -- routine, garbage, laundry -- and then my football game is on at 1300. I'm going to try having everything finished by then, after which I'll either sit here with my lunch and the game or put on the television in the garage. Jeez. I just had to reboot the system in order to regain a connection to the cloud. That does not happen often at all, but I do understand the complexity. No big deal. I can always work offline if necessary. Anyway, I’ll have some time to myself today for the business, which I plan to begin prior to pouring my last cup of coffee. As I mentioned up the page somewhere, I’d like to have most of my housework out of the way by kickoff. Afterward, I don’t really care. My head is so fucked these days that whenever I can be busy, the bad things fall away for a time. Well, not as often as I would prefer, but considering my current situation and emotional condition, anything positive is embraced as if I need it to continue living. Sunday business can be enjoyable. I hope it lives up to that statement today. I could really use a lift right now. 0908. I took care of half the routine and subsequent trash work. That is a big head start to my day. I also have laundry going already. This is very good. I stated that I wanted to have a few things completed prior to my last cup of coffee, and here we are. Excellent. The football game is still up there on my big television. I don’t want to go back to the show just yet because Jamie in the sixth season can be too much for my weakened heart. There is another project I’d like to tackle today, and that is moving the twin bed into the spare bedroom. I’m sure it will take roughly half an hour or less, yet the idea is not inviting. I have to clean and move the cat litter tray in order to fit the bed. Ugh. I can do it, though. The other nagging task is the remaining greenery on the shrub in the backyard. That has not advanced in several weeks due to the warm weather. Well, there has been very little sunshine for some days, so I should get out there with the saw and take care of it once and for all. I also need to toss the remaining dill plants into the green can. Neither should take long at all. To me, and considering my condition of late, this sounds like a ton of work, but the truth is none of those little items is terribly difficult. I just have to take a step and then everything will fall into place. Maybe I’ll feel a little better about myself afterward. I could sure use it. This probably means avoiding Jamie until after my football game this afternoon. She is already in my heart about as deep as possible. More visions of her big eyes are going to cause a fall. I can’t fucking have that today. Honestly, I still can’t believe how strong my feelings are for a fucking fictional character. What the fuck happened to me? Don’t answer that. This day is looking better and better as I sit here and ponder what I need to do. Unfortunately, the underlying issues are attempting to stymie my consideration of one of my favorite days of the week. No, not those four issues I railroaded for years. They are not the same now as in the past, although number one has led me to many a downtrodden, shitty mindset recently. Number one is the obsession. Number two doesn’t even fucking matter anymore because I am completely alone in the world. My only friends are on television. Three? Eh... That is the ‘word’ and society’s ability to both ridicule and/or trivialize anything deeply troubling and personal. And four... Well, I’ll be wrestling with that one until I die. The fact is, three out of four have lost importance in my mind in favor of the damaging dream and the way I related three key terms to my desperation in life. Despite the sheer level of power some issues have over me, I can still rise and work as needed. The reward will be the accomplishments, and those will lead to the football game. Win or lose, I really love watching. I need to cease the internal questioning regarding ‘how’ I could have fallen for fiction. The damaging dreams took me from myself recently and have forced even more questioning, most of which I cannot discuss here or with another person. There was the ‘image’, and that is something I’ll never understand (I will say that the image was close to me at one point, believe it or not). The ‘girl’ has become a conglomeration of everything I need, and as far as ‘her’ is concerned, well... I’ve created too many crossovers between fiction, actual people I’ve known, and the dream that something will darken my doorstep and save my fucking life. ‘Her’. My favorite pronoun is now as large a concern as the dreams of that fucking girl. There is too much now, honestly. Too much. I dreamed of Jamie and the two of us together (knowing), and then I dreamed of the bra strap and all that other shit, and then... Yep, that girl next to me. That was another situation in which we ‘knew’. The bottom fucking line is that I am overwhelmed by desperation and need to the point of driving myself insane. There you go. I am crazy for help; in more need and in the worst situation in life that I could have imagined in a million years, so the tiniest smidgen of understanding or feeling that I ‘know’ sends me on an unending tangent that is very difficult to explain. 1129 and here I am again. I have the entire routine finished, laundry in process, and the trash has been collated for later tossing. This has been a very nice head start to the day, especially considering the three-hour game to kick off in an hour and a half. Naturally, there is a big glass of whiskey next to me. I need it, and if that sounds bad, well... Then it fucking sounds bad. I could give a shit about the consequences anymore. Comfort is key. I am considering scrapping the current game in favor of the gangsters and whatever hearts and bunnies begin to float through me as I see Jamie and her incomparable fucking eyes. I AM SO IN LOVE WITH HER THAT I’M LOSING MY FUCKING MIND. Just a thought. Tired of Jamie? Live with it. I have to live with the fact that my entire life is an impossible dream world and nothing can ever come of it (aside from being fucking committed). This is what I’ve become, and I would appreciate any suggestion of how to label such a condition. I am at a loss. Onward... Prior to kickoff, I intend to chop the shrub and pull the dead dill plants for the green can. Working with the saw and nippers combined with loud music is typically therapeutic. I like the fact that no one EVER takes issue with my neighbor or me blasting music from either garage, or both. I believe they already know that as homeowners, we are given some free reign – no, not the type I really need to survive, but a substitute – to enjoy the atmosphere of the yard and driveway without restriction. Believe me when I say that when he is in a bad mood, the entire neighborhood quickly becomes aware of the weight. I am the same, meaning the music will accompany the stifling sound of my cordless reciprocating saw. I’ll be out there once the whiskey is gone. It will be missed. I would give up all of my dreams for a few minutes of... I have physical problems that came about earlier this year of a type I don’t understand. The dreams do not help, nor does knowing of my future path in life. The day has been very positive, yet no matter how far ‘up’ I may feel while being very productive and goal-oriented, underneath everything are problems. And no, I will not refer to them as ‘challenges’ because that term is too often one-sided. This experience is making me crazy, and not in a fleeting, trivial way. I am referring to a very dangerous definition of crazy. The atmosphere in the backyard will soon demonstrate my mood. Still no Jamie on the television. I can’t look at her right now. I can’t look at... ‘Her’. 1729. Lots of stuff completed today. Everything I set out to do is finished, plus I went a little further by caring for the garage. This is very good. I had time to watch the entire game – which was great – along with a nice lunch. All would seem to be fine on this Sunday, yet that is wrong. I have been going out of my mind with some of what has been discussed here. I have the fourth show on again instead of the gangsters. Jamie would be too painful for me. Even this show occasionally carries its fair share of damaging visions, and the episode which just ended was fucking full of them. I’ll spare you the details. Just believe it. The inside of my head is a very detailed map of certain aspects of life I have already railroaded over and over for years, and none of it will leave me alone this afternoon. In a little while I will prepare dinner and then roll the cans to the curb. My heart requires extensive repair right now, but unfortunately the destruction cannot be reversed. Not in reality, anyway. All my needs are either unrealistic or downright impossible. This is a bad time. Monday morning, 0656. Coffee and Jamie on the television. The trouble yesterday continued all the way until I went to bed. I then dreamed of something having to do with the lighting in my garage prior to waking. I’m glad there was nothing further. I can’t recall the last time I dreamed of love and understanding. Several days, or longer. I’m guessing they will return when least expected. For the time being, there is already plenty of information piled up inside for me to gush, bitch, whatever, for my remaining years. As much as I’d love to see that girl again in those dreams which have damaged and jaded me somewhat, perhaps a lack of her might be easier on my brain. Those visions lead to all manner of concern and my imagining being where and with whom I need. Well, that is just not going to happen. Despite my out of balance desperation when there is a face of some sort, the truth is I have no faith in the ‘good’ any longer. Nothing is there for me because I see no reason for the ‘good’ to come to my doorstep. No reason. I mean... Who the fuck am I to garner love and understanding? There is Fiona (I mention her every single time she’s on the screen). One question showing concern and her facial expression just kill me. I don’t know why, but each occasion stops me in my tracks and I have to watch and listen. The scene just rolled by this morning. Today should be pretty mellow, I guess. All the work yesterday can support my sticking to the truck for a while. I still need to relocate the twin bed, but that will happen soon enough. I took care of everything else yesterday. I need to think about my place in the world this morning, meaning I may be sitting here quite a while. Whatever is going on out there in the world can fucking wait. I'm sure the hour will arrive when I feel like branching and working on whatever seems best. That point always comes along no matter how I feel. Yesterday, the work in the yard didn't feel appealing at all, yet I went out there and cleaned up the shrub work to where the entire picture is very neat and much nicer than in the past. I hadn't touched it for a couple of months because I couldn't get myself to care. I don't know what happened yesterday but I'm glad to see it finished. Well, one possibility was my head being so sideways that I was losing grip on life and forced myself to get the hell away from as much thinking as I could. That idea could be the very reason I do ANYTHING around this house -- just to keep my fucking head from imploding. I don't need that shit. Have I covered everything possible? Every aspect of ‘her’? God damn it all... There she is again. The scene when she is with Tony and says hello to Jason Barone. When she turns and smiles, the entire planet runs aslant in a very bad way. That is one of the moments when I need her the most, and then I completely flatten because it’s fictional, in the past by fifteen years, and has absolutely nothing to do with my fucking problems. She was over there many years ago, and everything in the universe has changed since then, mostly me. I suppose I should keep in mind that every paragraph is going to be derailed in some way if I continue watching this series. I was trying to understand the word ‘her’ and all I’ve tried to cover in this entry, but the big eyes killed me again. Maybe I am just not meant to understand anything in the world. That kind of thinking really hurts, though I can't deny the possibility. I’m gonna lose my shit one of these mornings. I’ve already seen everything. Different situations, scenes, behavior... Everything. I already know what is happening and sometimes I even have an inkling as to why. But over here? Where I am? There is only thinking, thinking, and then more thinking due to the lack of more than I would care to splay all over this entry. The idea of ‘her’ comes to mind hundreds of times each day, leaving me to daydream and become detached from reality all too often. I just don’t know what can be done about this fucking situation. ‘Her’. The girl with the power to save my fucking life. I don’t understand how the decisions and paths from my past have driven the train into this wasteland of pain and concern. Yes, some was my doing. Not everything, though. Not everything. The ‘image’ is a good example of how the world can operate seemingly outside what is real. The tangible aspects of society would be enough, yet the ‘image’ is an ideal symbol for my mass of confusion over the whole issue. None of this is going to make any sense. I can barely follow all my shit. Anyway, the terms continue to leave me without hope each day because all three – regardless of whether or not they can be combined into one huge dream – may reside just beyond my understanding forever. This is not the end of such a line." 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 II Mature content No. 337 Published October 10th, 2022 8:54am pdt read ( words) Past entries "You had better prepare yourself for a shitload of Jamie. Put on a helmet. 