Sideways Her (IV) Mature content No. 339 Published October 21st, 2022 9:35am pdt read ( words) Past entries 0900 straight up. Last cup of coffee. The previous entry was completed (or whatever you want to call it) and published ten minutes ago. Jamie’s gorgeous face still graces the index like a splash screen from God. I have to look at her. I have to. Hopefully, her face is the last thing I see just before... God help me for the bullshit and thoughts that day. Bullshit. But I had to do it. There was no other way of moving along through time. I had to do it. Inside? An amusement park of lines. Never in my life had I felt so strongly, so quickly. Not even the red dress at the car dealer, nor the race girl. Those were different and I can’t fucking describe why. But that day... Jesus Harold Christ on a rubber crutch, so many feelings. They permeated my being, took over and smashed clarity, and then dumped me into a vat of questions. Thank the maker there was a way out. Holy fuck, Jamie continues to become more beautiful than I can understand. There were moments before and after in which I was mostly ok, one in particular. It was a realization. During that day? There was no way I could have gone on living without the possibility of something there. A good thing. No one is going to understand this because the situation was so fucking hairbrain that I have to leave out key details in order to type at all, but I understand it. And I feel more strongly right now than I did at the time. I simply could not believe my eyes were pointed directly at an image from my imagination, one I thought I would never see. And then there it was. My brain miscalculated everything for a long time as a result of such fascination. Soon after? Pain, thrice. I can’t believe I made it out of that fucking place and continued living. Enough of this. The dreams from early this morning are chewing me to bits. Chewing. Bits. I am more depressed and disillusioned than ever. My heart is broken. The dreams reminded me of the situation in the previous paragraph. I ran with it. I have nothing else in life. AJ’s college professor is a slice of beauty nearly unmatched on this program. Jesus. From the first sight of her way back almost twenty years back right up to and including just a few seconds ago, the imagery inside me is the same. Don’t ask. You already know. Worship of a type better left out of life itself. Believe me, I’ve done it more than once. Oh, the last time? I can’t say. Just trust me in stating that the very idea of what she represents on the screen is more amazing than the entire fucking cosmos. She is the opposite of Jamie, however. The professor is more like Jolene or Nora. I will refrain from detailed imagery of what goes through my head when I see her. And don’t give me any fucking shit, either. I am a person with desire, nothing more. I am harmless. I speak it because I can. I am not a bad person, just one who feels there is nothing left to lose. Tongue. Nose. Picture it. Tell me I am wrong. Try it. You’ll get more than the horns. I turned off the show. I can’t look at Jamie anymore this morning. It hurts so much to see her eyes and smile, believe me. Her image on the screen causes pain. That is how deeply I feel. I have enough going through my head today. Avoiding an angry tirade either here or in the garage later is going to be difficult in the extreme without my love for that woman growing ever more through seeing her in high definition. My mistake for running Jamie's show in the background. Nearly ten in the morning and I am still sitting here. I will admit part of it is Jamie. Her character is the pinnacle of everything in the universe, the goddess above all. Yes, I am gushing because this is no flash in the fucking pan, people. That woman is more wrapped around my heart than ANYONE in my more than fifty fucking years of living. No bullshit. And she is not real. What does that say about the current state of my mind? You know. The basement awaits, all cold and lonely. Impossibilities abound. The coffee is waning. I’ve spent almost five hundred dollars on hardware and tooling from McMaster since the beginning of last month, the latest order having been placed yesterday. Jesus, you wanna talk about a compulsion? Just imagine if money could be applied to other issues. Holy shit. I’d be in debt to Satan forever. Not funny. The house is quiet but my brain is noisy. There is too much inside right now. I keep going back to the other entry – ‘Caverns and Wind V’ – because thoughts are different within that series. They are dark, dire, downtrodden, and not to be trifled. That is where the anger comes out. Believe me, I am always angry over one of two aspects of this life. Always. None of it ever leaves. I am able to push it away often enough to function, though. That is very good. Otherwise, I’d be truly in the middle of nowhere and buried in the ground. Lots of noise inside me right now. 1132 on the clock and my routine is finished. The big, yummy glass of medicine is to my right, and the most important team in college football is slugging it out with a bunch of assholes. Heh. I should not be watching, though, because they are as of yet undefeated and I can’t help but believe it is in part due to my not watching the games this season. If I switch up the media, it will be in favor of the fourth show again. Too much comfort with that one. The gangsters must wait. This entire morning has been productive. If I see the goddess of the universe up there, my day will be halted. I am so in love with her that I don't even understand it. Crazy person. Basket case. Fraction of a... I guess since the wheel axles arrived yesterday I will head to the workbench in a little while. They may solve a decent issue with the drive system, that being the fact that in order to gain proper alignment when the axle housings were first machined, I opted to free the relationship between the inner and outer drive parts by opening the forks. That gave the dogbones a bit more room to adjust to any error introduced by misalignment. Since I have alleviated the error through adjustment of the inner axles, the factory opening in the forks will remove any looseness between the two. The only upward gain from here would be if I decide to replace the dogbone system with actual universal joints. Early this morning I realized they could be swapped in with a minimum of work. For the time being, I’ll install the new wheel axles and see how the drive behaves. Sunday. I am scheduled to watch the game later this morning at the bar. Nope. That was a mistake of a plan. Remaining here is my only option. 0702. Coffee. Gangsters. Bad mindset. I didn’t do much of anything yesterday because I was not feeling well. That has to be changed this morning. And here is the scene when Sarah wraps herself around Tony and reminds me of the way the kitten held me when I was wishing to go out the window. Anyway, Sunday is always one of my favorite days of the week. I’ll make it work when the coffee is gone. I am now two days detached from a very negative situation and wish to see it extended, meaning once I finish with the early morning comfort and frightening fucking typing, my brain will switch to maintenance and work modes until kickoff. Once more after the game, my plan will be complete. I worked through everything last week and came out the other side ok. Hopefully, there is nothing to stymie my efforts later. I will admit that I’m having trouble pushing the image away right now, although such a situation has become the norm lately. I should be used to it by now. ‘Should’. Right. There she is again. This one caught me off-guard because I’ve been looking around the Internet for truck-related materials. And she shows up in one of the most stirring shots in the history of the show, and often I feel it is even more amazing than the key scene later on. I’ve spoken of these before. My dream... Right there. Never in my life have I been so affected by a pair of eyes, and believe me I’ve searched and stared for decades. This is the most ridiculous feeling I’ve ever had. I am still that little boy dreaming of Shilo and staring at the brick entrance to ‘her’ neighborhood while waiting for the girl of my dreams to emerge and walk toward me. I never grew out of that. I only found other ways to focus. Jamie is the focus. She is not real, but I am waiting for her to come and save my life. I did this to myself. But I didn’t do all of it. Actually, there are three scenes in this episode that showcase her eyes more than almost any others. This is the episode which hit me in the face and opened my own eyes. The second time around, I fell. I don’t understand how I allowed such a dream to develop in the first place. Weakness? Loneliness? I’ve been desperately seeking something for more than two fucking years, so perhaps the condition simply grows over time when nothing changes to allow for any comfort with the power to minimize the impact of such visions. Conversely, a lack of said comfort sends everything off the rails and only serves to deepen my feelings for the impossible. The scenes in this episode force me to stare at those precious few seconds when her eyes are in full effect, and then I look out the window or back at this screen with the feeling that my life is completely over. Seeing her is depressing. Dreaming of holding hands is worse. There is nothing I can do. I probably have the same strength of feelings that some of those nutcases in the news also have. You know... The crazies that stalk or obsess over people. Well, that is not me. I have the deepest feelings for her, yet the time is more than a decade gone (reason one), she is not real and merely a fictional character (reason two), plus I know nothing of the actual person, only what I see on screen (reason three). I don't want to know the real person because I am in love with the fucking CHARACTER. Yes, I do obsess over her (as you should know very well after all this time), but that is all. I stare and dream. I feel pain and lose myself in her eyes. I wish for her to hold me and tell me everything will be ok. That’s it. I am out of my mind, but not far enough to do anything else. If you believe I am infatuated and not in love, well... Time will prove one or the other. I’ll be sitting right here either way, full of concern and picturing our fingers intertwined just like Andrea. I feel so small right now. I also feel stupid. And remember that I warned you at the beginning of the previous essay that there would be tons of her in the upcoming content. Expect more. The word is 'love', and I rarely apply that term to real people anymore. No dreams that I can recall this morning. Honestly, the other day was plenty and I don’t need any more bullets in my head for a long while. The sisters came to life and I thought I would be ok. And then the ‘image’ related to me after waiting and wishing for years, and I thought I would be ok. Two of the most powerful and stirring situations of my entire life played out while I slept, and now the world appears even worse. I am further away than ever before. Plagued, really. Worse than mere days ago. I’ve never felt so much need. I would rather not be led by carrots, thank you. I have enough in my head already. I was going to be at the bar by nine. Here we are at 0813 and there is no fucking way I’m leaving the house today. The slice of Asian beauty which graces the screen for a mere two or three minutes out of eighty-six fucking hours of programming is up there now. Holy fuck, her beautiful hair. Ugh. Whatever. Anyway, remaining home today is appearing more and more appealing as the minutes disappear. I can care for my usual business, work on the axles maybe, trim the trees and roses, work on the garbage, or anything that looks good. Sounds exciting, right? All this shit I do each week? I have become a fraction of something I honestly believed I had been years ago. Now I don’t know. Whenever that subject came up in conversation, I typically received the same response no matter who was carrying the discussion with me. Always the same. I just don’t know if I was being placated or something else. I have no trust in people anymore. None. Regardless of what my work means or represents, there is at least one certainty, and that is no matter what I may do during the hours ahead, I’ll be doing it at home. Whatever I may be, the work needs to be accomplished. That conversation between myself and the fictional bartender just appeared in my brain again. And the other one from nearly eleven years ago when I realized her words were complete bullshit and almost laughed as she tried to explain. Oh, and all the other little situations that jabbed me slightly. More fuel to stay home. The important things are generally avoided at the bar. This is good, and it is also comfortable. The possibility can’t be denied, hence my need to be alone. Hmm. That’s interesting. Being alone in one way is very important to me and often the most comfortable feeling on a given day. Curious, the other ‘alone’ is cutting my heart to ribbons whilst simultaneously rankling my head unlike anything in memory. I think the site went off the rails two years ago and has not righted itself. The subject of a machine came into my head and everything followed suit, meaning it all became very ridiculous and desperate. The site has not recovered, nor have I. At least I don’t bring up the machine much these days, although I will say there is a sharp correlation between some of the dreams and the machine, but I can’t be specific. I’ll be crucified for using a certain word. The other entry which is being written concurrently shows off the fact that an incident from the past which has been gleaned here (gently) on many occasions is actually one of the most difficult, driven nails of my life, and I have held back much information, feelings and concerns throughout the last few years. I worry that the event may have flipped a switch inside me that will ensure my being alone for the rest of my life. That is a frightening thought, yet I can’t deny it. The other essay has little points here and there which continue to rise up in my psyche and then flow off the keyboard. Nothing is spelled out, though. You know... Ambiguous to the last, I must be. Just know that what is going on behind the scenes of this site is a draw with enough power to force my hand at any time. I am a slave to it. The fact is I keep thinking about what has been written over there and then almost continuously return to the other code to ensure that I have not said anything out loud (literally, to be clear). Sometimes the tiniest effects upon my senses carry the most power. This one rivals my feelings for that woman mentioned 437 fucking times in 109 entries. Yep, that is how fucking screwed I have become. Insane; unbalanced; unhinged; whatever the fuck you wish to call it. The fact is I sit here alone and with no one who can listen, and then gush about everything in such a way that sometimes even I have no fucking clue as to what I wrote just a few days ago. But? I’m talking. The facts are here because I can’t fucking help it. The other entry has one hell of a focus and typically puts a finer point upon some of my problems, the current wording being aimed straight at one key part of my life and the resulting realization that I am in much worse shape than before that shit took place. Get it? Nope. Eh... I don’t know why I feel the need to add a fucking concordance to the site, or even one sentence. Maybe I just like to hear the keyboard. 0859. I need a break right now. 1112. I am in the middle of the game and a huge, modified White Russian. Yummy. I have half the routine finished and will care for the kitchen during halftime. Nine seconds left in the second quarter. We are in a battle. Down two touchdowns in the first quarter, recovered by two touchdowns in the second, and then down by a third just before the end of the half. Damn. I was hoping we would have come out swinging like last week, but alas pro football is not so predictable. The combination of the game and my efforts to get things in order on this Sunday has kept my brain out of the nether regions of the universe... So far. Hmm. Nether regions, indeed... Those places that have near-complete control over my life? Yes, control. There are fifty aspects of living which press my head into the soil, whereas there have been but three keeping me upright. This is a losing battle. If the game turns to shit during the third quarter, I will reevaluate the media and most likely switch to science fiction. The house is quiet, meaning I can think as clearly as possible. The truck axles and loud music will result if my mind can’t focus. I have found a smidgen of comfort in planning alternatives when I don’t feel well. Some of those alternatives have actually kept me away from the revolver. 