1225. I have to drive to the city in a little while to pick up an item that cannot wait until the weekend. Thank goodness I already consumed the morning cocktail, otherwise this would be a huge trial. I don’t need anything tough right now, meaning the slight numbing will come in handy along with some decent music for the ride. Upon returning, I’ll take care of the second half of my routine. It should not take long. My new drill bit index arrived on the porch, too. Oh, fuck. All over again. The cuteness and my heart leaping out of my chest. This is my typical Wednesday morning with coffee and my show, yet the images are commanding my thoughts today. I guess some time will have to elapse before I can consider other aspects of the morning or latter part of the day. I still see her and hear that voice... And there is more. My brain immediately manufactured images of her lines which then took me away from myself nearly far enough to preclude behaving like an actual human being. Lines again, just like driving out of the airport or the trip to the wine store or a thousand other incidents. This one was different, though. My thoughts were immediately deviant and carnal. A heretic, to be sure. There will be more of this. The drive to the city yesterday was without incident. Some nice music and a smooth trip. We slid into the north end market on the way home for a few items, as well. I then made some lunch and watched one of the typical evening programs for a while before moving into the garage. I tried to complete some organization out there but wasn’t really feeling it. A few things moved and some crap went into the trash can, nothing more. I mostly worked on the truck axles in an effort to further smooth the rotation. I succeeded, actually. Sometimes when I go out there with the intention of tossing stuff into the garbage, I end up looking around and doing very little of anything, let alone an accomplishment. I guess I just wasn’t feeling it. Well, being derailed for the tenth time by visions of lines didn’t help, either. Maybe I will do better today. The most important step in such an idea is to attempt to push her out of my head for a little while. I have to be able to function. Yesterday was bad and I don’t want this morning to head in a similar direction. I can’t have that right now. She is becoming far more important than I would have thought a few months ago and I am worse off for the feelings. There is apparently nothing I can do about this. I just have to lump it. ‘Her’. ‘Girl’. ‘Image’. I may have been somewhat preoccupied last night, but I still performed the work on each steering hub and accomplished my goal. Afterward? I placed the truck on the floor of the garage and drove it to the limit of the power cable while simultaneously operating the steering for the first time ever. I have been concerned about stressing the steering cables (wire ropes, really) due to the weight and footprint of such huge tires. I did not want to swing the system at all unless the truck was in motion, thus reducing the chances of something going awry. I did it, and with half a snootful. The steering moves very slowly, but it worked. First. Time. Ever. I am tempted to run the thing off batteries, too. It would be freed from the cabling and allowed to move around for further testing. The downside is cost, as usual. Roughly four hundred for two batteries and a charger. Ugh. I am not going to do that right now. Bigger fish. Deviant and carnal. Desire off the fucking scale, and I am referring to the grand scale. Much like three years ago, the feelings are out of fucking control and more powerful than I can put into words (see the essay which mates with this mess). Three years ago. That was the time. Now? Just memories. Nothing but memories. The draw returns quite often and I continue to equate one with the other no matter what may have been true or false. One side is definitely true, and the other helped to create the image. I don't know if the other side was false or not, honestly. Most of the time I don't want to know. The image will not change, though. Not a bit. The desire dictates the image and helps it to take over my mind all too often. Her, too. This is bad. Everything is being fused. Sometimes I see far more than should be allowed. What I do with the information should also be disallowed. Mark my fucking words, I am not well and do not ponder these subjects like a balanced individual. 0903. Last of the coffee and Roxann looking and sounding absolutely fucking adorable beyond belief. I’ve always liked her, and this episode is a tour de force of her acting ability, right down to the slightest expressions. I can’t decide if her cuteness outshines her performance, but the fact is I appreciate both. I’ll have to hop to the routine very soon and then try to think past the norm. Sometimes the work helps, and today it is important because of the thoughts in my head. Again, see the other entry. I don’t know how I feel about myself anymore. I am hoping that once I move away from the IDE and get into something productive, my brain will push further than the last few days and allow me to step outside my typical routine and accomplish more. I honestly need it right now due to feeling partially worthless at times. I have the clock to myself nearly every hour of every day, so more should have been addressed after two-plus years of being out of the workforce. I really mean that, too. I suppose all of the turmoil, past issues and troubling situations which have come to pass have affected me severely. I feel paralyzed too often, and I simply cannot have much more of that. I don’t want to flip out. Not now, anyway. I am tired. Whichever wins the fight, be it the house or garage, the fact is I have to go further with the work today. My mental health is at stake. Not good, but at least I know what I have to do. I've been in the same frame of mind for months and it is not fucking good by any means. I need three thousand different things right now but can only grasp two. ‘This is bad, my friends.’ It is bad. I want it... ‘Her’... To the extent of feeling pain in more ways than one. I need to combine all three and gain that most wondrous and utopian representation for myself, and for all time. I need it so fucking bad that sometimes I can’t see straight. This is not like the Passion, either. It is a much more powerful draw; yet still one equally impossible. Improbable? Nope. Not even close. Not by a damned sight, people. Impossible is the only term I can employ here. ‘Her’... The end-all be-all of human existence. To me, anyway. I have been routed to this; driven. I have been affected to the point of massive, overpowering desperation and need. ‘This is bad, my friends.’ Indeed. I don’t know what to do, nor do I know if the fucking work can alleviate one fucking smidgen. I just... Don’t know anymore. God damn shit fuck hell, anyway. I want her SO FUCKING BAD. A billion miles away. I believe the operative term here is ‘unrequited’. Not good. The lines led to interest and then obsession. The obsession led to overwhelming desire. The desire led to desperation. The desperation led me to look. Now I am fallen, bereft of joy, and absent of hope. I will keep writing. I don’t know what the fuck else to do. 0944. I still have yet to move away from the editor and do something else. Drinking? Yes, and that right soon. I can’t fucking help it. The booze provides a touch of numbness and allows me to relax a bit. Well, enough to complete some chores, anyway. It is a habit, for sure. At least I keep the consumption to just one glass. On too many occasions have I gone into a second glass and donned the MDRs, only to find myself heavily depressed and borderline suicidal soon after. There is a huge plus in that last statement. I have learned something. I’ve learned that the dire thinking after too much alcohol is artificial and can be avoided. I actually fucking learned something. Amazing. The lesson is far from enough, however. Very far. My needs have outweighed damaging thoughts. My needs are a very different source of damage. There are certain combinations of which I must remain clear. I have typed so many negative words over the years that I find it difficult to branch into other terms. Maybe the positives are diminishing. 0929, Thursday morning. Half the routine is finished and I have a bit of coffee left. The fourth show is gracing my big screen for the time being, although I’ve been considering switching to the gangsters once finished here. I have also been finalizing the daughter board so I can get it ordered and further the project. I already have parts on their way to my brightly-lit doorstop. 0802 on Friday with coffee and the usual show. And since I’m in the third season again, there is Sarah with her big eyes and gorgeous lips. Damn. She was the defining end of the ‘cute’ scale during the nineties. Sarah has one of those faces that made me want to kiss her for months on end. Some sort of draw there that I cannot fully define. I think the sight of her reminded me that there were dreams this morning, very early, which I cannot fully recall. There was something intimate, though. I can feel it. Maybe all of the difficulty and sadness pushed such a sleep state on me. I think about her on and off every day, so the idea that I keep cramming myself full of visions and other imagery while dreaming of impossible situations likely will not allow me to rest comfortably. There is too much in operation right now. As I said, I think about her throughout each day no matter what I may be doing at a given time. I’m sure all of the latent dream images and memories are caused by my imagination working overtime. I can’t help it. Everything in my life appears dull and meaningless when held against the power of the girl and the image. Even when I am in the garage and deep into some very technical work on the truck, the sight of her pops into my head at random moments and forces me to take a pause. Worse, sometimes I see something that sends me flying off in bad directions, such as a person walking by my open garage. Believe it or not, every time I see a soft face turn and look in my direction, there is a very desperate, very sad little part of me that questions, ‘Is that her?’. Yes, such a state of mind is both insane and very unhealthy. I know. I am still waiting for that girl to come and save me. And now I have to stop talking about this or my day will end before it has a chance to begin. I ordered the remaining parts and the board itself yesterday. If I leave the thing on the computer, I’ll continue to unnecessarily tweak the design for weeks. The board needs to be built and connected, so I left it alone and placed the order. It is going to solve lots of little issues and expand the function of the main board. I am looking forward to seeing the completed project in place. Yesterday I disassembled the temporary mosfet setup to get the main board ready for expansion and ran additional testing on the drive. One thing I failed to mention yesterday is the hub/axle situation. For years, whenever I installed the wheels they could not be fully tightened due to the wheel axles seizing against the inside of each hub. Apparently, I had the e-clips and washers mixed up which allowed everything to hold tight to the aluminum hubs themselves. After experimenting and moving a few things around, the wheels now rotate freely while completely tight against the axles. All I need to do now is await a set of coupling nuts to replace the thumb hardware so they can be wrenched instead of hand tight. The other night I actually placed the truck on the garage floor and drove it forward and back while operating the steering. To my surprise, there was no power issue within the steering. I still believe the system lacks enough torque to swing the four wheels without the vehicle rolling, much like a real car with manual steering. I may yet replace the entire self-made steering system with a servo on each axle in the interest of being able to drive the truck without worry. That would represent a blow to my design, however. I both like and dislike the idea, although such a change may be necessary to avoid breaking parts. My impractical design and engineering have succeeded, and that means simplifying everything so I can run the truck is not a failure. My system has worked. It’s just one-sided with regard to movement, meaning if the wheels hit something they cannot turn without the wire ropes pulling loose. Normally, an impact can force the servo(s) to rotate, therefore adding some ‘cushion’. The way I designed the steering is such that the steering cannot be forced to move by way of the wheels, only the motor. As I said, all the work that has gone into the system is a success. 0931. I have to drive south in a little while to drop off some items. On the return trip I will swing into the market for a few things for dinner tonight. I honestly hope there is nothing to see because the entire morning has been an uphill battle. I have been trying desperately to keep my head in line and avoid falling down. Also, I had to switch to the gangsters because Paramount’s streaming application is fucked again. Now I have to see Jamie, as if there is not enough driving nails into my head already. Perhaps the drive and time involved will help me to remain upright when I arrive home. Right now I need to sit here and relax with the last of my coffee. I am completely sideways and out of my mind. I’ve never felt so fucking depressed. For years I’ve thought to myself that what I am asking is not out of line. I just need... ‘Her’. There has been far too much insouciance in my life, and at the hands of those I would rather avoid, honestly. Again, this is all time and fucking circumstance. My condition has taken a set and forced the idea that whatever may come along in the future will most likely be quickly destroyed due to desperation. Questioning my verisimilitude will only cause more destruction. Lying here on the site is akin to cheating at solitaire. Get it? I am not well. 1200. High noon. Maybe Gary Cooper will come up the driveway and challenge me with a draw. I took the drive and returned with a brief stop at the market. The only bad part of the whole shitaree was my brain. I have half the routine finished but decided to take a pause while I finish my enormous glass of depressant (whiskey). I indeed saw Jamie twice while cleaning the kitchen. I love her. I need her. I need ‘her’. I don’t know what I am anymore. A word comes to mind. In a little while I am going to reconfigure the spare bedroom a little bit to fit the newly-inherited twin bed. The storage containers can sit atop the mattress for the time being, or at least until we hit a massive lottery windfall and expand this house while I sit on the stern of a huge yacht. That means they will reside there forever. I have a bit of dry cleaning and organization, too. Other than those chores, my plan is to take it easy. Thank Christ Friday is one of those days in which I drink alcohol. Oh, God... There she is again. I believe anyone who has visited here in the last two-plus years already has a decent idea of how I feel about her character, but let me say in no uncertain terms that my love for her is beyond even that of Jolene, and very different, as unlikely as that may sound. Wow, do I ever need her to hold me. So sad. Everything is just so fucking sad. I am sad, and I don’t refer to just the mood. I am a sad individual. Sad, meaning pathetic. The eyes have it. My eyes? The toughest job in my history is hiding everything. I am a master of the most elaborate bullshit facade. I need her. I need ‘her’. Maybe I need too much. The whiskey is going away fast. I don’t understand why some of Adriana’s bras seem to have two straps atop each cup. Well, at least one bra. I am no expert on lingerie, believe me. The style is nice, though. Oh, maybe they are the types which convert from one strap configuration to another? Maybe? You know, the straps can be removed (I think) so they can be worn under a strapless or off-the-shoulder dress. I could be wrong, however. Eh... Fuck it. I don’t know. Ade is a sister in my heart, nothing more. There is only one bra commanding my attention these days, anyway, and I can’t talk about it. I keep picturing a goddess... Andrea next to me as we stood by the Bellagio fountains. I am not the type to employ what I've always considered 'vulgarity' when speaking to a woman, but what she whispered into my ear at that moment was endearing, loving, and any number of other descriptors which made my heart fucking explode. Never before did such a thing happen. Never. And since? Nope. Not even the Raven and the 'sailor-language' that emanated from Her beautiful mouth on too many occasions to recall. 'Fuck me'. I should have killed myself after hearing Andrea's booties click across the marble floor as she exited my life, not to mention the universe of love, caring and understanding we had created. Had I done so, much pain would have been averted. More pain, in fact, that one person should have to endure. And? FUCK YOU FOR THINKING I AM FEELING SORRY FOR MYSELF. That is the last position I would EVER take. Just... Fuck you. I am lonely, angry, desperate, and have been disregarded for so long that I've been driven to this. I do not feel sorry for myself. I feel sorry for people who must deal with me. Believe it, motherfucks. Approach my fucking garage on a weekday. I'll show you. Saturday morning, early. I’ll have a touch of morning business and then a few hours alone. I ended yesterday pretty fucked up, too. This morning I’ll need some time to cool off before any possible interaction with people. I took care of business, went outside the routine a bit, and then worked on the truck for a while. My mood never improved from the morning. I just worked and daydreamed of her, as usual. Moving around the house yesterday was very tiring, as if I had a trailer hitch attached to my back and I was hauling a container full of problems with each step. At one point I became so distraught that I began to increase the volume of the music and the rate at which I had been consuming beer. All that shit came to a head in the evening when I couldn’t follow along with the show. I fell down, became quite rankled, and made a short, very pointed speech about my inability to both hear and recall details. That shit blew over and I started feeling sadder than ever. I’ll admit that the item I ordered as a representation of the past didn’t fucking help. The comparator is here. It reminds me of working inside my dad’s place of employment during the late nineties. That was one of the most fascinating and enjoyable jobs ever. Seeing the comparator sent me flying, and then to add all the shit already on my mind prior to opening the package, well... I was pretty upset. Post-glow, for sure, yet still a wondrous period for a while. Last night was the type of situation that I must learn to avoid entirely. Damn. This morning? Everything is fine. Mostly. Sarah was just twenty-five when this episode first aired. Wow. I guess I still want to kiss her for months at a time. More, even. Never mind. 0806. I am trying to keep my head together and think clearly. God damn, this guest actor is amazing. Her waist is accentuated by height. Beautiful. I need the image to leave my mind, yet the more I try to push it away, the more it tends to overtake whatever I am attempting to do at a given time, such as yesterday when I returned from the market and began my routine. There was a woman walking across the parking lot wearing colorful scrubs and I could tell she was something special, but she soon disappeared just like all the rest. Well, the image brought back those dreams from last year in which I was actually where I wanted and needed to be. Once I finished everything in the house, moving to the garage was accompanied by mental imagery I could not control. Anger was the result. I don’t know what the fuck I can do to get around such situations. Sitting here right now is a prime example of how the past can nearly completely control my mind. This is not good. She can help me, maybe. ‘She’. ‘Her’. Damn it all. I can’t get her to leave my thoughts. This is going to cause more problems. Wait a minute... It already did. While in the garage I was able to further break down the chair parts, plus I disassembled the final chair which had been slated to live in the house. I changed my mind, so it went to pieces like the rest. Now I just have to slice up the remaining flat (slightly curved) segments so they can be tossed away. I also relocated the old table to the patio and moved the picnic table back to its old home on the concrete pad. I then transplanted the pine tree so it can enjoy a larger pot. All of the work was in hopes of eventually moving the new twin bed to the spare bedroom. I’ll get to that eventually. The motivation came from seeing my precious garage filled with stuff after I spent years trying to yield empty space out there. 0909. I have my last cup of coffee and the fourth show on the big television screen. This morning has not been ideal, though. The imagery and feelings took my mind away and I have to get it back. I don’t even know how. The hills have disappeared into a haze of fog this morning. Yesterday was much the same, meaning while in the garage I had to don a light sweatshirt. I am not used to doing that after months of mild to warm weather and the house remaining very consistent. I need to stay inside for a while, anyway. There is much organization on tap and the usual routine to be completed. The show – my loving, extended family – shall follow me at each step. I may yet switch to the gangsters, however. Seeing Jamie yesterday fucked my head up so bad that I had to move away from that show, but while alone it is not as difficult (in some ways). Her character pulls at my heart more than any fucking thing in the world, past or present. More than anything. I don’t know how it happened, even after all this time. In no uncertain terms, I am completely IN LOVE with her. She could save me from everything. She looked up and smiled with those big, beautiful eyes shooting little cupid arrows into my smashed heart. I need her to hold me and tell me that everything will be alright, but... There is a word attached. A word that ruins it all. Anyway, if I switch shows at some point, I’ll have to stay away from the keyboard and try to focus upon the housework. I don’t think anyone wants to read more about Jamie. Oh, and yesterday one of my favorite songs played in the garage at close to dangerous volume. I’ve brought it up before, I think. The singer’s name is JAMIE. Heh. Not funny. 1046. Half the routine is finished, as is my custom of late. I can’t seem to care for everything concurrently these days. The cocktail notwithstanding, I tend to work on either one half or the other, and then feel the need to sit here and type. Moreover, I see the big eyes on the screen again in all their high definition glory. They may well be the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Keep in mind the feeling has grown exponentially since the beginning of the pandemic, and have aligned with my deep-seated need for help. The dream of Jamie and I walking along a dirt road on farmland likely amplified everything. Conversely, my gushing about her for years probably created the dream in the first place. I am still that little boy who becomes enamored with the subject of an emotional dream, mostly those in which I am being held in a loving manner and by a beautiful woman. Well, beauty does not rise higher than Jamie. The hand-holding is the same. The routine has been split, even delayed at times, because the trouble inherent in believing I can be ‘saved’ takes over my psyche and forces me to sit here and explore my feelings. I begin to yearn for comfort, fall down, and then lose the drive to do any housework. Later, I feel bad for ceasing the effort and then pick up where I left off. This is a symptom, really. Two years ago when I was making the drive twice daily and had just installed the television in the kitchen, the routine was very comforting. That feeling has faded in the space of a month, and I know why. I am too weak to avoid typing about everything that is going through my broken head. ‘Her’. Oh my fucking God, when she walks into the apartment with her hair down and a smile, my heart leaps like never before. I believe Jamie has the sweetest eyes on the planet. So in love with her... That is a fucking enormous problem – that last statement. The entire scale of beauty and love has been permanently skewed due to my feelings for a fictional character. You wanna talk about an unhealthy and unrealistic way of living? It doesn’t get much worse. Wait... It will get worse. I already know my feelings for her will continue to grow and become more ridiculous as the days roll under my trucks. This train has only one destination. As if I wasn’t already completely fucked in the head, I realized that much of what I have been saying is my own doing. At least I know. Maybe Jamie’s character is ‘her’. And maybe time travels backward at the speed of light. Equally impossible. There should be an accelerometer inside me to track and record my regression. This is just so bad. I can’t say that enough. Fuck, there she is again, hair down. Good God... What in the sweet fuck have I become? Say it with me – so in love with her. My feelings are going to preclude ANYTHING in the world blowing my skirt up because nothing can compare to imagination and an impossible dream. Period. I am creating the doom. Would you like to read another horrible thought? The way my heart feels right now tells me truthfully that my past relationships cannot compare. That means that my love for people throughout decades may not have been real. All of them. I love her. The cliché is as follows; ‘I’ve never felt this way about anyone’. Well, I have not. I fucking love her so much that there are not enough words, letters, days, anything. Not enough. I can’t stress this enough. Maybe I should have stuck with science fiction programs. I don’t understand why Finn has the hots for Felicia when he is in a relationship with the most beautiful, kind and sweet woman imaginable. Yes, Felicia is adorable and exotic, plus showing off darkness and lovely hair, but Jesus... She is a tiny asteroid floating inside a universe of amazing beauty that is Jamie. And you thought I went on a tirade about Jolene? The two could not be more different, trust me. I am recalling ‘Jolaimora’... Jolene, Jamie, Nora. All vastly different, but all in my heart. And don’t take issue with the spelling because there has been a deeply loving correlation between Jamie on the television and Jaime the machine that I created in the fiction. The point is that of the three, Jolene and Nora are objects of desire, whereas Jamie may be the only woman I have ever truly loved. Jesus fucking Christ on a rubber crutch in Winter, did you read that? I don’t know if there is a person anywhere in the world more fucked up and out of balance than yours truly. Not kidding. I feel so disfigured that I would have to attain a doctorate in English grammar to fully get the fucking point across. I am so in love with her... Sunday morning. Coffee and gangsters, cats and Jamie. Yesterday I fabricated a