1317. The game went to hell so I turned on the gangsters again to allow the series to run its course. Naturally, that means the eyes again. Huge, beautiful eyes I cannot resist. I love her eyes so much... At some point during the late morning, a wave of depression washed over me as if driven by a tsunami. I don’t know what happened, either. All morning long I was productive – the routine, garbage work, and a shower – but as soon as I began to prepare something to eat, my mood fell right off the edge of the world. I am usually pretty positive once a portion of the Sunday business is complete. Not today, and the change was not precipitated by the game. I don’t know what the hell happened. Right now I am feeling very negative and sad. This makes me worry for the rest of the day, too. I like to enter Sunday evening feeling accomplished, and though I’ve cared for quite a bit so far, my head can’t climb out of this hole. Damn. Nothing looks appealing right now. Nothing. Not the work, my truck, the television... Not a damned thing. I am sitting at the IDE because I don’t know what else to do. And there she is again. The last dinner scene involving Jamie. Damn it all, anyway. I would give the rest of my life to be next to her for two fucking minutes. And the scene is over. Bye. I love you. Maybe I should go and lie down for a little while. I don’t know. This is bad. 0657 on Monday morning. Coffee, cats fed, fourth show, all that kind of shit like that there (them thar). Don’t use no double negatives. Try to not split infinitives. About those sentence fragments. Verbs has to agree with their antecedents. Food for thought. I dreamed but can’t recall the subject matter now. Something good, I believe. That’s probably why remembering has been disallowed. I am waiting for something appealing or at least enough to keep me going a while longer. I need it badly. All of the visions have severely truncated my future. Desperation can be worrisome. It can also be dangerous if I begin to behave as in the past. Garbage trucks out there. Bless them. I have to take care of the morning business in a few minutes. Afterward, I’ll probably sit and try to remember the good things. I still can’t see anything from my sleep time, damn it. I want to know what was happening. If I go back some days to the other dream involving the ‘image’, some of the details are still there. Her eyes looking at me as she smiled, things like that. Her hair and the way it wrapped around one side of her neck. This latest feeling is just that... A feeling. I wish I knew what took place. 0804. The morning stuff is out of the way and I have the remainder of the day to myself. There is some business with laundry and the routine, but nothing more. I should have some hardware arriving on the porch today. That will help my truck work. The fourth show is still up there. This is the most difficult situation I could have imagined. I don’t want any more of this shit. Dreams at night from which I awaken completely distraught, daydreaming while working around the house which eventually leads to my standing and wondering how much worse things will become, and then the evening comes along to distract me. I sleep and then do it again. Today I have laundry to wash and dry, the organization I typically care for while moving around the house, and my usual morning routine. During all of it I will be thinking of missing pieces and smiling faces. I’ll be rehashing the dream of Jamie, the other one involving the ‘image’, and then falling down over and over. The key dream in which I felt that my distress had gone away forever will enter my head and leave me wrecked again. This is every fucking day. I just don’t understand one bit of it. I don’t need it, I don’t fucking want it, yet I am right smack dab in the center of a messy, lonely, and angering situation. Depression, feeling distraught and sad, yearning for understanding... This is all I have anymore. The enjoyments? Shrinking. The time? Doesn’t matter. Status of the routine? Doesn’t matter. Everything which matters to me or is/was important to my daily activities has faded for now. My head was wrapped around a thought earlier this morning and failed. Right now there is nothing which appears ‘good’ or appealing. The laundry is rolling along, I have plenty of hours ahead for whatever seems best for me or the house, yet the background black noise is fucking killing me. The fourth show is deep into a dramatic story and it doesn’t matter. The truck doesn’t matter. Just like my thoughts up the page a bit, nothing is looking positive right now. Not a fucking thing. I continue to degrade. Once in a while a dream comes along which solves EVERY FUCKING CONCERN I'VE EVER HAD, and then I awaken to the same fucking situation and circumstances, and with all those painful memories. I almost can't handle this today and I am pretty damned strong after all these years. I mentioned a problem that came about early in the year. Well, that problem is real and carries on to this very day. I keep trying to find reasons to remain here and to embrace anything with the ability to bring even a second of joy, but underneath it all, I see only impossibility and pain. I mentioned my strength. Well, there is only so much and it is running out. Strength of this type cannot be replenished. When it is gone, it is gone. Period. 1708. I finished everything I set out to do today. I also tried to make a bushing from the new tubing from McMaster. The first try was a bit off, but I can fabricate another with better results, albeit not today. My head is in a bad place. The market trip was uneventful and very quick. Now I have the evening and an easy dinner to prepare. The fourth show has been keeping me company. There is something very wrong inside and I am not equipped to fix it. Someone is; just not me. I would have to swing the beam around so fucking far that upon finding the repair I believe the will to go on would disappear. I can’t handle changes in anything right now. My precious quiet time seems all that is left in the world. I have not been able to push the problems out and allow clear thinking to enter. Powerless. Tomorrow I have to return to the airport and pick up the people that were dropped off two weeks ago. That means the excess vehicle will disappear. Very good. I don’t mind helping. The airport terminal can be tough, though. I’ve seen far too much in airports throughout almost two decades to believe I can get in and out of the place unscathed. I’ve dealt with shit thus far. One more trip there and back should be fine (I hope). Whenever inside the terminal – most notably post-security – I recall other occasions that found me joyful and excited. No more of that in this life. No more. The airport is becoming haunted. Aside from the vehicle being gone, the only upside to going is arriving home afterward. Splendid. Morning cocktail? Guaranteed. She was ripped away. She was ripped away. She was ripped away. She was ripped away. 'Her'. Save me, please. SAVE ME. 0656 on Tuesday morning. Coffee, cats fed, fourth show, and a glorious vision the likes of which I may have never seen prior to a certain point in this series. It doesn’t matter, though. I can’t do anything about anything these days. I see and then I see more and then nothing comes of the situation. Yesterday morning was pretty damned bad. Hopefully I can avoid a repeat. I finished my work around the house yesterday in good time and order. The bushing experiment worked for the most part. I have to fab another and relocate the mounting hole. A lathe would be nice. Nope. Ah, shit. I have to take care of the morning business before continuing here. I don’t really know what I’m doing anyway. Breathing? 0757. Almost finished. I have the news on for posterity, although the number of stories that I find interesting has been declining since before the pandemic. The reports seem to be out of balance toward the negative. I’d say the ratio is roughly six to one. Ugh. Once in a while there is a very inspiring tale which can leave me feeling better than prior to turning on the news in the first place, but such an occurrence is quite rare. The time has come for a switch to fictional programming. I need to know what is going to take place on my television. Call me crazy. I don’t care. I can already feel that this morning can very quickly become a repeat of yesterday, and I can’t have that kind of shit right now. Dreaming of ‘her’ is not helping and never stops. I have yet to find anything in my life with the power to remove the dreams, even temporarily. In fact, just a little while ago a vision entered my head and was related to the third damaging dream, thus dropping me during the morning business. I had to force myself to remain productive. That is one of the most powerful images I’ve ever experienced and often takes me far enough away from myself to cease even the simplest morning tasks. I could be halfway through pouring a cup of coffee and lose direction completely. Fortunately, I righted myself and finished everything. Now I can focus upon whatever seems best for the time. Falling off a cliff has become a daily occurrence, so whatever upward feeling I may experience can be destroyed in an instant. I just never know when the ‘image’ is going to ruin everything. I must be careful to avoid those visions that light the fire. The other essay is a prime example of just how severely I have been affected by such sights. The references must remain completely unclear, however. Unfortunate, yet necessary. The 'edge' may be approaching. My trip to the airport is in just over four hours and regardless of how many times I may be struck upside the head while in the terminal, the drive and time consumption may be necessary for my well-being. I have half the routine finished already and my last cup of coffee, meaning I’ll have to push for additional things to do prior to traveling to the airport. Felecia has the most beautiful chiclets. The pilot episode is what got to me recently. We discussed the differences between the two women and both came to the conclusion that Felecia is in a category all her own. I will refrain from going into detail. Just... Trust me. 0652 on Wednesday morning; pants flying through my head like witches on brooms, all bent upon my destruction. Ah... Now the time is 0826 and I have the morning business out of the way. Next to me is coffee and on the television is the fourth show, like most of my mornings. There is a mass of shit in my head right now, and after yesterday’s difficulties, I really don’t need any more. I am becoming completely fed up with the way the world appears due to the past. Pissed off all the time, tossing threats around as if anyone really gives a crap, and then sitting here bitching about everything over and over and fucking over. Sick of it. Unfortunately for me and anyone still venturing to this space and reading, I really don’t have anything else in life which has any effect upon me. Without the ability to type, I’d probably not be much of anything. I used to be a person of note, whereas at present I can no longer identify what I am. Let’s talk about my trip to the airport, shall we? Holy crap. There were only two, and the second almost killed me due to the circumstances disallowing my eyes from pulling in more, however the damage became extensive upon returning home and considering the relationship between the first and those damaging dreams. The arrivals lobby was much busier than I had expected, especially considering the number of occasions that have found me there waiting for someone. What a sight... Her hair flowing back and forth as she walked was enough to drive me insane. Oh, but there was so much more. I fought for several minutes before losing sight. From there, I only had to worry about dealing with the parking garage and getting home to the quiet. We ventured through the lobby and down the long tunnel toward the parking area. I paused to attempt to pay for the parking time, but the machines would not read my ticket. We ended up heading for the exit and then simply paying there. The payment machines? Yes, they are next to the exit into the garage. That was where I saw number two and the most difficult moment in memory, even tougher than the goddess in the lobby. Pants. Teal pants, for God’s sake, and wrapped around the lines of the universe. All she did was appear through the doorway and turn left toward the fucking lobby, but that was enough. The pain I felt was due to the number of people present at the payment machines. All those faces precluded any chances of me turning around to see something so rare. I actually felt more anxiety and turmoil over being prevented from gazing at her lines than I did for the entire operation of picking up people in the international terminal in the first place. She cruised right on by – a split-second of which I saw the lines, believe it or not – and then I had to return my attention to the issues of paying for the fucking parking. We moved to the van and then I reiterated that the ticket should be taken care of prior to driving, so I went back three floors down and tried again. Nothing. And then I turned and looked up the huge tunnel as if by some miraculous circumstance I might see the owner of those beautiful teal leggings. Nothing. Just people trying to make their way out of the airport. We drove to the exit, paid the cashier, and twenty minutes later I was in the garage quickly sucking down a cold beer and smoking as if I had a pregnant wife in the delivery room. Two. The first was very bad due to reminding me of those three key dreams, the second being worse because I knew I would never see her again and felt as if I would die without gazing at what I so badly needed. All of it adds up to the worst trip to the fucking airport in memory, and trust me when I say I’ve spent a lot of time in airport terminals. And the worst part of the whole thing was that fucking desperate, pathetic attempt to see if by some fluke she was still nearby. Desperate. My brain went all the way back to the other shit from the past; nearly five decades back to Shilo. Yes, I said that. Desperate. Was the woman with the teal pants and sunglasses ‘her’? Do you fucking believe this shit? That’s what I thought, too. Just seconds after trying to process the parking ticket, my head went around the impossible world all over again, as if I haven’t spent the last hundred-thousand words trying to learn why I keep returning to the past. I was standing there, in REALITY, and hoping that the beautiful woman who walked by was my savior. Isn’t that just wonderful? Further gone. Much further. Why in the holy blue fuck am I searching so fervently and dying to find something I already know cannot exist? Why? Tell me. I was wrong yesterday when thinking of the drive and some time burned off the clock. Two of them, right upside my head, and both are still swirling inside. A gorgeous, flowing image drawn straight from those dreams that I can't discuss, and then a woman walking by which resulted in me not caring if I walked straight off the edge of the damned nine-story parking structure. I don't generally go into much detail regarding one of the shows, but right now I have to point out something rather silly. A good portion of this episode is very tense due to the holographic medical specialist being a Cardassian. Neither ensign Tabor nor B’Elanna wanted anything to do with him, and the situation almost turned to complete shit, all due to his being from Cardassia and famous during the occupation. Here’s my issue... If the