ten-foot extension for powering the truck’s main board and motors. I then connected everything and drove it across the garage floor a few times. Other than one of the wheels appearing a little crooked, everything worked fine. I am still considering scrapping the entire steering system in favor of twin high-torque servos. That would represent a good month of work and I don’t care. The other motor is still squealing whenever I increase the speed from the transmitter. Perhaps those little gearboxes are without decent longevity. That motor has to stay for the time being, though. The primary drive is not easy to modify. Remember the dog walker? What was that... Like two years ago? Wow. I ran a search and it appears the first mention was just after the county-wide shutdown during spring of twenty. Anyway, I saw a different girl walking a beautiful dog yesterday, one which shoved the original figure to the rear with great force. The appearance of such a gorgeous form strolling along the sidewalk caught me off-guard because I’ve seen very little out there for months. And now there is Jamie on the screen, no makeup and hair all fucked up, looking like everything of which I have ever dreamed, yearned for, or needed wrapped around my broken self. Jesus, if I could just be near her for a little while, maybe I’d feel a bit better. Ugh. So, the girl walking the dog quickly became just one more ridiculous example of how weak I’ve become. The van is backed into the driveway these days, meaning I don’t have a clear view of the street like prior to parking it. I craned my neck a bit and then jumped off the stool to move across the garage and watch her walk for three fucking seconds. Do you fucking believe this? I could be in the encyclopedia under ‘desperation’ or ‘things to avoid in life’. What a maroon. I am a fragment of what I used to be and even less of what I could have been. A girl walking a dog in black pants derailed my truck work and caused me to take a break and regain my composure, all while I was completely alone. No wonder I’ve fallen in love with fiction. I remember Richard, the calibration coordinator slash asset officer at our largest client in ninety-six. He was the type to keep to himself all the time and only wandered the halls when necessary. I got the impression that he had been trying to avoid a portion of the goddess contingent that was typically everywhere in those days. That company must have had ten times its share of attractive women. I had much difficulty working in those laboratories most of the time. Anyway, Richard was pretty fucking shy and introverted, sometimes to the point of trying desperately to catch a glimpse of a beautiful woman every now and then; the rest of the time being holed up in his big office. I am beginning to head in the same direction, seeing everything out there in society as actually not real. More like a dream world, and one I am not allowed to enjoy. Unattainable, just like happiness and fulfillment, even in small measure. I think the main reason for Jamie appearing in this content so much is because when I see her up there I feel infinitely more than while gazing at anyone else. She has everything, honestly, from the fucking lines to the darkness and on to the most beautiful, feeling eyes I have ever seen. Sometimes when I look at her I feel pain in my heart because she is not real. Other times? I just daydream and recall walking the farmland while we held hands. Jamie was right next to me, something of which I have desperately yearned for years. Those eyes were sensitive and understanding to the point of making me insane. Upon awakening that morning, I wanted to go outside and slam my head into the concrete over and over. She was right there and I knew everything would be alright, and then she was torn away along with sections of my heart. There is a distinct possibility that my lack of mentioning her in this content throughout the last few months is solely due to my search for ‘her’. Well, Jamie is probably ‘her’. Maybe. And then? Maybe not. Much like some other key terms here, her name is an idea... An image of what I so desperately need in life. The word ‘her’ is the same. Recently, the pronoun ‘her’ or when I speak of the ‘girl’, they are carrying the same meaning: Need. All those terms have stemmed from the dream I’ve had for years; someone to save me. And here I go again repeating myself with different sentences. This is not easy. I mean, I’ve basically laid out so much of my personality that I wouldn’t be surprised if some random person sends me an email asking if this is real or just a fucking plea for help. The ideas all add up. The sum is impossible. Jamie is portraying (or, has portrayed) a fictional character just like the others. Not a real person, nor anyone I can ever know personally. This is so stupid. ‘Her’ is the word I’ve decided to use because I don’t know what else to do. I love ‘her’, yet I have not one fucking clue as to who that person may be. Probably no one. I created an idea and have tried over and over to put a face to it. I guess I’m in love with an idea. I turned off the gangsters in favor of the early game from London, just like last week. And I can’t look at Jamie sometimes because there is too much pain involved. I am to be alone, forever. Such a fact has more leverage on me than anything else in life. I wish I didn’t know. I have the usual business today -- routine, garbage, laundry -- and then my football game is on at 1300. I'm going to try having everything finished by then, after which I'll either sit here with my lunch and the game or put on the television in the garage. Jeez. I just had to reboot the system in order to regain a connection to the cloud. That does not happen often at all, but I do understand the complexity. No big deal. I can always work offline if necessary. Anyway, I’ll have some time to myself today for the business, which I plan to begin prior to pouring my last cup of coffee. As I mentioned up the page somewhere, I’d like to have most of my housework out of the way by kickoff. Afterward, I don’t really care. My head is so fucked these days that whenever I can be busy, the bad things fall away for a time. Well, not as often as I would prefer, but considering my current situation and emotional condition, anything positive is embraced as if I need it to continue living. Sunday business can be enjoyable. I hope it lives up to that statement today. I could really use a lift right now. 0908. I took care of half the routine and subsequent trash work. That is a big head start to my day. I also have laundry going already. This is very good. I stated that I wanted to have a few things completed prior to my last cup of coffee, and here we are. Excellent. The football game is still up there on my big television. I don’t want to go back to the show just yet because Jamie in the sixth season can be too much for my weakened heart. There is another project I’d like to tackle today, and that is moving the twin bed into the spare bedroom. I’m sure it will take roughly half an hour or less, yet the idea is not inviting. I have to clean and move the cat litter tray in order to fit the bed. Ugh. I can do it, though. The other nagging task is the remaining greenery on the shrub in the backyard. That has not advanced in several weeks due to the warm weather. Well, there has been very little sunshine for some days, so I should get out there with the saw and take care of it once and for all. I also need to toss the remaining dill plants into the green can. Neither should take long at all. To me, and considering my condition of late, this sounds like a ton of work, but the truth is none of those little items is terribly difficult. I just have to take a step and then everything will fall into place. Maybe I’ll feel a little better about myself afterward. I could sure use it. This probably means avoiding Jamie until after my football game this afternoon. She is already in my heart about as deep as possible. More visions of her big eyes are going to cause a fall. I can’t fucking have that today. Honestly, I still can’t believe how strong my feelings are for a fucking fictional character. What the fuck happened to me? Don’t answer that. This day is looking better and better as I sit here and ponder what I need to do. Unfortunately, the underlying issues are attempting to stymie my consideration of one of my favorite days of the week. No, not those four issues I railroaded for years. They are not the same now as in the past, although number one has led me to many a downtrodden, shitty mindset recently. Number one is the obsession. Number two doesn’t even fucking matter anymore because I am completely alone in the world. My only friends are on television. Three? Eh... That is the ‘word’ and society’s ability to both ridicule and/or trivialize anything deeply troubling and personal. And four... Well, I’ll be wrestling with that one until I die. The fact is, three out of four have lost importance in my mind in favor of the damaging dream and the way I related three key terms to my desperation in life. Despite the sheer level of power some issues have over me, I can still rise and work as needed. The reward will be the accomplishments, and those will lead to the football game. Win or lose, I really love watching. I need to cease the internal questioning regarding ‘how’ I could have fallen for fiction. The damaging dreams took me from myself recently and have forced even more questioning, most of which I cannot discuss here or with another person. There was the ‘image’, and that is something I’ll never understand (I will say that the image was close to me at one point, believe it or not). The ‘girl’ has become a conglomeration of everything I need, and as far as ‘her’ is concerned, well... I’ve created too many crossovers between fiction, actual people I’ve known, and the dream that something will darken my doorstep and save my fucking life. ‘Her’. My favorite pronoun is now as large a concern as the dreams of that fucking girl. There is too much now, honestly. Too much. I dreamed of Jamie and the two of us together (knowing), and then I dreamed of the bra strap and all that other shit, and then... Yep, that girl next to me. That was another situation in which we ‘knew’. The bottom fucking line is that I am overwhelmed by desperation and need to the point of driving myself insane. There you go. I am crazy for help; in more need and in the worst situation in life that I could have imagined in a million years, so the tiniest smidgen of understanding or feeling that I ‘know’ sends me on an unending tangent that is very difficult to explain. 1129 and here I am again. I have the entire routine finished, laundry in process, and the trash has been collated for later tossing. This has been a very nice head start to the day, especially considering the three-hour game to kick off in an hour and a half. Naturally, there is a big glass of whiskey next to me. I need it, and if that sounds bad, well... Then it fucking sounds bad. I could give a shit about the consequences anymore. Comfort is key. I am considering scrapping the current game in favor of the gangsters and whatever hearts and bunnies begin to float through me as I see Jamie and her incomparable fucking eyes. I AM SO IN LOVE WITH HER THAT I’M LOSING MY FUCKING MIND. Just a thought. Tired of Jamie? Live with it. I have to live with the fact that my entire life is an impossible dream world and nothing can ever come of it (aside from being fucking committed). This is what I’ve become, and I would appreciate any suggestion of how to label such a condition. I am at a loss. Onward... Prior to kickoff, I intend to chop the shrub and pull the dead dill plants for the green can. Working with the saw and nippers combined with loud music is typically therapeutic. I like the fact that no one EVER takes issue with my neighbor or me blasting music from either garage, or both. I believe they already know that as homeowners, we are given some free reign – no, not the type I really need to survive, but a substitute – to enjoy the atmosphere of the yard and driveway without restriction. Believe me when I say that when he is in a bad mood, the entire neighborhood quickly becomes aware of the weight. I am the same, meaning the music will accompany the stifling sound of my cordless reciprocating saw. I’ll be out there once the whiskey is gone. It will be missed. I would give up all of my dreams for a few minutes of... I have physical problems that came about earlier this year of a type I don’t understand. The dreams do not help, nor does knowing of my future path in life. The day has been very positive, yet no matter how far ‘up’ I may feel while being very productive and goal-oriented, underneath everything are problems. And no, I will not refer to them as ‘challenges’ because that term is too often one-sided. This experience is making me crazy, and not in a fleeting, trivial way. I am referring to a very dangerous definition of crazy. The atmosphere in the backyard will soon demonstrate my mood. Still no Jamie on the television. I can’t look at her right now. I can’t look at... ‘Her’. 