doctor was only a holographic simulation, why did they not simply alter his appearance in the first place and before anyone else saw him? Eh... Makes too much sense, I suppose. Or maybe I think about this program too much. The teal pants displayed the type of lines I have not seen since that fucking girl at the pool. I will refrain from much of what has been taking place inside my head thus far today. Not good. 1107 and holy fuck is that woman on the television cute. Jesus. Darkness, huge eyes, big smile. God damn. Just saying. I am a wreck. I went to the market after completing half of the routine, my typical schedule. I like to get the floor and cat litter finished prior to taking off, thus leaving my kitchen cocktail as the reward for shopping. Now I have everything finished and most of the yummy booze left. There was nothing to worry about at the store, although I did make an inquiry of one employee who was rather cute. Helpful, too. That was that. In; out; hello; goodbye, and that was that. Just another dipshit walking out of the store with a bag of groceries. My car is once again in the driveway since the van disappeared yesterday. Very good. I still have the fourth show up there for comfort (but the whiskey is the REAL comfort). The temperature is ramping up quickly outside, much like yesterday. I’ll have to ventilate in a little while when the mercury inside matches that of the outdoors. After freezing my ass off for a couple of weeks, the warmth feels nice. It’s too bad the fucking hurricane in my brain does not bow to reality. Yes, a cyclone of sorts. Desperation is a bad state of mind. Very bad. 0732 on Thursday morning. I already have the morning business out of the way and am sitting in the quiet. There is a form on the television that I should avoid. Amazing. Too bad the shape in question is a sight never again to grace my eyesight in person. That is a fucking depressive thought. Very bad switch. Last night I ran across an epiphany just prior to going to sleep. I realized that I have been on a path toward something I did not want to be in life, and an example of a personality that I’ve always disliked. There have been those fleeting occasions in which I found a glimpse of the same type of realization – here and there throughout a few years, I guess – yet I always felt that I could fight against such mindsets and think my way through the situations which bring about stereotyped behavior. Well, I now believe that the process has been taking place and advancing upon my mind very slowly, and in the background of living through each day. This is not good. One of the worst feelings in the world is to experience a personality type that is widely regarded as either unpleasant or difficult, and then shortly thereafter to see those very same traits within oneself. At least I am not the type of person to sit here and believe there is nothing wrong with me, or worse, that I am better than any other person on this planet. I can still fight this, of course, because I am intelligent and often consider circumstances related to how others view me. Sometimes I move along and fail to think about it, however. That’s generally when a situation or conversation comes along and slaps me in the face until I see more clearly. That is what happened last night. I basically saw myself from the outside for a moment and then realized that if I don’t do anything about this in the short term, I will be facing a future of people reacting to me speaking in one of three ways; with either placation, confusion, or condescension. I can’t fucking have that. Thus? This entry has crossed a switch and is headed for a very unpleasant spur. Rusted rails, blackened ties, and the occasional missing spike. Years ago, my boss informed me that his vision for the future was as such... Whatever type of personality traits are carried by a given person into their fifties tend to become more cemented as time passes. We had a short discussion of various relatives and I walked away from that idea considering my own issues and how they may affect the manner in which I communicate with others. Well, that was a long time ago. I suppose I’ve gone back to our conversation several times since then, and last night I saw it within myself. Ouch. This is not the end of the world, but I couldn’t help avoiding looking in from the outside after a short observation about something I do not like about the way television programming has developed and changed in the last decade or more. I heard my words out loud and then thought about the discussion with my boss. The point last night was an aspect of writing known colloquially as ‘manipulative scripting’, a method of sending the viewer in whatever direction the writers wish and keeping the audience glued to the story. Twists and turns aside, I don’t appreciate the producers toying around with a person’s psyche in the name of ‘drama’. The subject is far too vast for me to properly cover within this entry, but suffice to say I have been nearly offended by several programs and gave up on most of them for this very reason. Being the technically-minded viewer I am, the dislike came forth after an episode, and that is when I realized my personality traits have begun to bind themselves to the way I carry myself and interact with people, especially regarding a subject about which I am very passionate, and that is filmed media (even if some is not on film anymore). There is one glaring positive to this realization, however, and that is the fact that I will sit here and ponder my issues rather than simply conclude that I am correct all the time. I honestly believe that despite my age, I am still capable of changing and/or learning. All that shit would seem to have nothing to do with ‘her’, although there are very few segments of my daily life that are not affected by dreaming. Basically, if I am unhappy or angry, such emotions will come out during any conversation. That is another fucking part of me I need to address. I was originally going to create a series of entries all sharing one word in their titles, the word being ‘doorsteps’. Well, that ended up one long, wandering essay and I never wrote any others. Whatever. All this shit ran together years ago, anyway. Half a... Fraction of a... What? Go back to the conversation with the bartender. I did. 0922. I have yet to do anything other than type and sip coffee this morning. There is a phrase ringing over and over inside my head. The phrase is as follows: ‘desperation is dangerous’. My situation is partly my doing, of course, due to the way I... Um... No, it is not. 1030. The routine is finished. I have no plans to leave the house today, meaning the next seven hours are whatever I wish to make of them, if anything. Yesterday I fabricated a tail light bar for the rear of the truck after some testing, along with blowing up one LED after not following voltage instructions properly. Heh. I don’t know if I feel like working further on the tail light wiring or matching headlights. What I do need is decidedly out of fucking reach, naturally, so everything else seems minimized with regard to enjoyment. In short, I do not have a clue as to what this day may have in store for me. Five-eight and 121 pounds. She is also carrying... I am wrecked. The years continue to take their toll. At least I have not switched to the Jamie show. I need ‘her’ to find me, save me, and eliminate all my problems. Wait... What did you say? I should employ the PC term ‘challenges’ instead? Bullshit. I have PROBLEMS. Suck that. The word ‘should’ rarely applies to anything, least of all the manner in which people refer to themselves. I need her. NEED. I am already further out of balance than I could have ever imagined, so why the fuck not use all the words related to the same? I can’t help it, anyway. Weakened is my new middle name. Again... I did not do this. I was going to have some tuna salad, but I do not believe it will mix well with the orange/white Russian I’ve been sipping. There is a machine shop down the peninsula that I may visit tomorrow. I’m hoping they can turn down a piece of tubing by roughly .008” so I can fabricate bushings. My methods are so far below crude that I just can’t have them on the truck. The first was an experiment. That is fine. I’d like the diameters to be as concentric as possible to avoid any runout while the drive is spinning. In this day and age, I have no idea if they will even entertain the idea of such a small job, nor do I know what their time and experience may cost. I’ll ask, though, because an inquiry will cost zero dollars. Honestly, and with my history of luck, the woman at the counter will probably look like some goddess, meaning I’ll become all fucked up and lose my bearing. Such a thought should be funny. Alas, very little is funny anymore. I have never felt so alone. Please help me. Ok, I am going to start crying soon, so I have to leave this endeavor and do something else. Thankfully, often when I feel sad enough to cry, my self-defense mechanism kicks in and changes the sadness to anger. 1538. Everything is finished. I’ve spent the last few hours in the garage building doors for the laundry shelves. They are finished, as well. The work was accompanied by loud music and alcohol due to some of the song lyrics, one track in particular. Two years after constructing my ‘her’ playlist for the daily drives, that one tune and the story within rings with more truth now than it did at the time. I am sadder than ever and the missing parts of me feel as if they will remain lost for all time. 0743, Friday morning after a very uncomfortable night. Dreams, a lack of sleep, and concern filling my head all summed to ruin my typically unremarkable sleep time. Splendid. The dream is still fairly fresh, too. It involved a representation of my freedom and comfort, that symbol being my car which is parked in the driveway at this very moment. The thought of something being terribly wrong with the car frightened me in the middle of the night and I am still a bit uncomfortable hours later. The car is fine, but in the dream? All fucked up after bad people tampered with the electronics, believe it or not. A lot of things went through my head yesterday while working in the garage, plus I watched some goofy television during dinner. Everything may have brought on such a strange dream (thanks Frank) after swirling within my subconscious, but I am no expert. I only suspect. I am overjoyed to have some quiet time this morning after such a night, plus I woke up a tad later than usual and had to hop to the morning business without much coffee. Not good. Heh. Anyway, Now that everything is finished, I have the remainder of the morning to analyze what took place while I slept. And six-foot Julie is on the screen since I went back to the third series for comfort. Yesterday I mentioned my defense mechanism as it typically results in anger. Well, it happened just as I decided to leave this alone and work in the garage. A few hours later? Doors on the laundry shelves, all leveled and square. I did a nice job on them. I don’t see anything like that taking place today, though, because I am in a much more contemplative mood. Relaxation and quiet are the most important aspects of the remainder of this day. I do need to drive over the hill to the big wine store, however. Hopefully, the trip will not have any problems. All that fucking daydreaming yesterday has me pretty fucked up. Sad, too. I don’t like this crap. This series of entries is fucking stupid. I have too much in my head right now to continue this entry. The symbolism in my recurring dream (driving a car), the way my weekdays seem to fall off the edge of the world once the morning routine is finished, and the prospect of breaking out of the norm to accomplish more are all eating at me right now. I didn’t even mention the girl, ‘her’, or any of those deep emotional issues. There is just too much this morning. I have to let this go for now." 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Sideways Her (IV) Mature content No. 339 Published October 21st, 2022 9:35am pdt read ( words) Past entries 0900 straight up. Last cup of coffee. The previous entry was completed (or whatever you want to call it) and published ten minutes ago. Jamie’s gorgeous face still graces the index like a splash screen from God. I have to look at her. I have to. Hopefully, her face is the last thing I see just before... God help me for the bullshit and thoughts that day. Bullshit. But I had to do it. There was no other way of moving along through time. I had to do it. Inside? An amusement park of lines. Never in my life had I felt so strongly, so quickly. Not even the red dress at the car dealer, nor the race girl. Those were different and I can’t fucking describe why. But that day... Jesus Harold Christ on a rubber crutch, so many feelings. They permeated my being, took over and smashed clarity, and then dumped me into a vat of questions. Thank the maker there was a way out. Holy fuck, Jamie continues to become more beautiful than I can understand. There were moments before and after in which I was mostly ok, one in particular. It was a realization. During that day? There was no way I could have gone on living without the possibility of something there. A good thing. No one is going to understand this because the situation was so fucking hairbrain that I have to leave out key details in order to type at all, but I understand it. And I feel more strongly right now than I did at the time. I simply could not believe my eyes were pointed directly at an image from my imagination, one I thought I would never see. And then there it was. My brain miscalculated everything for a long time as a result of such fascination. Soon after? Pain, thrice. I can’t believe I made it out of that fucking place and continued living. Enough of this. The dreams from early this morning are chewing me to bits. Chewing. Bits. I am more depressed and disillusioned than ever. My heart is broken. The dreams reminded me of the situation in the previous paragraph. I ran with it. I have nothing else in life. AJ’s college professor is a slice of beauty nearly unmatched on this program. Jesus. From the first sight of her way back almost twenty years back right up to and including just a few seconds ago, the imagery inside me is the same. Don’t ask. You already know. Worship of a type better left out of life itself. Believe me, I’ve done it more than once. Oh, the last time? I can’t say. Just trust me in stating that the very idea of what she represents on the screen is more amazing than the entire fucking cosmos. She is the opposite of Jamie, however. The professor is more like Jolene or Nora. I will refrain from detailed imagery of what goes through my head when I see her. And don’t give me any fucking shit, either. I am a person with desire, nothing more. I am harmless. I speak it because I can. I am not a bad person, just one who feels there is nothing left to lose. Tongue. Nose. Picture it. Tell me I am wrong. Try it. You’ll get more than the horns. I turned off the show. I can’t look at Jamie anymore this morning. It hurts so much to see her eyes and smile, believe me. Her image on the screen causes pain. That is how deeply I feel. I have enough going through my head today. Avoiding an angry tirade either here or in the garage later is going to be difficult in the extreme without my love for that woman growing ever more through seeing her in high definition. My mistake for running Jamie's show in the background. Nearly ten in the morning and I am still sitting here. I will admit part of it is Jamie. Her character is the pinnacle of everything in the universe, the goddess above all. Yes, I am gushing because this is no flash in the fucking pan, people. That woman is more wrapped around my heart than ANYONE in my more than fifty fucking years of living. No bullshit. And she is not real. What does that say about the current state of my mind? You know. The basement awaits, all cold and lonely. Impossibilities abound. The coffee is waning. I’ve spent almost five hundred dollars on hardware and tooling from McMaster since the beginning of last month, the latest order having been placed yesterday. Jesus, you wanna talk about a compulsion? Just imagine if money could be applied to other issues. Holy shit. I’d be in debt to Satan forever. Not funny. The house is quiet but my brain is noisy. There is too much inside right now. I keep going back to the other entry – ‘Caverns and Wind V’ – because thoughts are different within that series. They are dark, dire, downtrodden, and not to be trifled. That is where the anger comes out. Believe me, I am always angry over one of two aspects of this life. Always. None of it ever leaves. I am able to push it away often enough to function, though. That is very good. Otherwise, I’d be truly in the middle of nowhere and buried in the ground. Lots of noise inside me right now. 1132 on the clock and my routine is finished. The big, yummy glass of medicine is to my right, and the most important team in college football is slugging it out with a bunch of assholes. Heh. I should not be watching, though, because they are as of yet undefeated and I can’t help but believe it is in part due to my not watching the games this season. If I switch up the media, it will be in favor of the fourth show again. Too much comfort with that one. The gangsters must wait. This entire morning has been productive. If I see the goddess of the universe up there, my day will be halted. I am so in love with her that I don't even understand it. Crazy person. Basket case. Fraction of a... I guess since the wheel axles arrived yesterday I will head to the workbench in a little while. They may solve a decent issue with the drive system, that being the fact that in order to gain proper alignment when the axle housings were first machined, I opted to free the relationship between the inner and outer drive parts by opening the forks. That gave the dogbones a bit more room to adjust to any error introduced by misalignment. Since I have alleviated the error through adjustment of the inner axles, the factory opening in the forks will remove any looseness between the two. The only upward gain from here would be if I decide to replace the dogbone system with actual universal joints. Early this morning I realized they could be swapped in with a minimum of work. For the time being, I’ll install the new wheel axles and see how the drive behaves. Sunday. I am scheduled to watch the game later this morning at the bar. Nope. That was a mistake of a plan. Remaining here is my only option. 0702. Coffee. Gangsters. Bad mindset. I didn’t do much of anything yesterday because I was not feeling well. That has to be changed this morning. And here is the scene when Sarah wraps herself around Tony and reminds me of the way the kitten held me when I was wishing to go out the window. Anyway, Sunday is always one of my favorite days of the week. I’ll make it work when the coffee is gone. I am now two days detached from a very negative situation and wish to see it extended, meaning once I finish with the early morning comfort and frightening fucking typing, my brain will switch to maintenance and work modes until kickoff. Once more after the game, my plan will be complete. I worked through everything last week and came out the other side ok. Hopefully, there is nothing to stymie my efforts later. I will admit that I’m having trouble pushing the image away right now, although such a situation has become the norm lately. I should be used to it by now. ‘Should’. Right. There she is again. This one caught me off-guard because I’ve been looking around the Internet for truck-related materials. And she shows up in one of the most stirring shots in the history of the show, and often I feel it is even more amazing than the key scene later on. I’ve spoken of these before. My dream... Right there. Never in my life have I been so affected by a pair of eyes, and believe me I’ve searched and stared for decades. This is the most ridiculous feeling I’ve ever had. I am still that little boy dreaming of Shilo and staring at the brick entrance to ‘her’ neighborhood while waiting for the girl of my dreams to emerge and walk toward me. I never grew out of that. I only found other ways to focus. Jamie is the focus. She is not real, but I am waiting for her to come and save my life. I did this to myself. But I didn’t do all of it. Actually, there are three scenes in this episode that showcase her eyes more than almost any others. This is the episode which hit me in the face and opened my own eyes. The second time around, I fell. I don’t understand how I allowed such a dream to develop in the first place. Weakness? Loneliness? I’ve been desperately seeking something for more than two fucking years, so perhaps the condition simply grows over time when nothing changes to allow for any comfort with the power to minimize the impact of such visions. Conversely, a lack of said comfort sends everything off the rails and only serves to deepen my feelings for the impossible. The scenes in this episode force me to stare at those precious few seconds when her eyes are in full effect, and then I look out the window or back at this screen with the feeling that my life is completely over. Seeing her is depressing. Dreaming of holding hands is worse. There is nothing I can do. I probably have the same strength of feelings that some of those nutcases in the news also have. You know... The crazies that stalk or obsess over people. Well, that is not me. I have the deepest feelings for her, yet the time is more than a decade gone (reason one), she is not real and merely a fictional character (reason two), plus I know nothing of the actual person, only what I see on screen (reason three). I don't want to know the real person because I am in love with the fucking CHARACTER. Yes, I do obsess over her (as you should know very well after all this time), but that is all. I stare and dream. I feel pain and lose myself in her eyes. I wish for her to hold me and tell me everything will be ok. That’s it. I am out of my mind, but not far enough to do anything else. If you believe I am infatuated and not in love, well... Time will prove one or the other. I’ll be sitting right here either way, full of concern and picturing our fingers intertwined just like Andrea. I feel so small right now. I also feel stupid. And remember that I warned you at the beginning of the previous essay that there would be tons of her in the upcoming content. Expect more. The word is 'love', and I rarely apply that term to real people anymore. No dreams that I can recall this morning. Honestly, the other day was plenty and I don’t need any more bullets in my head for a long while. The sisters came to life and I thought I would be ok. And then the ‘image’ related to me after waiting and wishing for years, and I thought I would be ok. Two of the most powerful and stirring situations of my entire life played out while I slept, and now the world appears even worse. I am further away than ever before. Plagued, really. Worse than mere days ago. I’ve never felt so much need. I would rather not be led by carrots, thank you. I have enough in my head already. I was going to be at the bar by nine. Here we are at 0813 and there is no fucking way I’m leaving the house today. The slice of Asian beauty which graces the screen for a mere two or three minutes out of eighty-six fucking hours of programming is up there now. Holy fuck, her beautiful hair. Ugh. Whatever. Anyway, remaining home today is appearing more and more appealing as the minutes disappear. I can care for my usual business, work on the axles maybe, trim the trees and roses, work on the garbage, or anything that looks good. Sounds exciting, right? All this shit I do each week? I have become a fraction of something I honestly believed I had been years ago. Now I don’t know. Whenever that subject came up in conversation, I typically received the same response no matter who was carrying the discussion with me. Always the same. I just don’t know if I was being placated or something else. I have no trust in people anymore. None. Regardless of what my work means or represents, there is at least one certainty, and that is no matter what I may do during the hours ahead, I’ll be doing it at home. Whatever I may be, the work needs to be accomplished. That conversation between myself and the fictional bartender just appeared in my brain again. And the other one from nearly eleven years ago when I realized her words were complete bullshit and almost laughed as she tried to explain. Oh, and all the other little situations that jabbed me slightly. More fuel to stay home. The important things are generally avoided at the bar. This is good, and it is also comfortable. The possibility can’t be denied, hence my need to be alone. Hmm. That’s interesting. Being alone in one way is very important to me and often the most comfortable feeling on a given day. Curious, the other ‘alone’ is cutting my heart to ribbons whilst simultaneously rankling my head unlike anything in memory. I think the site went off the rails two years ago and has not righted itself. The subject of a machine came into my head and everything followed suit, meaning it all became very ridiculous and desperate. The site has not recovered, nor have I. At least I don’t bring up the machine much these days, although I will say there is a sharp correlation between some of the dreams and the machine, but I can’t be specific. I’ll be crucified for using a certain word. The other entry which is being written concurrently shows off the fact that an incident from the past which has been gleaned here (gently) on many occasions is actually one of the most difficult, driven nails of my life, and I have held back much information, feelings and concerns throughout the last few years. I worry that the event may have flipped a switch inside me that will ensure my being alone for the rest of my life. That is a frightening thought, yet I can’t deny it. The other essay has little points here and there which continue to rise up in my psyche and then flow off the keyboard. Nothing is spelled out, though. You know... Ambiguous to the last, I must be. Just know that what is going on behind the scenes of this site is a draw with enough power to force my hand at any time. I am a slave to it. The fact is I keep thinking about what has been written over there and then almost continuously return to the other code to ensure that I have not said anything out loud (literally, to be clear). Sometimes the tiniest effects upon my senses carry the most power. This one rivals my feelings for that woman mentioned 437 fucking times in 109 entries. Yep, that is how fucking screwed I have become. Insane; unbalanced; unhinged; whatever the fuck you wish to call it. The fact is I sit here alone and with no one who can listen, and then gush about everything in such a way that sometimes even I have no fucking clue as to what I wrote just a few days ago. But? I’m talking. The facts are here because I can’t fucking help it. The other entry has one hell of a focus and typically puts a finer point upon some of my problems, the current wording being aimed straight at one key part of my life and the resulting realization that I am in much worse shape than before that shit took place. Get it? Nope. Eh... I don’t know why I feel the need to add a fucking concordance to the site, or even one sentence. Maybe I just like to hear the keyboard. 0859. I need a break right now. 1112. I am in the middle of the game and a huge, modified White Russian. Yummy. I have half the routine finished and will care for the kitchen during halftime. Nine seconds left in the second quarter. We are in a battle. Down two touchdowns in the first quarter, recovered by two touchdowns in the second, and then down by a third just before the end of the half. Damn. I was hoping we would have come out swinging like last week, but alas pro football is not so predictable. The combination of the game and my efforts to get things in order on this Sunday has kept my brain out of the nether regions of the universe... So far. Hmm. Nether regions, indeed... Those places that have near-complete control over my life? Yes, control. There are fifty aspects of living which press my head into the soil, whereas there have been but three keeping me upright. This is a losing battle. If the game turns to shit during the third quarter, I will reevaluate the media and most likely switch to science fiction. The house is quiet, meaning I can think as clearly as possible. The truck axles and loud music will result if my mind can’t focus. I have found a smidgen of comfort in planning alternatives when I don’t feel well. Some of those alternatives have actually kept me away from the revolver. 1317. The game went to hell so I turned on the gangsters again to allow the series to run its course. Naturally, that means the eyes again. Huge, beautiful eyes I cannot resist. I love her eyes so much... At some point during the late morning, a wave of depression washed over me as if driven by a tsunami. I don’t know what happened, either. All morning long I was productive – the routine, garbage work, and a shower – but as soon as I began to prepare something to eat, my mood fell right off the edge of the world. I am usually pretty positive once a portion of the Sunday business is complete. Not today, and the change was not precipitated by the game. I don’t know what the hell happened. Right now I am feeling very negative and sad. This makes me worry for the rest of the day, too. I like to enter Sunday evening feeling accomplished, and though I’ve cared for quite a bit so far, my head can’t climb out of this hole. Damn. Nothing looks appealing right now. Nothing. Not the work, my truck, the television... Not a damned thing. I am sitting at the IDE because I don’t know what else to do. And there she is again. The last dinner scene involving Jamie. Damn it all, anyway. I would give the rest of my life to be next to her for two fucking minutes. And the scene is over. Bye. I love you. Maybe I should go and lie down for a little while. I don’t know. This is bad. 0657 on Monday morning. Coffee, cats fed, fourth show, all that kind of shit like that there (them thar). Don’t use no double negatives. Try to not split infinitives. About those sentence fragments. Verbs has to agree with their antecedents. Food for thought. I dreamed but can’t recall the subject matter now. Something good, I believe. That’s probably why remembering has been disallowed. I am waiting for something appealing or at least enough to keep me going a while longer. I need it badly. All of the visions have severely truncated my future. Desperation can be worrisome. It can also be dangerous if I begin to behave as in the past. Garbage trucks out there. Bless them. I have to take care of the morning business in a few minutes. Afterward, I’ll probably sit and try to remember the good things. I still can’t see anything from my sleep time, damn it. I want to know what was happening. If I go back some days to the other dream involving the ‘image’, some of the details are still there. Her eyes looking at me as she smiled, things like that. Her hair and the way it wrapped around one side of her neck. This latest feeling is just that... A feeling. I wish I knew what took place. 