1729. Lots of stuff completed today. Everything I set out to do is finished, plus I went a little further by caring for the garage. This is very good. I had time to watch the entire game – which was great – along with a nice lunch. All would seem to be fine on this Sunday, yet that is wrong. I have been going out of my mind with some of what has been discussed here. I have the fourth show on again instead of the gangsters. Jamie would be too painful for me. Even this show occasionally carries its fair share of damaging visions, and the episode which just ended was fucking full of them. I’ll spare you the details. Just believe it. The inside of my head is a very detailed map of certain aspects of life I have already railroaded over and over for years, and none of it will leave me alone this afternoon. In a little while I will prepare dinner and then roll the cans to the curb. My heart requires extensive repair right now, but unfortunately the destruction cannot be reversed. Not in reality, anyway. All my needs are either unrealistic or downright impossible. This is a bad time. Monday morning, 0656. Coffee and Jamie on the television. The trouble yesterday continued all the way until I went to bed. I then dreamed of something having to do with the lighting in my garage prior to waking. I’m glad there was nothing further. I can’t recall the last time I dreamed of love and understanding. Several days, or longer. I’m guessing they will return when least expected. For the time being, there is already plenty of information piled up inside for me to gush, bitch, whatever, for my remaining years. As much as I’d love to see that girl again in those dreams which have damaged and jaded me somewhat, perhaps a lack of her might be easier on my brain. Those visions lead to all manner of concern and my imagining being where and with whom I need. Well, that is just not going to happen. Despite my out of balance desperation when there is a face of some sort, the truth is I have no faith in the ‘good’ any longer. Nothing is there for me because I see no reason for the ‘good’ to come to my doorstep. No reason. I mean... Who the fuck am I to garner love and understanding? There is Fiona (I mention her every single time she’s on the screen). One question showing concern and her facial expression just kill me. I don’t know why, but each occasion stops me in my tracks and I have to watch and listen. The scene just rolled by this morning. Today should be pretty mellow, I guess. All the work yesterday can support my sticking to the truck for a while. I still need to relocate the twin bed, but that will happen soon enough. I took care of everything else yesterday. I need to think about my place in the world this morning, meaning I may be sitting here quite a while. Whatever is going on out there in the world can fucking wait. I'm sure the hour will arrive when I feel like branching and working on whatever seems best. That point always comes along no matter how I feel. Yesterday, the work in the yard didn't feel appealing at all, yet I went out there and cleaned up the shrub work to where the entire picture is very neat and much nicer than in the past. I hadn't touched it for a couple of months because I couldn't get myself to care. I don't know what happened yesterday but I'm glad to see it finished. Well, one possibility was my head being so sideways that I was losing grip on life and forced myself to get the hell away from as much thinking as I could. That idea could be the very reason I do ANYTHING around this house -- just to keep my fucking head from imploding. I don't need that shit. Have I covered everything possible? Every aspect of ‘her’? God damn it all... There she is again. The scene when she is with Tony and says hello to Jason Barone. When she turns and smiles, the entire planet runs aslant in a very bad way. That is one of the moments when I need her the most, and then I completely flatten because it’s fictional, in the past by fifteen years, and has absolutely nothing to do with my fucking problems. She was over there many years ago, and everything in the universe has changed since then, mostly me. I suppose I should keep in mind that every paragraph is going to be derailed in some way if I continue watching this series. I was trying to understand the word ‘her’ and all I’ve tried to cover in this entry, but the big eyes killed me again. Maybe I am just not meant to understand anything in the world. That kind of thinking really hurts, though I can't deny the possibility. I’m gonna lose my shit one of these mornings. I’ve already seen everything. Different situations, scenes, behavior... Everything. I already know what is happening and sometimes I even have an inkling as to why. But over here? Where I am? There is only thinking, thinking, and then more thinking due to the lack of more than I would care to splay all over this entry. The idea of ‘her’ comes to mind hundreds of times each day, leaving me to daydream and become detached from reality all too often. I just don’t know what can be done about this fucking situation. ‘Her’. The girl with the power to save my fucking life. I don’t understand how the decisions and paths from my past have driven the train into this wasteland of pain and concern. Yes, some was my doing. Not everything, though. Not everything. The ‘image’ is a good example of how the world can operate seemingly outside what is real. The tangible aspects of society would be enough, yet the ‘image’ is an ideal symbol for my mass of confusion over the whole issue. None of this is going to make any sense. I can barely follow all my shit. Anyway, the terms continue to leave me without hope each day because all three – regardless of whether or not they can be combined into one huge dream – may reside just beyond my understanding forever. This is not the end of such a line."
Her II
Mature content No. 337 Published October 10th, 2022 8:54am pdt read ( words) Past entries
"You had better prepare yourself for a shitload of Jamie. Put on a helmet. 1225. I have to drive to the city in a little while to pick up an item that cannot wait until the weekend. Thank goodness I already consumed the morning cocktail, otherwise this would be a huge trial. I don’t need anything tough right now, meaning the slight numbing will come in handy along with some decent music for the ride. Upon returning, I’ll take care of the second half of my routine. It should not take long. My new drill bit index arrived on the porch, too. Oh, fuck. All over again. The cuteness and my heart leaping out of my chest. This is my typical Wednesday morning with coffee and my show, yet the images are commanding my thoughts today. I guess some time will have to elapse before I can consider other aspects of the morning or latter part of the day. I still see her and hear that voice... And there is more. My brain immediately manufactured images of her lines which then took me away from myself nearly far enough to preclude behaving like an actual human being. Lines again, just like driving out of the airport or the trip to the wine store or a thousand other incidents. This one was different, though. My thoughts were immediately deviant and carnal. A heretic, to be sure. There will be more of this. The drive to the city yesterday was without incident. Some nice music and a smooth trip. We slid into the north end market on the way home for a few items, as well. I then made some lunch and watched one of the typical evening programs for a while before moving into the garage. I tried to complete some organization out there but wasn’t really feeling it. A few things moved and some crap went into the trash can, nothing more. I mostly worked on the truck axles in an effort to further smooth the rotation. I succeeded, actually. Sometimes when I go out there with the intention of tossing stuff into the garbage, I end up looking around and doing very little of anything, let alone an accomplishment. I guess I just wasn’t feeling it. Well, being derailed for the tenth time by visions of lines didn’t help, either. Maybe I will do better today. The most important step in such an idea is to attempt to push her out of my head for a little while. I have to be able to function. Yesterday was bad and I don’t want this morning to head in a similar direction. I can’t have that right now. She is becoming far more important than I would have thought a few months ago and I am worse off for the feelings. There is apparently nothing I can do about this. I just have to lump it. ‘Her’. ‘Girl’. ‘Image’. I may have been somewhat preoccupied last night, but I still performed the work on each steering hub and accomplished my goal. Afterward? I placed the truck on the floor of the garage and drove it to the limit of the power cable while simultaneously operating the steering for the first time ever. I have been concerned about stressing the steering cables (wire ropes, really) due to the weight and footprint of such huge tires. I did not want to swing the system at all unless the truck was in motion, thus reducing the chances of something going awry. I did it, and with half a snootful. The steering moves very slowly, but it worked. First. Time. Ever. I am tempted to run the thing off batteries, too. It would be freed from the cabling and allowed to move around for further testing. The downside is cost, as usual. Roughly four hundred for two batteries and a charger. Ugh. I am not going to do that right now. Bigger fish. Deviant and carnal. Desire off the fucking scale, and I am referring to the grand scale. Much like three years ago, the feelings are out of fucking control and more powerful than I can put into words (see the essay which mates with this mess). Three years ago. That was the time. Now? Just memories. Nothing but memories. The draw returns quite often and I continue to equate one with the other no matter what may have been true or false. One side is definitely true, and the other helped to create the image. I don't know if the other side was false or not, honestly. Most of the time I don't want to know. The image will not change, though. Not a bit. The desire dictates the image and helps it to take over my mind all too often. Her, too. This is bad. Everything is being fused. Sometimes I see far more than should be allowed. What I do with the information should also be disallowed. Mark my fucking words, I am not well and do not ponder these subjects like a balanced individual. 0903. Last of the coffee and Roxann looking and sounding absolutely fucking adorable beyond belief. I’ve always liked her, and this episode is a tour de force of her acting ability, right down to the slightest expressions. I can’t decide if her cuteness outshines her performance, but the fact is I appreciate both. I’ll have to hop to the routine very soon and then try to think past the norm. Sometimes the work helps, and today it is important because of the thoughts in my head. Again, see the other entry. I don’t know how I feel about myself anymore. I am hoping that once I move away from the IDE and get into something productive, my brain will push further than the last few days and allow me to step outside my typical routine and accomplish more. I honestly need it right now due to feeling partially worthless at times. I have the clock to myself nearly every hour of every day, so more should have been addressed after two-plus years of being out of the workforce. I really mean that, too. I suppose all of the turmoil, past issues and troubling situations which have come to pass have affected me severely. I feel paralyzed too often, and I simply cannot have much more of that. I don’t want to flip out. Not now, anyway. I am tired. Whichever wins the fight, be it the house or garage, the fact is I have to go further with the work today. My mental health is at stake. Not good, but at least I know what I have to do. I've been in the same frame of mind for months and it is not fucking good by any means. I need three thousand different things right now but can only grasp two. ‘This is bad, my friends.’ It is bad. I want it... ‘Her’... To the extent of feeling pain in more ways than one. I need to combine all three and gain that most wondrous and utopian representation for myself, and for all time. I need it so fucking bad that sometimes I can’t see straight. This is not like the Passion, either. It is a much more powerful draw; yet still one equally impossible. Improbable? Nope. Not even close. Not by a damned sight, people. Impossible is the only term I can employ here. ‘Her’... The end-all be-all of human existence. To me, anyway. I have been routed to this; driven. I have been affected to the point of massive, overpowering desperation and need. ‘This is bad, my friends.’ Indeed. I don’t know what to do, nor do I know if the fucking work can alleviate one fucking smidgen. I just... Don’t know anymore. God damn shit fuck hell, anyway. I want her SO FUCKING BAD. A billion miles away. I believe the operative term here is ‘unrequited’. Not good. The lines led to interest and then obsession. The obsession led to overwhelming desire. The desire led to desperation. The desperation led me to look. Now I am fallen, bereft of joy, and absent of hope. I will keep writing. I don’t know what the fuck else to do. 0944. I still have yet to move away from the editor and do something else. Drinking? Yes, and that right soon. I can’t fucking help it. The booze provides a touch of numbness and allows me to relax a bit. Well, enough to complete some chores, anyway. It is a habit, for sure. At least I keep the consumption to just one glass. On too many occasions have I gone into a second glass and donned the MDRs, only to find myself heavily depressed and borderline suicidal soon after. There is a huge plus in that last statement. I have learned something. I’ve learned that the dire thinking after too much alcohol is artificial and can be avoided. I actually fucking learned something. Amazing. The lesson is far from enough, however. Very far. My needs have outweighed damaging thoughts. My needs are a very different source of damage. There are certain combinations of which I must remain clear. I have typed so many negative words over the years that I find it difficult to branch into other terms. Maybe the positives are diminishing.