0804. The morning stuff is out of the way and I have the remainder of the day to myself. There is some business with laundry and the routine, but nothing more. I should have some hardware arriving on the porch today. That will help my truck work. The fourth show is still up there. This is the most difficult situation I could have imagined. I don’t want any more of this shit. Dreams at night from which I awaken completely distraught, daydreaming while working around the house which eventually leads to my standing and wondering how much worse things will become, and then the evening comes along to distract me. I sleep and then do it again. Today I have laundry to wash and dry, the organization I typically care for while moving around the house, and my usual morning routine. During all of it I will be thinking of missing pieces and smiling faces. I’ll be rehashing the dream of Jamie, the other one involving the ‘image’, and then falling down over and over. The key dream in which I felt that my distress had gone away forever will enter my head and leave me wrecked again. This is every fucking day. I just don’t understand one bit of it. I don’t need it, I don’t fucking want it, yet I am right smack dab in the center of a messy, lonely, and angering situation. Depression, feeling distraught and sad, yearning for understanding... This is all I have anymore. The enjoyments? Shrinking. The time? Doesn’t matter. Status of the routine? Doesn’t matter. Everything which matters to me or is/was important to my daily activities has faded for now. My head was wrapped around a thought earlier this morning and failed. Right now there is nothing which appears ‘good’ or appealing. The laundry is rolling along, I have plenty of hours ahead for whatever seems best for me or the house, yet the background black noise is fucking killing me. The fourth show is deep into a dramatic story and it doesn’t matter. The truck doesn’t matter. Just like my thoughts up the page a bit, nothing is looking positive right now. Not a fucking thing. I continue to degrade. Once in a while a dream comes along which solves EVERY FUCKING CONCERN I'VE EVER HAD, and then I awaken to the same fucking situation and circumstances, and with all those painful memories. I almost can't handle this today and I am pretty damned strong after all these years. I mentioned a problem that came about early in the year. Well, that problem is real and carries on to this very day. I keep trying to find reasons to remain here and to embrace anything with the ability to bring even a second of joy, but underneath it all, I see only impossibility and pain. I mentioned my strength. Well, there is only so much and it is running out. Strength of this type cannot be replenished. When it is gone, it is gone. Period. 1708. I finished everything I set out to do today. I also tried to make a bushing from the new tubing from McMaster. The first try was a bit off, but I can fabricate another with better results, albeit not today. My head is in a bad place. The market trip was uneventful and very quick. Now I have the evening and an easy dinner to prepare. The fourth show has been keeping me company. There is something very wrong inside and I am not equipped to fix it. Someone is; just not me. I would have to swing the beam around so fucking far that upon finding the repair I believe the will to go on would disappear. I can’t handle changes in anything right now. My precious quiet time seems all that is left in the world. I have not been able to push the problems out and allow clear thinking to enter. Powerless. Tomorrow I have to return to the airport and pick up the people that were dropped off two weeks ago. That means the excess vehicle will disappear. Very good. I don’t mind helping. The airport terminal can be tough, though. I’ve seen far too much in airports throughout almost two decades to believe I can get in and out of the place unscathed. I’ve dealt with shit thus far. One more trip there and back should be fine (I hope). Whenever inside the terminal – most notably post-security – I recall other occasions that found me joyful and excited. No more of that in this life. No more. The airport is becoming haunted. Aside from the vehicle being gone, the only upside to going is arriving home afterward. Splendid. Morning cocktail? Guaranteed. She was ripped away. She was ripped away. She was ripped away. She was ripped away. 'Her'. Save me, please. SAVE ME. 0656 on Tuesday morning. Coffee, cats fed, fourth show, and a glorious vision the likes of which I may have never seen prior to a certain point in this series. It doesn’t matter, though. I can’t do anything about anything these days. I see and then I see more and then nothing comes of the situation. Yesterday morning was pretty damned bad. Hopefully I can avoid a repeat. I finished my work around the house yesterday in good time and order. The bushing experiment worked for the most part. I have to fab another and relocate the mounting hole. A lathe would be nice. Nope. Ah, shit. I have to take care of the morning business before continuing here. I don’t really know what I’m doing anyway. Breathing? 0757. Almost finished. I have the news on for posterity, although the number of stories that I find interesting has been declining since before the pandemic. The reports seem to be out of balance toward the negative. I’d say the ratio is roughly six to one. Ugh. Once in a while there is a very inspiring tale which can leave me feeling better than prior to turning on the news in the first place, but such an occurrence is quite rare. The time has come for a switch to fictional programming. I need to know what is going to take place on my television. Call me crazy. I don’t care. I can already feel that this morning can very quickly become a repeat of yesterday, and I can’t have that kind of shit right now. Dreaming of ‘her’ is not helping and never stops. I have yet to find anything in my life with the power to remove the dreams, even temporarily. In fact, just a little while ago a vision entered my head and was related to the third damaging dream, thus dropping me during the morning business. I had to force myself to remain productive. That is one of the most powerful images I’ve ever experienced and often takes me far enough away from myself to cease even the simplest morning tasks. I could be halfway through pouring a cup of coffee and lose direction completely. Fortunately, I righted myself and finished everything. Now I can focus upon whatever seems best for the time. Falling off a cliff has become a daily occurrence, so whatever upward feeling I may experience can be destroyed in an instant. I just never know when the ‘image’ is going to ruin everything. I must be careful to avoid those visions that light the fire. The other essay is a prime example of just how severely I have been affected by such sights. The references must remain completely unclear, however. Unfortunate, yet necessary. The 'edge' may be approaching. My trip to the airport is in just over four hours and regardless of how many times I may be struck upside the head while in the terminal, the drive and time consumption may be necessary for my well-being. I have half the routine finished already and my last cup of coffee, meaning I’ll have to push for additional things to do prior to traveling to the airport. Felecia has the most beautiful chiclets. The pilot episode is what got to me recently. We discussed the differences between the two women and both came to the conclusion that Felecia is in a category all her own. I will refrain from going into detail. Just... Trust me. 0652 on Wednesday morning; pants flying through my head like witches on brooms, all bent upon my destruction. Ah... Now the time is 0826 and I have the morning business out of the way. Next to me is coffee and on the television is the fourth show, like most of my mornings. There is a mass of shit in my head right now, and after yesterday’s difficulties, I really don’t need any more. I am becoming completely fed up with the way the world appears due to the past. Pissed off all the time, tossing threats around as if anyone really gives a crap, and then sitting here bitching about everything over and over and fucking over. Sick of it. Unfortunately for me and anyone still venturing to this space and reading, I really don’t have anything else in life which has any effect upon me. Without the ability to type, I’d probably not be much of anything. I used to be a person of note, whereas at present I can no longer identify what I am. Let’s talk about my trip to the airport, shall we? Holy crap. There were only two, and the second almost killed me due to the circumstances disallowing my eyes from pulling in more, however the damage became extensive upon returning home and considering the relationship between the first and those damaging dreams. The arrivals lobby was much busier than I had expected, especially considering the number of occasions that have found me there waiting for someone. What a sight... Her hair flowing back and forth as she walked was enough to drive me insane. Oh, but there was so much more. I fought for several minutes before losing sight. From there, I only had to worry about dealing with the parking garage and getting home to the quiet. We ventured through the lobby and down the long tunnel toward the parking area. I paused to attempt to pay for the parking time, but the machines would not read my ticket. We ended up heading for the exit and then simply paying there. The payment machines? Yes, they are next to the exit into the garage. That was where I saw number two and the most difficult moment in memory, even tougher than the goddess in the lobby. Pants. Teal pants, for God’s sake, and wrapped around the lines of the universe. All she did was appear through the doorway and turn left toward the fucking lobby, but that was enough. The pain I felt was due to the number of people present at the payment machines. All those faces precluded any chances of me turning around to see something so rare. I actually felt more anxiety and turmoil over being prevented from gazing at her lines than I did for the entire operation of picking up people in the international terminal in the first place. She cruised right on by – a split-second of which I saw the lines, believe it or not – and then I had to return my attention to the issues of paying for the fucking parking. We moved to the van and then I reiterated that the ticket should be taken care of prior to driving, so I went back three floors down and tried again. Nothing. And then I turned and looked up the huge tunnel as if by some miraculous circumstance I might see the owner of those beautiful teal leggings. Nothing. Just people trying to make their way out of the airport. We drove to the exit, paid the cashier, and twenty minutes later I was in the garage quickly sucking down a cold beer and smoking as if I had a pregnant wife in the delivery room. Two. The first was very bad due to reminding me of those three key dreams, the second being worse because I knew I would never see her again and felt as if I would die without gazing at what I so badly needed. All of it adds up to the worst trip to the fucking airport in memory, and trust me when I say I’ve spent a lot of time in airport terminals. And the worst part of the whole thing was that fucking desperate, pathetic attempt to see if by some fluke she was still nearby. Desperate. My brain went all the way back to the other shit from the past; nearly five decades back to Shilo. Yes, I said that. Desperate. Was the woman with the teal pants and sunglasses ‘her’? Do you fucking believe this shit? That’s what I thought, too. Just seconds after trying to process the parking ticket, my head went around the impossible world all over again, as if I haven’t spent the last hundred-thousand words trying to learn why I keep returning to the past. I was standing there, in REALITY, and hoping that the beautiful woman who walked by was my savior. Isn’t that just wonderful? Further gone. Much further. Why in the holy blue fuck am I searching so fervently and dying to find something I already know cannot exist? Why? Tell me. I was wrong yesterday when thinking of the drive and some time burned off the clock. Two of them, right upside my head, and both are still swirling inside. A gorgeous, flowing image drawn straight from those dreams that I can't discuss, and then a woman walking by which resulted in me not caring if I walked straight off the edge of the damned nine-story parking structure. I don't generally go into much detail regarding one of the shows, but right now I have to point out something rather silly. A good portion of this episode is very tense due to the holographic medical specialist being a Cardassian. Neither ensign Tabor nor B’Elanna wanted anything to do with him, and the situation almost turned to complete shit, all due to his being from Cardassia and famous during the occupation. Here’s my issue... If the doctor was only a holographic simulation, why did they not simply alter his appearance in the first place and before anyone else saw him? Eh... Makes too much sense, I suppose. Or maybe I think about this program too much. The teal pants displayed the type of lines I have not seen since that fucking girl at the pool. I will refrain from much of what has been taking place inside my head thus far today. Not good. 1107 and holy fuck is that woman on the television cute. Jesus. Darkness, huge eyes, big smile. God damn. Just saying. I am a wreck. I went to the market after completing half of the routine, my typical schedule. I like to get the floor and cat litter finished prior to taking off, thus leaving my kitchen cocktail as the reward for shopping. Now I have everything finished and most of the yummy booze left. There was nothing to worry about at the store, although I did make an inquiry of one employee who was rather cute. Helpful, too. That was that. In; out; hello; goodbye, and that was that. Just another dipshit walking out of the store with a bag of groceries. My car is once again in the driveway since the van disappeared yesterday. Very good. I still have the fourth show up there for comfort (but the whiskey is the REAL comfort). The temperature is ramping up quickly outside, much like yesterday. I’ll have to ventilate in a little while when the mercury inside matches that of the outdoors. After freezing my ass off for a couple of weeks, the warmth feels nice. It’s too bad the fucking hurricane in my brain does not bow to reality. Yes, a cyclone of sorts. Desperation is a bad state of mind. Very bad. 0732 on Thursday morning. I already have the morning business out of the way and am sitting in the quiet. There is a form on the television that I should avoid. Amazing. Too bad the shape in question is a sight never again to grace my eyesight in person. That is a fucking depressive thought. Very bad switch. Last night I ran across an epiphany just prior to going to sleep. I realized that I have been on a path toward something I did not want to be in life, and an example of a personality that I’ve always disliked. There have been those fleeting occasions in which I found a glimpse of the same type of realization – here and there throughout a few years, I guess – yet I always felt that I could fight against such mindsets and think my way through the situations which bring about stereotyped behavior. Well, I now believe that the process has been taking place and advancing upon my mind very slowly, and in the background of living through each day. This is not good. One of the worst feelings in the world is to experience a personality type that is widely regarded as either unpleasant or difficult, and then shortly thereafter to see those very same traits within oneself. At least I am not the type of person to sit here and believe there is nothing wrong with me, or worse, that I am better than any other person on this planet. I can still fight this, of course, because I am intelligent and often consider circumstances related to how others view me. Sometimes I move along and fail to think about it, however. That’s generally when a situation or conversation comes along and slaps me in the face until I see more clearly. That is what happened last night. I basically saw myself from the outside for a moment and then realized that if I don’t do anything about this in the short term, I will be facing a future of people reacting to me speaking in one of three ways; with either placation, confusion, or condescension. I can’t fucking have that. Thus? This entry has crossed a switch and is headed for a very unpleasant spur. Rusted rails, blackened ties, and the occasional missing spike. Years ago, my boss informed me that his vision for the future was as such... Whatever type of personality traits are carried by a given person into their fifties tend to become more cemented as time passes. We had a short discussion of various relatives and I walked away from that idea considering my own issues and how they may affect the manner in which I communicate with others. Well, that was a long time ago. I suppose I’ve gone back to our conversation several times since then, and last night I saw it within myself. Ouch. This is not the end of the world, but I couldn’t help avoiding looking in from the outside after a short observation about something I do not like about the way television programming has developed and changed in the last decade or more. I heard my words out loud and then thought about the discussion with my boss. The point last night was an aspect of writing known colloquially as ‘manipulative scripting’, a method of sending the viewer in whatever direction the writers wish and keeping the audience glued to the story. Twists and turns aside, I don’t appreciate the producers toying around with a person’s psyche in the name of ‘drama’. The subject is far too vast for me to properly cover within this entry, but suffice to say I have been nearly offended by several programs and gave up on most of them for this very reason. Being the technically-minded viewer I am, the dislike came forth after an episode, and that is when I realized my personality traits have begun to bind themselves to the way I carry myself and interact with people, especially regarding a subject about which I am very passionate, and that is filmed media (even if some is not on film anymore). There is one glaring positive to this realization, however, and that is the fact that I will sit here and ponder my issues rather than simply conclude that I am correct all the time. I honestly believe that despite my age, I am still capable of changing and/or learning. All that shit would seem to have nothing to do with ‘her’, although there are very few segments of my daily life that are not affected by dreaming. Basically, if I am unhappy or angry, such emotions will come out during any conversation. That is another fucking part of me I need to address. I was originally going to create a series of entries all sharing one word in their titles, the word being ‘doorsteps’. Well, that ended up one long, wandering essay and I never wrote any others. Whatever. All this shit ran together years ago, anyway. Half a... Fraction of a... What? Go back to the conversation with the bartender. I did. 0922. I have yet to do anything other than type and sip coffee this morning. There is a phrase ringing over and over inside my head. The phrase is as follows: ‘desperation is dangerous’. My situation is partly my doing, of course, due to the way I... Um... No, it is not. 1030. The routine is finished. I have no plans to leave the house today, meaning the next seven hours are whatever I wish to make of them, if anything. Yesterday I fabricated a tail light bar for the rear of the truck after some testing, along with blowing up one LED after not following voltage instructions properly. Heh. I don’t know if I feel like working further on the tail light wiring or matching headlights. What I do need is decidedly out of fucking reach, naturally, so everything else seems minimized with regard to enjoyment. In short, I do not have a clue as to what this day may have in store for me. Five-eight and 121 pounds. She is also carrying... I am wrecked. The years continue to take their toll. At least I have not switched to the Jamie show. I need ‘her’ to find me, save me, and eliminate all my problems. Wait... What did you say? I should employ the PC term ‘challenges’ instead? Bullshit. I have PROBLEMS. Suck that. The word ‘should’ rarely applies to anything, least of all the manner in which people refer to themselves. I need her. NEED. I am already further out of balance than I could have ever imagined, so why the fuck not use all the words related to the same? I can’t help it, anyway. Weakened is my new middle name. Again... I did not do this. I was going to have some tuna salad, but I do not believe it will mix well with the orange/white Russian I’ve been sipping. There is a machine shop down the peninsula that I may visit tomorrow. I’m hoping they can turn down a piece of tubing by roughly .008” so I can fabricate bushings. My methods are so far below crude that I just can’t have them on the truck. The first was an experiment. That is fine. I’d like the diameters to be as concentric as possible to avoid any runout while the drive is spinning. In this day and age, I have no idea if they will even entertain the idea of such a small job, nor do I know what their time and experience may cost. I’ll ask, though, because an inquiry will cost zero dollars. Honestly, and with my history of luck, the woman at the counter will probably look like some goddess, meaning I’ll become all fucked up and lose my bearing. Such a thought should be funny. Alas, very little is funny anymore. I have never felt so alone. Please help me. Ok, I am going to start crying soon, so I have to leave this endeavor and do something else. Thankfully, often when I feel sad enough to cry, my self-defense mechanism kicks in and changes the sadness to anger. 1538. Everything is finished. I’ve spent the last few hours in the garage building doors for the laundry shelves. They are finished, as well. The work was accompanied by loud music and alcohol due to some of the song lyrics, one track in particular. Two years after constructing my ‘her’ playlist for the daily drives, that one tune and the story within rings with more truth now than it did at the time. I am sadder than ever and the missing parts of me feel as if they will remain lost for all time. 0743, Friday morning after a very uncomfortable night. Dreams, a lack of sleep, and concern filling my head all summed to ruin my typically unremarkable sleep time. Splendid. The dream is still fairly fresh, too. It involved a representation of my freedom and comfort, that symbol being my car which is parked in the driveway at this very moment. The thought of something being terribly wrong with the car frightened me in the middle of the night and I am still a bit uncomfortable hours later. The car is fine, but in the dream? All fucked up after bad people tampered with the electronics, believe it or not. A lot of things went through my head yesterday while working in the garage, plus I watched some goofy television during dinner. Everything may have brought on such a strange dream (thanks Frank) after swirling within my subconscious, but I am no expert. I only suspect. I am overjoyed to have some quiet time this morning after such a night, plus I woke up a tad later than usual and had to hop to the morning business without much coffee. Not good. Heh. Anyway, Now that everything is finished, I have the remainder of the morning to analyze what took place while I slept. And six-foot Julie is on the screen since I went back to the third series for comfort. Yesterday I mentioned my defense mechanism as it typically results in anger. Well, it happened just as I decided to leave this alone and work in the garage. A few hours later? Doors on the laundry shelves, all leveled and square. I did a nice job on them. I don’t see anything like that taking place today, though, because I am in a much more contemplative mood. Relaxation and quiet are the most important aspects of the remainder of this day. I do need to drive over the hill to the big wine store, however. Hopefully, the trip will not have any problems. All that fucking daydreaming yesterday has me pretty fucked up. Sad, too. I don’t like this crap. This series of entries is fucking stupid. I have too much in my head right now to continue this entry. The symbolism in my recurring dream (driving a car), the way my weekdays seem to fall off the edge of the world once the morning routine is finished, and the prospect of breaking out of the norm to accomplish more are all eating at me right now. I didn’t even mention the girl, ‘her’, or any of those deep emotional issues. There is just too much this morning. I have to let this go for now."
Sideways Her (IV)
Mature content No. 339 Published October 21st, 2022 9:35am pdt read ( words) Past entries
0900 straight up. Last cup of coffee. The previous entry was completed (or whatever you want to call it) and published ten minutes ago. Jamie’s gorgeous face still graces the index like a splash screen from God. I have to look at her. I have to. Hopefully, her face is the last thing I see just before... God help me for the bullshit and thoughts that day. Bullshit. But I had to do it. There was no other way of moving along through time. I had to do it. Inside? An amusement park of lines. Never in my life had I felt so strongly, so quickly. Not even the red dress at the car dealer, nor the race girl. Those were different and I can’t fucking describe why. But that day... Jesus Harold Christ on a rubber crutch, so many feelings. They permeated my being, took over and smashed clarity, and then dumped me into a vat of questions. Thank the maker there was a way out. Holy fuck, Jamie continues to become more beautiful than I can understand. There were moments before and after in which I was mostly ok, one in particular. It was a realization. During that day? There was no way I could have gone on living without the possibility of something there. A good thing. No one is going to understand this because the situation was so fucking hairbrain that I have to leave out key details in order to type at all, but I understand it. And I feel more strongly right now than I did at the time. I simply could not believe my eyes were pointed directly at an image from my imagination, one I thought I would never see. And then there it was. My brain miscalculated everything for a long time as a result of such fascination. Soon after? Pain, thrice. I can’t believe I made it out of that fucking place and continued living. Enough of this. The dreams from early this morning are chewing me to bits. Chewing. Bits. I am more depressed and disillusioned than ever. My heart is broken. The dreams reminded me of the situation in the previous paragraph. I ran with it. I have nothing else in life. AJ’s college professor is a slice of beauty nearly unmatched on this program. Jesus. From the first sight of her way back almost twenty years back right up to and including just a few seconds ago, the imagery inside me is the same. Don’t ask. You already know. Worship of a type better left out of life itself. Believe me, I’ve done it more than once. Oh, the last time? I can’t say. Just trust me in stating that the very idea of what she represents on the screen is more amazing than the entire fucking cosmos. She is the opposite of Jamie, however. The professor is more like Jolene or Nora. I will refrain from detailed imagery of what goes through my head when I see her. And don’t give me any fucking shit, either. I am a person with desire, nothing more. I am harmless. I speak it because I can. I am not a bad person, just one who feels there is nothing left to lose. Tongue. Nose. Picture it. Tell me I am wrong. Try it. You’ll get more than the horns. I turned off the show. I can’t look at Jamie anymore this morning. It hurts so much to see her eyes and smile, believe me. Her image on the screen causes pain. That is how deeply I feel. I have enough going through my head today. Avoiding an angry tirade either here or in the garage later is going to be difficult in the extreme without my love for that woman growing ever more through seeing her in high definition. My mistake for running Jamie's show in the background. Nearly ten in the morning and I am still sitting here. I will admit part of it is Jamie. Her character is the pinnacle of everything in the universe, the goddess above all. Yes, I am gushing because this is no flash in the fucking pan, people. That woman is more wrapped around my heart than ANYONE in my more than fifty fucking years of living. No bullshit. And she is not real. What does that say about the current state of my mind? You know. The basement awaits, all cold and lonely. Impossibilities abound. The coffee is waning. I’ve spent almost five hundred dollars on hardware and tooling from McMaster since the beginning of last month, the latest order having been placed yesterday. Jesus, you wanna talk about a compulsion? Just imagine if money could be applied to other issues. Holy shit. I’d be in debt to Satan forever. Not funny. The house is quiet but my brain is noisy. There is too much inside right now. I keep going back to the other entry – ‘Caverns and Wind V’ – because thoughts are different within that series. They are dark, dire, downtrodden, and not to be trifled. That is where the anger comes out. Believe me, I am always angry over one of two aspects of this life. Always. None of it ever leaves. I am able to push it away often enough to function, though. That is very good. Otherwise, I’d be truly in the middle of nowhere and buried in the ground. Lots of noise inside me right now. 1132 on the clock and my routine is finished. The big, yummy glass of medicine is to my right, and the most important team in college football is slugging it out with a bunch of assholes. Heh. I should not be watching, though, because they are as of yet undefeated and I can’t help but believe it is in part due to my not watching the games this season. If I switch up the media, it will be in favor of the fourth show again. Too much comfort with that one. The gangsters must wait. This entire morning has been productive. If I see the goddess of the universe up there, my day will be halted. I am so in love with her that I don't even understand it. Crazy person. Basket case. Fraction of a... I guess since the wheel axles arrived yesterday I will head to the workbench in a little while. They may solve a decent issue with the drive system, that being the fact that in order to gain proper alignment when the axle housings were first machined, I opted to free the relationship between the inner and outer drive parts by opening the forks. That gave the dogbones a bit more room to adjust to any error introduced by misalignment. Since I have alleviated the error through adjustment of the inner axles, the factory opening in the forks will remove any looseness between the two. The only upward gain from here would be if I decide to replace the dogbone system with actual universal joints. Early this morning I realized they could be swapped in with a minimum of work. For the time being, I’ll install the new wheel axles and see how the drive behaves. Sunday. I am scheduled to watch the game later this morning at the bar. Nope. That was a mistake of a plan. Remaining here is my only option. 0702. Coffee. Gangsters. Bad mindset. I didn’t do much of anything yesterday because I was not feeling well. That has to be changed this morning. And here is the scene when Sarah wraps herself around Tony and reminds me of the way the kitten held me when I was wishing to go out the window. Anyway, Sunday is always one of my favorite days of the week. I’ll make it work when the coffee is gone. I am now two days detached from a very negative situation and wish to see it extended, meaning once I finish with the early morning comfort and frightening fucking typing, my brain will switch to maintenance and work modes until kickoff. Once more after the game, my plan will be complete. I worked through everything last week and came out the other side ok. Hopefully, there is nothing to stymie my efforts later. I will admit that I’m having trouble pushing the image away right now, although such a situation has become the norm lately. I should be used to it by now. ‘Should’. Right. There she is again. This one caught me off-guard because I’ve been looking around the Internet for truck-related materials. And she shows up in one of the most stirring shots in the history of the show, and often I feel it is even more amazing than the key scene later on. I’ve spoken of these before. My dream... Right there. Never in my life have I been so affected by a pair of eyes, and believe me I’ve searched and stared for decades. This is the most ridiculous feeling I’ve ever had. I am still that little boy dreaming of Shilo and staring at the brick entrance to ‘her’ neighborhood while waiting for the girl of my dreams to emerge and walk toward me. I never grew out of that. I only found other ways to focus. Jamie is the focus. She is not real, but I am waiting for her to come and save my life. I did this to myself. But I didn’t do all of it.