0929, Thursday morning. Half the routine is finished and I have a bit of coffee left. The fourth show is gracing my big screen for the time being, although I’ve been considering switching to the gangsters once finished here. I have also been finalizing the daughter board so I can get it ordered and further the project. I already have parts on their way to my brightly-lit doorstop. 0802 on Friday with coffee and the usual show. And since I’m in the third season again, there is Sarah with her big eyes and gorgeous lips. Damn. She was the defining end of the ‘cute’ scale during the nineties. Sarah has one of those faces that made me want to kiss her for months on end. Some sort of draw there that I cannot fully define. I think the sight of her reminded me that there were dreams this morning, very early, which I cannot fully recall. There was something intimate, though. I can feel it. Maybe all of the difficulty and sadness pushed such a sleep state on me. I think about her on and off every day, so the idea that I keep cramming myself full of visions and other imagery while dreaming of impossible situations likely will not allow me to rest comfortably. There is too much in operation right now. As I said, I think about her throughout each day no matter what I may be doing at a given time. I’m sure all of the latent dream images and memories are caused by my imagination working overtime. I can’t help it. Everything in my life appears dull and meaningless when held against the power of the girl and the image. Even when I am in the garage and deep into some very technical work on the truck, the sight of her pops into my head at random moments and forces me to take a pause. Worse, sometimes I see something that sends me flying off in bad directions, such as a person walking by my open garage. Believe it or not, every time I see a soft face turn and look in my direction, there is a very desperate, very sad little part of me that questions, ‘Is that her?’. Yes, such a state of mind is both insane and very unhealthy. I know. I am still waiting for that girl to come and save me. And now I have to stop talking about this or my day will end before it has a chance to begin. I ordered the remaining parts and the board itself yesterday. If I leave the thing on the computer, I’ll continue to unnecessarily tweak the design for weeks. The board needs to be built and connected, so I left it alone and placed the order. It is going to solve lots of little issues and expand the function of the main board. I am looking forward to seeing the completed project in place. Yesterday I disassembled the temporary mosfet setup to get the main board ready for expansion and ran additional testing on the drive. One thing I failed to mention yesterday is the hub/axle situation. For years, whenever I installed the wheels they could not be fully tightened due to the wheel axles seizing against the inside of each hub. Apparently, I had the e-clips and washers mixed up which allowed everything to hold tight to the aluminum hubs themselves. After experimenting and moving a few things around, the wheels now rotate freely while completely tight against the axles. All I need to do now is await a set of coupling nuts to replace the thumb hardware so they can be wrenched instead of hand tight. The other night I actually placed the truck on the garage floor and drove it forward and back while operating the steering. To my surprise, there was no power issue within the steering. I still believe the system lacks enough torque to swing the four wheels without the vehicle rolling, much like a real car with manual steering. I may yet replace the entire self-made steering system with a servo on each axle in the interest of being able to drive the truck without worry. That would represent a blow to my design, however. I both like and dislike the idea, although such a change may be necessary to avoid breaking parts. My impractical design and engineering have succeeded, and that means simplifying everything so I can run the truck is not a failure. My system has worked. It’s just one-sided with regard to movement, meaning if the wheels hit something they cannot turn without the wire ropes pulling loose. Normally, an impact can force the servo(s) to rotate, therefore adding some ‘cushion’. The way I designed the steering is such that the steering cannot be forced to move by way of the wheels, only the motor. As I said, all the work that has gone into the system is a success. 0931. I have to drive south in a little while to drop off some items. On the return trip I will swing into the market for a few things for dinner tonight. I honestly hope there is nothing to see because the entire morning has been an uphill battle. I have been trying desperately to keep my head in line and avoid falling down. Also, I had to switch to the gangsters because Paramount’s streaming application is fucked again. Now I have to see Jamie, as if there is not enough driving nails into my head already. Perhaps the drive and time involved will help me to remain upright when I arrive home. Right now I need to sit here and relax with the last of my coffee. I am completely sideways and out of my mind. I’ve never felt so fucking depressed. For years I’ve thought to myself that what I am asking is not out of line. I just need... ‘Her’. There has been far too much insouciance in my life, and at the hands of those I would rather avoid, honestly. Again, this is all time and fucking circumstance. My condition has taken a set and forced the idea that whatever may come along in the future will most likely be quickly destroyed due to desperation. Questioning my verisimilitude will only cause more destruction. Lying here on the site is akin to cheating at solitaire. Get it? I am not well. 1200. High noon. Maybe Gary Cooper will come up the driveway and challenge me with a draw. I took the drive and returned with a brief stop at the market. The only bad part of the whole shitaree was my brain. I have half the routine finished but decided to take a pause while I finish my enormous glass of depressant (whiskey). I indeed saw Jamie twice while cleaning the kitchen. I love her. I need her. I need ‘her’. I don’t know what I am anymore. A word comes to mind. In a little while I am going to reconfigure the spare bedroom a little bit to fit the newly-inherited twin bed. The storage containers can sit atop the mattress for the time being, or at least until we hit a massive lottery windfall and expand this house while I sit on the stern of a huge yacht. That means they will reside there forever. I have a bit of dry cleaning and organization, too. Other than those chores, my plan is to take it easy. Thank Christ Friday is one of those days in which I drink alcohol. Oh, God... There she is again. I believe anyone who has visited here in the last two-plus years already has a decent idea of how I feel about her character, but let me say in no uncertain terms that my love for her is beyond even that of Jolene, and very different, as unlikely as that may sound. Wow, do I ever need her to hold me. So sad. Everything is just so fucking sad. I am sad, and I don’t refer to just the mood. I am a sad individual. Sad, meaning pathetic. The eyes have it. My eyes? The toughest job in my history is hiding everything. I am a master of the most elaborate bullshit facade. I need her. I need ‘her’. Maybe I need too much. The whiskey is going away fast. I don’t understand why some of Adriana’s bras seem to have two straps atop each cup. Well, at least one bra. I am no expert on lingerie, believe me. The style is nice, though. Oh, maybe they are the types which convert from one strap configuration to another? Maybe? You know, the straps can be removed (I think) so they can be worn under a strapless or off-the-shoulder dress. I could be wrong, however. Eh... Fuck it. I don’t know. Ade is a sister in my heart, nothing more. There is only one bra commanding my attention these days, anyway, and I can’t talk about it. I keep picturing a goddess... Andrea next to me as we stood by the Bellagio fountains. I am not the type to employ what I've always considered 'vulgarity' when speaking to a woman, but what she whispered into my ear at that moment was endearing, loving, and any number of other descriptors which made my heart fucking explode. Never before did such a thing happen. Never. And since? Nope. Not even the Raven and the 'sailor-language' that emanated from Her beautiful mouth on too many occasions to recall. 'Fuck me'. I should have killed myself after hearing Andrea's booties click across the marble floor as she exited my life, not to mention the universe of love, caring and understanding we had created. Had I done so, much pain would have been averted. More pain, in fact, that one person should have to endure. And? FUCK YOU FOR THINKING I AM FEELING SORRY FOR MYSELF. That is the last position I would EVER take. Just... Fuck you. I am lonely, angry, desperate, and have been disregarded for so long that I've been driven to this. I do not feel sorry for myself. I feel sorry for people who must deal with me. Believe it, motherfucks. Approach my fucking garage on a weekday. I'll show you.