Actually, there are three scenes in this episode that showcase her eyes more than almost any others. This is the episode which hit me in the face and opened my own eyes. The second time around, I fell. I don’t understand how I allowed such a dream to develop in the first place. Weakness? Loneliness? I’ve been desperately seeking something for more than two fucking years, so perhaps the condition simply grows over time when nothing changes to allow for any comfort with the power to minimize the impact of such visions. Conversely, a lack of said comfort sends everything off the rails and only serves to deepen my feelings for the impossible. The scenes in this episode force me to stare at those precious few seconds when her eyes are in full effect, and then I look out the window or back at this screen with the feeling that my life is completely over. Seeing her is depressing. Dreaming of holding hands is worse. There is nothing I can do. I probably have the same strength of feelings that some of those nutcases in the news also have. You know... The crazies that stalk or obsess over people. Well, that is not me. I have the deepest feelings for her, yet the time is more than a decade gone (reason one), she is not real and merely a fictional character (reason two), plus I know nothing of the actual person, only what I see on screen (reason three). I don't want to know the real person because I am in love with the fucking CHARACTER. Yes, I do obsess over her (as you should know very well after all this time), but that is all. I stare and dream. I feel pain and lose myself in her eyes. I wish for her to hold me and tell me everything will be ok. That’s it. I am out of my mind, but not far enough to do anything else. If you believe I am infatuated and not in love, well... Time will prove one or the other. I’ll be sitting right here either way, full of concern and picturing our fingers intertwined just like Andrea. I feel so small right now. I also feel stupid. And remember that I warned you at the beginning of the previous essay that there would be tons of her in the upcoming content. Expect more. The word is 'love', and I rarely apply that term to real people anymore. No dreams that I can recall this morning. Honestly, the other day was plenty and I don’t need any more bullets in my head for a long while. The sisters came to life and I thought I would be ok. And then the ‘image’ related to me after waiting and wishing for years, and I thought I would be ok. Two of the most powerful and stirring situations of my entire life played out while I slept, and now the world appears even worse. I am further away than ever before. Plagued, really. Worse than mere days ago. I’ve never felt so much need. I would rather not be led by carrots, thank you. I have enough in my head already. I was going to be at the bar by nine. Here we are at 0813 and there is no fucking way I’m leaving the house today. The slice of Asian beauty which graces the screen for a mere two or three minutes out of eighty-six fucking hours of programming is up there now. Holy fuck, her beautiful hair. Ugh. Whatever. Anyway, remaining home today is appearing more and more appealing as the minutes disappear. I can care for my usual business, work on the axles maybe, trim the trees and roses, work on the garbage, or anything that looks good. Sounds exciting, right? All this shit I do each week? I have become a fraction of something I honestly believed I had been years ago. Now I don’t know. Whenever that subject came up in conversation, I typically received the same response no matter who was carrying the discussion with me. Always the same. I just don’t know if I was being placated or something else. I have no trust in people anymore. None. Regardless of what my work means or represents, there is at least one certainty, and that is no matter what I may do during the hours ahead, I’ll be doing it at home. Whatever I may be, the work needs to be accomplished. That conversation between myself and the fictional bartender just appeared in my brain again. And the other one from nearly eleven years ago when I realized her words were complete bullshit and almost laughed as she tried to explain. Oh, and all the other little situations that jabbed me slightly. More fuel to stay home. The important things are generally avoided at the bar. This is good, and it is also comfortable. The possibility can’t be denied, hence my need to be alone. Hmm. That’s interesting. Being alone in one way is very important to me and often the most comfortable feeling on a given day. Curious, the other ‘alone’ is cutting my heart to ribbons whilst simultaneously rankling my head unlike anything in memory. I think the site went off the rails two years ago and has not righted itself. The subject of a machine came into my head and everything followed suit, meaning it all became very ridiculous and desperate. The site has not recovered, nor have I. At least I don’t bring up the machine much these days, although I will say there is a sharp correlation between some of the dreams and the machine, but I can’t be specific. I’ll be crucified for using a certain word. The other entry which is being written concurrently shows off the fact that an incident from the past which has been gleaned here (gently) on many occasions is actually one of the most difficult, driven nails of my life, and I have held back much information, feelings and concerns throughout the last few years. I worry that the event may have flipped a switch inside me that will ensure my being alone for the rest of my life. That is a frightening thought, yet I can’t deny it. The other essay has little points here and there which continue to rise up in my psyche and then flow off the keyboard. Nothing is spelled out, though. You know... Ambiguous to the last, I must be. Just know that what is going on behind the scenes of this site is a draw with enough power to force my hand at any time. I am a slave to it. The fact is I keep thinking about what has been written over there and then almost continuously return to the other code to ensure that I have not said anything out loud (literally, to be clear). Sometimes the tiniest effects upon my senses carry the most power. This one rivals my feelings for that woman mentioned 437 fucking times in 109 entries. Yep, that is how fucking screwed I have become. Insane; unbalanced; unhinged; whatever the fuck you wish to call it. The fact is I sit here alone and with no one who can listen, and then gush about everything in such a way that sometimes even I have no fucking clue as to what I wrote just a few days ago. But? I’m talking. The facts are here because I can’t fucking help it. The other entry has one hell of a focus and typically puts a finer point upon some of my problems, the current wording being aimed straight at one key part of my life and the resulting realization that I am in much worse shape than before that shit took place. Get it? Nope. Eh... I don’t know why I feel the need to add a fucking concordance to the site, or even one sentence. Maybe I just like to hear the keyboard. 0859. I need a break right now. 1112. I am in the middle of the game and a huge, modified White Russian. Yummy. I have half the routine finished and will care for the kitchen during halftime. Nine seconds left in the second quarter. We are in a battle. Down two touchdowns in the first quarter, recovered by two touchdowns in the second, and then down by a third just before the end of the half. Damn. I was hoping we would have come out swinging like last week, but alas pro football is not so predictable. The combination of the game and my efforts to get things in order on this Sunday has kept my brain out of the nether regions of the universe... So far. Hmm. Nether regions, indeed... Those places that have near-complete control over my life? Yes, control. There are fifty aspects of living which press my head into the soil, whereas there have been but three keeping me upright. This is a losing battle. If the game turns to shit during the third quarter, I will reevaluate the media and most likely switch to science fiction. The house is quiet, meaning I can think as clearly as possible. The truck axles and loud music will result if my mind can’t focus. I have found a smidgen of comfort in planning alternatives when I don’t feel well. Some of those alternatives have actually kept me away from the revolver. 1317. The game went to hell so I turned on the gangsters again to allow the series to run its course. Naturally, that means the eyes again. Huge, beautiful eyes I cannot resist. I love her eyes so much... At some point during the late morning, a wave of depression washed over me as if driven by a tsunami. I don’t know what happened, either. All morning long I was productive – the routine, garbage work, and a shower – but as soon as I began to prepare something to eat, my mood fell right off the edge of the world. I am usually pretty positive once a portion of the Sunday business is complete. Not today, and the change was not precipitated by the game. I don’t know what the hell happened. Right now I am feeling very negative and sad. This makes me worry for the rest of the day, too. I like to enter Sunday evening feeling accomplished, and though I’ve cared for quite a bit so far, my head can’t climb out of this hole. Damn.
Nothing looks appealing right now. Nothing. Not the work, my truck, the television... Not a damned thing. I am sitting at the IDE because I don’t know what else to do. And there she is again. The last dinner scene involving Jamie. Damn it all, anyway. I would give the rest of my life to be next to her for two fucking minutes. And the scene is over. Bye. I love you. Maybe I should go and lie down for a little while. I don’t know. This is bad. 0657 on Monday morning. Coffee, cats fed, fourth show, all that kind of shit like that there (them thar). Don’t use no double negatives. Try to not split infinitives. About those sentence fragments. Verbs has to agree with their antecedents. Food for thought. I dreamed but can’t recall the subject matter now. Something good, I believe. That’s probably why remembering has been disallowed. I am waiting for something appealing or at least enough to keep me going a while longer. I need it badly. All of the visions have severely truncated my future. Desperation can be worrisome. It can also be dangerous if I begin to behave as in the past. Garbage trucks out there. Bless them. I have to take care of the morning business in a few minutes. Afterward, I’ll probably sit and try to remember the good things. I still can’t see anything from my sleep time, damn it. I want to know what was happening. If I go back some days to the other dream involving the ‘image’, some of the details are still there. Her eyes looking at me as she smiled, things like that. Her hair and the way it wrapped around one side of her neck. This latest feeling is just that... A feeling. I wish I knew what took place. 0804. The morning stuff is out of the way and I have the remainder of the day to myself. There is some business with laundry and the routine, but nothing more. I should have some hardware arriving on the porch today. That will help my truck work. The fourth show is still up there. This is the most difficult situation I could have imagined. I don’t want any more of this shit. Dreams at night from which I awaken completely distraught, daydreaming while working around the house which eventually leads to my standing and wondering how much worse things will become, and then the evening comes along to distract me. I sleep and then do it again. Today I have laundry to wash and dry, the organization I typically care for while moving around the house, and my usual morning routine. During all of it I will be thinking of missing pieces and smiling faces. I’ll be rehashing the dream of Jamie, the other one involving the ‘image’, and then falling down over and over. The key dream in which I felt that my distress had gone away forever will enter my head and leave me wrecked again. This is every fucking day. I just don’t understand one bit of it. I don’t need it, I don’t fucking want it, yet I am right smack dab in the center of a messy, lonely, and angering situation. Depression, feeling distraught and sad, yearning for understanding... This is all I have anymore. The enjoyments? Shrinking. The time? Doesn’t matter. Status of the routine? Doesn’t matter. Everything which matters to me or is/was important to my daily activities has faded for now. My head was wrapped around a thought earlier this morning and failed. Right now there is nothing which appears ‘good’ or appealing. The laundry is rolling along, I have plenty of hours ahead for whatever seems best for me or the house, yet the background black noise is fucking killing me. The fourth show is deep into a dramatic story and it doesn’t matter. The truck doesn’t matter. Just like my thoughts up the page a bit, nothing is looking positive right now. Not a fucking thing. I continue to degrade. Once in a while a dream comes along which solves EVERY FUCKING CONCERN I'VE EVER HAD, and then I awaken to the same fucking situation and circumstances, and with all those painful memories. I almost can't handle this today and I am pretty damned strong after all these years. I mentioned a problem that came about early in the year. Well, that problem is real and carries on to this very day. I keep trying to find reasons to remain here and to embrace anything with the ability to bring even a second of joy, but underneath it all, I see only impossibility and pain. I mentioned my strength. Well, there is only so much and it is running out. Strength of this type cannot be replenished. When it is gone, it is gone. Period. 1708. I finished everything I set out to do today. I also tried to make a bushing from the new tubing from McMaster. The first try was a bit off, but I can fabricate another with better results, albeit not today. My head is in a bad place. The market trip was uneventful and very quick. Now I have the evening and an easy dinner to prepare. The fourth show has been keeping me company. There is something very wrong inside and I am not equipped to fix it. Someone is; just not me. I would have to swing the beam around so fucking far that upon finding the repair I believe the will to go on would disappear. I can’t handle changes in anything right now. My precious quiet time seems all that is left in the world. I have not been able to push the problems out and allow clear thinking to enter. Powerless. Tomorrow I have to return to the airport and pick up the people that were dropped off two weeks ago. That means the excess vehicle will disappear. Very good. I don’t mind helping. The airport terminal can be tough, though. I’ve seen far too much in airports throughout almost two decades to believe I can get in and out of the place unscathed. I’ve dealt with shit thus far. One more trip there and back should be fine (I hope). Whenever inside the terminal – most notably post-security – I recall other occasions that found me joyful and excited. No more of that in this life. No more. The airport is becoming haunted. Aside from the vehicle being gone, the only upside to going is arriving home afterward. Splendid. Morning cocktail? Guaranteed. She was ripped away. She was ripped away. She was ripped away. She was ripped away. 'Her'. Save me, please. SAVE ME. 0656 on Tuesday morning. Coffee, cats fed, fourth show, and a glorious vision the likes of which I may have never seen prior to a certain point in this series. It doesn’t matter, though. I can’t do anything about anything these days. I see and then I see more and then nothing comes of the situation. Yesterday morning was pretty damned bad. Hopefully I can avoid a repeat. I finished my work around the house yesterday in good time and order. The bushing experiment worked for the most part. I have to fab another and relocate the mounting hole. A lathe would be nice. Nope. Ah, shit. I have to take care of the morning business before continuing here. I don’t really know what I’m doing anyway. Breathing? 0757. Almost finished. I have the news on for posterity, although the number of stories that I find interesting has been declining since before the pandemic. The reports seem to be out of balance toward the negative. I’d say the ratio is roughly six to one. Ugh. Once in a while there is a very inspiring tale which can leave me feeling better than prior to turning on the news in the first place, but such an occurrence is quite rare. The time has come for a switch to fictional programming. I need to know what is going to take place on my television. Call me crazy. I don’t care. I can already feel that this morning can very quickly become a repeat of yesterday, and I can’t have that kind of shit right now. Dreaming of ‘her’ is not helping and never stops. I have yet to find anything in my life with the power to remove the dreams, even temporarily. In fact, just a little while ago a vision entered my head and was related to the third damaging dream, thus dropping me during the morning business. I had to force myself to remain productive. That is one of the most powerful images I’ve ever experienced and often takes me far enough away from myself to cease even the simplest morning tasks. I could be halfway through pouring a cup of coffee and lose direction completely. Fortunately, I righted myself and finished everything. Now I can focus upon whatever seems best for the time. Falling off a cliff has become a daily occurrence, so whatever upward feeling I may experience can be destroyed in an instant. I just never know when the ‘image’ is going to ruin everything. I must be careful to avoid those visions that light the fire. The other essay is a prime example of just how severely I have been affected by such sights. The references must remain completely unclear, however. Unfortunate, yet necessary.