Saturday morning, early. I’ll have a touch of morning business and then a few hours alone. I ended yesterday pretty fucked up, too. This morning I’ll need some time to cool off before any possible interaction with people. I took care of business, went outside the routine a bit, and then worked on the truck for a while. My mood never improved from the morning. I just worked and daydreamed of her, as usual. Moving around the house yesterday was very tiring, as if I had a trailer hitch attached to my back and I was hauling a container full of problems with each step. At one point I became so distraught that I began to increase the volume of the music and the rate at which I had been consuming beer. All that shit came to a head in the evening when I couldn’t follow along with the show. I fell down, became quite rankled, and made a short, very pointed speech about my inability to both hear and recall details. That shit blew over and I started feeling sadder than ever. I’ll admit that the item I ordered as a representation of the past didn’t fucking help. The comparator is here. It reminds me of working inside my dad’s place of employment during the late nineties. That was one of the most fascinating and enjoyable jobs ever. Seeing the comparator sent me flying, and then to add all the shit already on my mind prior to opening the package, well... I was pretty upset. Post-glow, for sure, yet still a wondrous period for a while. Last night was the type of situation that I must learn to avoid entirely. Damn. This morning? Everything is fine. Mostly. Sarah was just twenty-five when this episode first aired. Wow. I guess I still want to kiss her for months at a time. More, even. Never mind. 0806. I am trying to keep my head together and think clearly. God damn, this guest actor is amazing. Her waist is accentuated by height. Beautiful. I need the image to leave my mind, yet the more I try to push it away, the more it tends to overtake whatever I am attempting to do at a given time, such as yesterday when I returned from the market and began my routine. There was a woman walking across the parking lot wearing colorful scrubs and I could tell she was something special, but she soon disappeared just like all the rest. Well, the image brought back those dreams from last year in which I was actually where I wanted and needed to be. Once I finished everything in the house, moving to the garage was accompanied by mental imagery I could not control. Anger was the result. I don’t know what the fuck I can do to get around such situations. Sitting here right now is a prime example of how the past can nearly completely control my mind. This is not good. She can help me, maybe. ‘She’. ‘Her’. Damn it all. I can’t get her to leave my thoughts. This is going to cause more problems. Wait a minute... It already did. While in the garage I was able to further break down the chair parts, plus I disassembled the final chair which had been slated to live in the house. I changed my mind, so it went to pieces like the rest. Now I just have to slice up the remaining flat (slightly curved) segments so they can be tossed away. I also relocated the old table to the patio and moved the picnic table back to its old home on the concrete pad. I then transplanted the pine tree so it can enjoy a larger pot. All of the work was in hopes of eventually moving the new twin bed to the spare bedroom. I’ll get to that eventually. The motivation came from seeing my precious garage filled with stuff after I spent years trying to yield empty space out there. 0909. I have my last cup of coffee and the fourth show on the big television screen. This morning has not been ideal, though. The imagery and feelings took my mind away and I have to get it back. I don’t even know how. The hills have disappeared into a haze of fog this morning. Yesterday was much the same, meaning while in the garage I had to don a light sweatshirt. I am not used to doing that after months of mild to warm weather and the house remaining very consistent. I need to stay inside for a while, anyway. There is much organization on tap and the usual routine to be completed. The show – my loving, extended family – shall follow me at each step. I may yet switch to the gangsters, however. Seeing Jamie yesterday fucked my head up so bad that I had to move away from that show, but while alone it is not as difficult (in some ways). Her character pulls at my heart more than any fucking thing in the world, past or present. More than anything. I don’t know how it happened, even after all this time. In no uncertain terms, I am completely IN LOVE with her. She could save me from everything. She looked up and smiled with those big, beautiful eyes shooting little cupid arrows into my smashed heart. I need her to hold me and tell me that everything will be alright, but... There is a word attached. A word that ruins it all. Anyway, if I switch shows at some point, I’ll have to stay away from the keyboard and try to focus upon the housework. I don’t think anyone wants to read more about Jamie. Oh, and yesterday one of my favorite songs played in the garage at close to dangerous volume. I’ve brought it up before, I think. The singer’s name is JAMIE. Heh. Not funny. 1046. Half the routine is finished, as is my custom of late. I can’t seem to care for everything concurrently these days. The cocktail notwithstanding, I tend to work on either one half or the other, and then feel the need to sit here and type. Moreover, I see the big eyes on the screen again in all their high definition glory. They may well be the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. Keep in mind the feeling has grown exponentially since the beginning of the pandemic, and have aligned with my deep-seated need for help. The dream of Jamie and I walking along a dirt road on farmland likely amplified everything. Conversely, my gushing about her for years probably created the dream in the first place. I am still that little boy who becomes enamored with the subject of an emotional dream, mostly those in which I am being held in a loving manner and by a beautiful woman. Well, beauty does not rise higher than Jamie. The hand-holding is the same. The routine has been split, even delayed at times, because the trouble inherent in believing I can be ‘saved’ takes over my psyche and forces me to sit here and explore my feelings. I begin to yearn for comfort, fall down, and then lose the drive to do any housework. Later, I feel bad for ceasing the effort and then pick up where I left off. This is a symptom, really. Two years ago when I was making the drive twice daily and had just installed the television in the kitchen, the routine was very comforting. That feeling has faded in the space of a month, and I know why. I am too weak to avoid typing about everything that is going through my broken head. ‘Her’. Oh my fucking God, when she walks into the apartment with her hair down and a smile, my heart leaps like never before. I believe Jamie has the sweetest eyes on the planet. So in love with her... That is a fucking enormous problem – that last statement. The entire scale of beauty and love has been permanently skewed due to my feelings for a fictional character. You wanna talk about an unhealthy and unrealistic way of living? It doesn’t get much worse. Wait... It will get worse. I already know my feelings for her will continue to grow and become more ridiculous as the days roll under my trucks. This train has only one destination. As if I wasn’t already completely fucked in the head, I realized that much of what I have been saying is my own doing. At least I know. Maybe Jamie’s character is ‘her’. And maybe time travels backward at the speed of light. Equally impossible. There should be an accelerometer inside me to track and record my regression. This is just so bad. I can’t say that enough. Fuck, there she is again, hair down. Good God... What in the sweet fuck have I become? Say it with me – so in love with her. My feelings are going to preclude ANYTHING in the world blowing my skirt up because nothing can compare to imagination and an impossible dream. Period. I am creating the doom. Would you like to read another horrible thought? The way my heart feels right now tells me truthfully that my past relationships cannot compare. That means that my love for people throughout decades may not have been real. All of them. I love her. The cliché is as follows; ‘I’ve never felt this way about anyone’. Well, I have not. I fucking love her so much that there are not enough words, letters, days, anything. Not enough. I can’t stress this enough. Maybe I should have stuck with science fiction programs. I don’t understand why Finn has the hots for Felicia when he is in a relationship with the most beautiful, kind and sweet woman imaginable. Yes, Felicia is adorable and exotic, plus showing off darkness and lovely hair, but Jesus... She is a tiny asteroid floating inside a universe of amazing beauty that is Jamie. And you thought I went on a tirade about Jolene? The two could not be more different, trust me. I am recalling ‘Jolaimora’... Jolene, Jamie, Nora. All vastly different, but all in my heart. And don’t take issue with the spelling because there has been a deeply loving correlation between Jamie on the television and Jaime the machine that I created in the fiction. The point is that of the three, Jolene and Nora are objects of desire, whereas Jamie may be the only woman I have ever truly loved. Jesus fucking Christ on a rubber crutch in Winter, did you read that? I don’t know if there is a person anywhere in the world more fucked up and out of balance than yours truly. Not kidding. I feel so disfigured that I would have to attain a doctorate in English grammar to fully get the fucking point across. I am so in love with her...
Sunday morning. Coffee and gangsters, cats and Jamie. Yesterday I fabricated a ten-foot extension for powering the truck’s main board and motors. I then connected everything and drove it across the garage floor a few times. Other than one of the wheels appearing a little crooked, everything worked fine. I am still considering scrapping the entire steering system in favor of twin high-torque servos. That would represent a good month of work and I don’t care. The other motor is still squealing whenever I increase the speed from the transmitter. Perhaps those little gearboxes are without decent longevity. That motor has to stay for the time being, though. The primary drive is not easy to modify. Remember the dog walker? What was that... Like two years ago? Wow. I ran a search and it appears the first mention was just after the county-wide shutdown during spring of twenty. Anyway, I saw a different girl walking a beautiful dog yesterday, one which shoved the original figure to the rear with great force. The appearance of such a gorgeous form strolling along the sidewalk caught me off-guard because I’ve seen very little out there for months. And now there is Jamie on the screen, no makeup and hair all fucked up, looking like everything of which I have ever dreamed, yearned for, or needed wrapped around my broken self. Jesus, if I could just be near her for a little while, maybe I’d feel a bit better. Ugh. So, the girl walking the dog quickly became just one more ridiculous example of how weak I’ve become. The van is backed into the driveway these days, meaning I don’t have a clear view of the street like prior to parking it. I craned my neck a bit and then jumped off the stool to move across the garage and watch her walk for three fucking seconds. Do you fucking believe this? I could be in the encyclopedia under ‘desperation’ or ‘things to avoid in life’. What a maroon. I am a fragment of what I used to be and even less of what I could have been. A girl walking a dog in black pants derailed my truck work and caused me to take a break and regain my composure, all while I was completely alone. No wonder I’ve fallen in love with fiction. I remember Richard, the calibration coordinator slash asset officer at our largest client in ninety-six. He was the type to keep to himself all the time and only wandered the halls when necessary. I got the impression that he had been trying to avoid a portion of the goddess contingent that was typically everywhere in those days. That company must have had ten times its share of attractive women. I had much difficulty working in those laboratories most of the time. Anyway, Richard was pretty fucking shy and introverted, sometimes to the point of trying desperately to catch a glimpse of a beautiful woman every now and then; the rest of the time being holed up in his big office. I am beginning to head in the same direction, seeing everything out there in society as actually not real. More like a dream world, and one I am not allowed to enjoy. Unattainable, just like happiness and fulfillment, even in small measure. I think the main reason for Jamie appearing in this content so much is because when I see her up there I feel infinitely more than while gazing at anyone else. She has everything, honestly, from the fucking lines to the darkness and on to the most beautiful, feeling eyes I have ever seen. Sometimes when I look at her I feel pain in my heart because she is not real. Other times? I just daydream and recall walking the farmland while we held hands. Jamie was right next to me, something of which I have desperately yearned for years. Those eyes were sensitive and understanding to the point of making me insane. Upon awakening that morning, I wanted to go outside and slam my head into the concrete over and over. She was right there and I knew everything would be alright, and then she was torn away along with sections of my heart. There is a distinct possibility that my lack of mentioning her in this content throughout the last few months is solely due to my search for ‘her’. Well, Jamie is probably ‘her’. Maybe. And then? Maybe not. Much like some other key terms here, her name is an idea... An image of what I so desperately need in life. The word ‘her’ is the same. Recently, the pronoun ‘her’ or when I speak of the ‘girl’, they are carrying the same meaning: Need. All those terms have stemmed from the dream I’ve had for years; someone to save me. And here I go again repeating myself with different sentences. This is not easy. I mean, I’ve basically laid out so much of my personality that I wouldn’t be surprised if some random person sends me an email asking if this is real or just a fucking plea for help. The ideas all add up. The sum is impossible. Jamie is portraying (or, has portrayed) a fictional character just like the others. Not a real person, nor anyone I can ever know personally. This is so stupid. ‘Her’ is the word I’ve decided to use because I don’t know what else to do. I love ‘her’, yet I have not one fucking clue as to who that person may be. Probably no one. I created an idea and have tried over and over to put a face to it. I guess I’m in love with an idea. I turned off the gangsters in favor of the early game from London, just like last week. And I can’t look at Jamie sometimes because there is too much pain involved. I am to be alone, forever. Such a fact has more leverage on me than anything else in life. I wish I didn’t know. I have the usual business today -- routine, garbage, laundry -- and then my football game is on at 1300. I'm going to try having everything finished by then, after which I'll either sit here with my lunch and the game or put on the television in the garage. Jeez. I just had to reboot the system in order to regain a connection to the cloud. That does not happen often at all, but I do understand the complexity. No big deal. I can always work offline if necessary. Anyway, I’ll have some time to myself today for the business, which I plan to begin prior to pouring my last cup of coffee. As I mentioned up the page somewhere, I’d like to have most of my housework out of the way by kickoff. Afterward, I don’t really care. My head is so fucked these days that whenever I can be busy, the bad things fall away for a time. Well, not as often as I would prefer, but considering my current situation and emotional condition, anything positive is embraced as if I need it to continue living. Sunday business can be enjoyable. I hope it lives up to that statement today. I could really use a lift right now. 0908. I took care of half the routine and subsequent trash work. That is a big head start to my day. I also have laundry going already. This is very good. I stated that I wanted to have a few things completed prior to my last cup of coffee, and here we are. Excellent. The football game is still up there on my big television. I don’t want to go back to the show just yet because Jamie in the sixth season can be too much for my weakened heart. There is another project I’d like to tackle today, and that is moving the twin bed into the spare bedroom. I’m sure it will take roughly half an hour or less, yet the idea is not inviting. I have to clean and move the cat litter tray in order to fit the bed. Ugh. I can do it, though. The other nagging task is the remaining greenery on the shrub in the backyard. That has not advanced in several weeks due to the warm weather. Well, there has been very little sunshine for some days, so I should get out there with the saw and take care of it once and for all. I also need to toss the remaining dill plants into the green can. Neither should take long at all. To me, and considering my condition of late, this sounds like a ton of work, but the truth is none of those little items is terribly difficult. I just have to take a step and then everything will fall into place. Maybe I’ll feel a little better about myself afterward. I could sure use it. This probably means avoiding Jamie until after my football game this afternoon. She is already in my heart about as deep as possible. More visions of her big eyes are going to cause a fall. I can’t fucking have that today. Honestly, I still can’t believe how strong my feelings are for a fucking fictional character. What the fuck happened to me? Don’t answer that. This day is looking better and better as I sit here and ponder what I need to do. Unfortunately, the underlying issues are attempting to stymie my consideration of one of my favorite days of the week. No, not those four issues I railroaded for years. They are not the same now as in the past, although number one has led me to many a downtrodden, shitty mindset recently. Number one is the obsession. Number two doesn’t even fucking matter anymore because I am completely alone in the world. My only friends are on television. Three? Eh... That is the ‘word’ and society’s ability to both ridicule and/or trivialize anything deeply troubling and personal. And four... Well, I’ll be wrestling with that one until I die. The fact is, three out of four have lost importance in my mind in favor of the damaging dream and the way I related three key terms to my desperation in life. Despite the sheer level of power some issues have over me, I can still rise and work as needed. The reward will be the accomplishments, and those will lead to the football game. Win or lose, I really love watching. I need to cease the internal questioning regarding ‘how’ I could have fallen for fiction. The damaging dreams took me from myself recently and have forced even more questioning, most of which I cannot discuss here or with another person. There was the ‘image’, and that is something I’ll never understand (I will say that the image was close to me at one point, believe it or not). The ‘girl’ has become a conglomeration of everything I need, and as far as ‘her’ is concerned, well... I’ve created too many crossovers between fiction, actual people I’ve known, and the dream that something will darken my doorstep and save my fucking life. ‘Her’. My favorite pronoun is now as large a concern as the dreams of that fucking girl. There is too much now, honestly. Too much. I dreamed of Jamie and the two of us together (knowing), and then I dreamed of the bra strap and all that other shit, and then... Yep, that girl next to me. That was another situation in which we ‘knew’. The bottom fucking line is that I am overwhelmed by desperation and need to the point of driving myself insane. There you go. I am crazy for help; in more need and in the worst situation in life that I could have imagined in a million years, so the tiniest smidgen of understanding or feeling that I ‘know’ sends me on an unending tangent that is very difficult to explain.
1129 and here I am again. I have the entire routine finished, laundry in process, and the trash has been collated for later tossing. This has been a very nice head start to the day, especially considering the three-hour game to kick off in an hour and a half. Naturally, there is a big glass of whiskey next to me. I need it, and if that sounds bad, well... Then it fucking sounds bad. I could give a shit about the consequences anymore. Comfort is key. I am considering scrapping the current game in favor of the gangsters and whatever hearts and bunnies begin to float through me as I see Jamie and her incomparable fucking eyes. I AM SO IN LOVE WITH HER THAT I’M LOSING MY FUCKING MIND. Just a thought. Tired of Jamie? Live with it. I have to live with the fact that my entire life is an impossible dream world and nothing can ever come of it (aside from being fucking committed). This is what I’ve become, and I would appreciate any suggestion of how to label such a condition. I am at a loss. Onward... Prior to kickoff, I intend to chop the shrub and pull the dead dill plants for the green can. Working with the saw and nippers combined with loud music is typically therapeutic. I like the fact that no one EVER takes issue with my neighbor or me blasting music from either garage, or both. I believe they already know that as homeowners, we are given some free reign – no, not the type I really need to survive, but a substitute – to enjoy the atmosphere of the yard and driveway without restriction. Believe me when I say that when he is in a bad mood, the entire neighborhood quickly becomes aware of the weight. I am the same, meaning the music will accompany the stifling sound of my cordless reciprocating saw. I’ll be out there once the whiskey is gone. It will be missed. I would give up all of my dreams for a few minutes of... I have physical problems that came about earlier this year of a type I don’t understand. The dreams do not help, nor does knowing of my future path in life. The day has been very positive, yet no matter how far ‘up’ I may feel while being very productive and goal-oriented, underneath everything are problems. And no, I will not refer to them as ‘challenges’ because that term is too often one-sided. This experience is making me crazy, and not in a fleeting, trivial way. I am referring to a very dangerous definition of crazy. The atmosphere in the backyard will soon demonstrate my mood. Still no Jamie on the television. I can’t look at her right now. I can’t look at... ‘Her’. 1729. Lots of stuff completed today. Everything I set out to do is finished, plus I went a little further by caring for the garage. This is very good. I had time to watch the entire game – which was great – along with a nice lunch. All would seem to be fine on this Sunday, yet that is wrong. I have been going out of my mind with some of what has been discussed here. I have the fourth show on again instead of the gangsters. Jamie would be too painful for me. Even this show occasionally carries its fair share of damaging visions, and the episode which just ended was fucking full of them. I’ll spare you the details. Just believe it. The inside of my head is a very detailed map of certain aspects of life I have already railroaded over and over for years, and none of it will leave me alone this afternoon. In a little while I will prepare dinner and then roll the cans to the curb. My heart requires extensive repair right now, but unfortunately the destruction cannot be reversed. Not in reality, anyway. All my needs are either unrealistic or downright impossible. This is a bad time. Monday morning, 0656. Coffee and Jamie on the television. The trouble yesterday continued all the way until I went to bed. I then dreamed of something having to do with the lighting in my garage prior to waking. I’m glad there was nothing further. I can’t recall the last time I dreamed of love and understanding. Several days, or longer. I’m guessing they will return when least expected. For the time being, there is already plenty of information piled up inside for me to gush, bitch, whatever, for my remaining years. As much as I’d love to see that girl again in those dreams which have damaged and jaded me somewhat, perhaps a lack of her might be easier on my brain. Those visions lead to all manner of concern and my imagining being where and with whom I need. Well, that is just not going to happen. Despite my out of balance desperation when there is a face of some sort, the truth is I have no faith in the ‘good’ any longer. Nothing is there for me because I see no reason for the ‘good’ to come to my doorstep. No reason. I mean... Who the fuck am I to garner love and understanding? There is Fiona (I mention her every single time she’s on the screen). One question showing concern and her facial expression just kill me. I don’t know why, but each occasion stops me in my tracks and I have to watch and listen. The scene just rolled by this morning. Today should be pretty mellow, I guess. All the work yesterday can support my sticking to the truck for a while. I still need to relocate the twin bed, but that will happen soon enough. I took care of everything else yesterday. I need to think about my place in the world this morning, meaning I may be sitting here quite a while. Whatever is going on out there in the world can fucking wait. I'm sure the hour will arrive when I feel like branching and working on whatever seems best. That point always comes along no matter how I feel. Yesterday, the work in the yard didn't feel appealing at all, yet I went out there and cleaned up the shrub work to where the entire picture is very neat and much nicer than in the past. I hadn't touched it for a couple of months because I couldn't get myself to care. I don't know what happened yesterday but I'm glad to see it finished. Well, one possibility was my head being so sideways that I was losing grip on life and forced myself to get the hell away from as much thinking as I could. That idea could be the very reason I do ANYTHING around this house -- just to keep my fucking head from imploding. I don't need that shit. Have I covered everything possible? Every aspect of ‘her’? God damn it all... There she is again. The scene when she is with Tony and says hello to Jason Barone. When she turns and smiles, the entire planet runs aslant in a very bad way. That is one of the moments when I need her the most, and then I completely flatten because it’s fictional, in the past by fifteen years, and has absolutely nothing to do with my fucking problems. She was over there many years ago, and everything in the universe has changed since then, mostly me. I suppose I should keep in mind that every paragraph is going to be derailed in some way if I continue watching this series. I was trying to understand the word ‘her’ and all I’ve tried to cover in this entry, but the big eyes killed me again. Maybe I am just not meant to understand anything in the world. That kind of thinking really hurts, though I can't deny the possibility. I’m gonna lose my shit one of these mornings. I’ve already seen everything. Different situations, scenes, behavior... Everything. I already know what is happening and sometimes I even have an inkling as to why. But over here? Where I am? There is only thinking, thinking, and then more thinking due to the lack of more than I would care to splay all over this entry. The idea of ‘her’ comes to mind hundreds of times each day, leaving me to daydream and become detached from reality all too often. I just don’t know what can be done about this fucking situation. ‘Her’. The girl with the power to save my fucking life. I don’t understand how the decisions and paths from my past have driven the train into this wasteland of pain and concern. Yes, some was my doing. Not everything, though. Not everything. The ‘image’ is a good example of how the world can operate seemingly outside what is real. The tangible aspects of society would be enough, yet the ‘image’ is an ideal symbol for my mass of confusion over the whole issue. None of this is going to make any sense. I can barely follow all my shit. Anyway, the terms continue to leave me without hope each day because all three – regardless of whether or not they can be combined into one huge dream – may reside just beyond my understanding forever. This is not the end of such a line."
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