The 'edge' may be approaching. My trip to the airport is in just over four hours and regardless of how many times I may be struck upside the head while in the terminal, the drive and time consumption may be necessary for my well-being. I have half the routine finished already and my last cup of coffee, meaning I’ll have to push for additional things to do prior to traveling to the airport. Felecia has the most beautiful chiclets. The pilot episode is what got to me recently. We discussed the differences between the two women and both came to the conclusion that Felecia is in a category all her own. I will refrain from going into detail. Just... Trust me. 0652 on Wednesday morning; pants flying through my head like witches on brooms, all bent upon my destruction. Ah... Now the time is 0826 and I have the morning business out of the way. Next to me is coffee and on the television is the fourth show, like most of my mornings. There is a mass of shit in my head right now, and after yesterday’s difficulties, I really don’t need any more. I am becoming completely fed up with the way the world appears due to the past. Pissed off all the time, tossing threats around as if anyone really gives a crap, and then sitting here bitching about everything over and over and fucking over. Sick of it. Unfortunately for me and anyone still venturing to this space and reading, I really don’t have anything else in life which has any effect upon me. Without the ability to type, I’d probably not be much of anything. I used to be a person of note, whereas at present I can no longer identify what I am. Let’s talk about my trip to the airport, shall we? Holy crap. There were only two, and the second almost killed me due to the circumstances disallowing my eyes from pulling in more, however the damage became extensive upon returning home and considering the relationship between the first and those damaging dreams. The arrivals lobby was much busier than I had expected, especially considering the number of occasions that have found me there waiting for someone. What a sight... Her hair flowing back and forth as she walked was enough to drive me insane. Oh, but there was so much more. I fought for several minutes before losing sight. From there, I only had to worry about dealing with the parking garage and getting home to the quiet. We ventured through the lobby and down the long tunnel toward the parking area. I paused to attempt to pay for the parking time, but the machines would not read my ticket. We ended up heading for the exit and then simply paying there. The payment machines? Yes, they are next to the exit into the garage. That was where I saw number two and the most difficult moment in memory, even tougher than the goddess in the lobby. Pants. Teal pants, for God’s sake, and wrapped around the lines of the universe. All she did was appear through the doorway and turn left toward the fucking lobby, but that was enough. The pain I felt was due to the number of people present at the payment machines. All those faces precluded any chances of me turning around to see something so rare. I actually felt more anxiety and turmoil over being prevented from gazing at her lines than I did for the entire operation of picking up people in the international terminal in the first place. She cruised right on by – a split-second of which I saw the lines, believe it or not – and then I had to return my attention to the issues of paying for the fucking parking. We moved to the van and then I reiterated that the ticket should be taken care of prior to driving, so I went back three floors down and tried again. Nothing. And then I turned and looked up the huge tunnel as if by some miraculous circumstance I might see the owner of those beautiful teal leggings. Nothing. Just people trying to make their way out of the airport. We drove to the exit, paid the cashier, and twenty minutes later I was in the garage quickly sucking down a cold beer and smoking as if I had a pregnant wife in the delivery room. Two. The first was very bad due to reminding me of those three key dreams, the second being worse because I knew I would never see her again and felt as if I would die without gazing at what I so badly needed. All of it adds up to the worst trip to the fucking airport in memory, and trust me when I say I’ve spent a lot of time in airport terminals. And the worst part of the whole thing was that fucking desperate, pathetic attempt to see if by some fluke she was still nearby. Desperate. My brain went all the way back to the other shit from the past; nearly five decades back to Shilo. Yes, I said that. Desperate. Was the woman with the teal pants and sunglasses ‘her’? Do you fucking believe this shit? That’s what I thought, too. Just seconds after trying to process the parking ticket, my head went around the impossible world all over again, as if I haven’t spent the last hundred-thousand words trying to learn why I keep returning to the past. I was standing there, in REALITY, and hoping that the beautiful woman who walked by was my savior. Isn’t that just wonderful? Further gone. Much further. Why in the holy blue fuck am I searching so fervently and dying to find something I already know cannot exist? Why? Tell me. I was wrong yesterday when thinking of the drive and some time burned off the clock. Two of them, right upside my head, and both are still swirling inside. A gorgeous, flowing image drawn straight from those dreams that I can't discuss, and then a woman walking by which resulted in me not caring if I walked straight off the edge of the damned nine-story parking structure. I don't generally go into much detail regarding one of the shows, but right now I have to point out something rather silly. A good portion of this episode is very tense due to the holographic medical specialist being a Cardassian. Neither ensign Tabor nor B’Elanna wanted anything to do with him, and the situation almost turned to complete shit, all due to his being from Cardassia and famous during the occupation. Here’s my issue... If the doctor was only a holographic simulation, why did they not simply alter his appearance in the first place and before anyone else saw him? Eh... Makes too much sense, I suppose. Or maybe I think about this program too much. The teal pants displayed the type of lines I have not seen since that fucking girl at the pool. I will refrain from much of what has been taking place inside my head thus far today. Not good. 1107 and holy fuck is that woman on the television cute. Jesus. Darkness, huge eyes, big smile. God damn. Just saying. I am a wreck. I went to the market after completing half of the routine, my typical schedule. I like to get the floor and cat litter finished prior to taking off, thus leaving my kitchen cocktail as the reward for shopping. Now I have everything finished and most of the yummy booze left. There was nothing to worry about at the store, although I did make an inquiry of one employee who was rather cute. Helpful, too. That was that. In; out; hello; goodbye, and that was that. Just another dipshit walking out of the store with a bag of groceries. My car is once again in the driveway since the van disappeared yesterday. Very good. I still have the fourth show up there for comfort (but the whiskey is the REAL comfort). The temperature is ramping up quickly outside, much like yesterday. I’ll have to ventilate in a little while when the mercury inside matches that of the outdoors. After freezing my ass off for a couple of weeks, the warmth feels nice. It’s too bad the fucking hurricane in my brain does not bow to reality. Yes, a cyclone of sorts. Desperation is a bad state of mind. Very bad. 0732 on Thursday morning. I already have the morning business out of the way and am sitting in the quiet. There is a form on the television that I should avoid. Amazing. Too bad the shape in question is a sight never again to grace my eyesight in person. That is a fucking depressive thought.
Very bad switch.
Last night I ran across an epiphany just prior to going to sleep. I realized that I have been on a path toward something I did not want to be in life, and an example of a personality that I’ve always disliked. There have been those fleeting occasions in which I found a glimpse of the same type of realization – here and there throughout a few years, I guess – yet I always felt that I could fight against such mindsets and think my way through the situations which bring about stereotyped behavior. Well, I now believe that the process has been taking place and advancing upon my mind very slowly, and in the background of living through each day. This is not good. One of the worst feelings in the world is to experience a personality type that is widely regarded as either unpleasant or difficult, and then shortly thereafter to see those very same traits within oneself. At least I am not the type of person to sit here and believe there is nothing wrong with me, or worse, that I am better than any other person on this planet. I can still fight this, of course, because I am intelligent and often consider circumstances related to how others view me. Sometimes I move along and fail to think about it, however. That’s generally when a situation or conversation comes along and slaps me in the face until I see more clearly. That is what happened last night. I basically saw myself from the outside for a moment and then realized that if I don’t do anything about this in the short term, I will be facing a future of people reacting to me speaking in one of three ways; with either placation, confusion, or condescension. I can’t fucking have that. Thus? This entry has crossed a switch and is headed for a very unpleasant spur. Rusted rails, blackened ties, and the occasional missing spike.
Years ago, my boss informed me that his vision for the future was as such... Whatever type of personality traits are carried by a given person into their fifties tend to become more cemented as time passes. We had a short discussion of various relatives and I walked away from that idea considering my own issues and how they may affect the manner in which I communicate with others. Well, that was a long time ago. I suppose I’ve gone back to our conversation several times since then, and last night I saw it within myself. Ouch. This is not the end of the world, but I couldn’t help avoiding looking in from the outside after a short observation about something I do not like about the way television programming has developed and changed in the last decade or more. I heard my words out loud and then thought about the discussion with my boss. The point last night was an aspect of writing known colloquially as ‘manipulative scripting’, a method of sending the viewer in whatever direction the writers wish and keeping the audience glued to the story. Twists and turns aside, I don’t appreciate the producers toying around with a person’s psyche in the name of ‘drama’. The subject is far too vast for me to properly cover within this entry, but suffice to say I have been nearly offended by several programs and gave up on most of them for this very reason. Being the technically-minded viewer I am, the dislike came forth after an episode, and that is when I realized my personality traits have begun to bind themselves to the way I carry myself and interact with people, especially regarding a subject about which I am very passionate, and that is filmed media (even if some is not on film anymore). There is one glaring positive to this realization, however, and that is the fact that I will sit here and ponder my issues rather than simply conclude that I am correct all the time. I honestly believe that despite my age, I am still capable of changing and/or learning. All that shit would seem to have nothing to do with ‘her’, although there are very few segments of my daily life that are not affected by dreaming. Basically, if I am unhappy or angry, such emotions will come out during any conversation. That is another fucking part of me I need to address. I was originally going to create a series of entries all sharing one word in their titles, the word being ‘doorsteps’. Well, that ended up one long, wandering essay and I never wrote any others. Whatever. All this shit ran together years ago, anyway. Half a... Fraction of a... What? Go back to the conversation with the bartender. I did. 0922. I have yet to do anything other than type and sip coffee this morning. There is a phrase ringing over and over inside my head. The phrase is as follows: ‘desperation is dangerous’. My situation is partly my doing, of course, due to the way I... Um... No, it is not. 1030. The routine is finished. I have no plans to leave the house today, meaning the next seven hours are whatever I wish to make of them, if anything. Yesterday I fabricated a tail light bar for the rear of the truck after some testing, along with blowing up one LED after not following voltage instructions properly. Heh. I don’t know if I feel like working further on the tail light wiring or matching headlights. What I do need is decidedly out of fucking reach, naturally, so everything else seems minimized with regard to enjoyment. In short, I do not have a clue as to what this day may have in store for me. Five-eight and 121 pounds. She is also carrying... I am wrecked. The years continue to take their toll. At least I have not switched to the Jamie show. I need ‘her’ to find me, save me, and eliminate all my problems. Wait... What did you say? I should employ the PC term ‘challenges’ instead? Bullshit. I have PROBLEMS. Suck that. The word ‘should’ rarely applies to anything, least of all the manner in which people refer to themselves. I need her. NEED. I am already further out of balance than I could have ever imagined, so why the fuck not use all the words related to the same? I can’t help it, anyway. Weakened is my new middle name. Again... I did not do this. I was going to have some tuna salad, but I do not believe it will mix well with the orange/white Russian I’ve been sipping. There is a machine shop down the peninsula that I may visit tomorrow. I’m hoping they can turn down a piece of tubing by roughly .008” so I can fabricate bushings. My methods are so far below crude that I just can’t have them on the truck. The first was an experiment. That is fine. I’d like the diameters to be as concentric as possible to avoid any runout while the drive is spinning. In this day and age, I have no idea if they will even entertain the idea of such a small job, nor do I know what their time and experience may cost. I’ll ask, though, because an inquiry will cost zero dollars. Honestly, and with my history of luck, the woman at the counter will probably look like some goddess, meaning I’ll become all fucked up and lose my bearing. Such a thought should be funny. Alas, very little is funny anymore. I have never felt so alone. Please help me. Ok, I am going to start crying soon, so I have to leave this endeavor and do something else. Thankfully, often when I feel sad enough to cry, my self-defense mechanism kicks in and changes the sadness to anger. 1538. Everything is finished. I’ve spent the last few hours in the garage building doors for the laundry shelves. They are finished, as well. The work was accompanied by loud music and alcohol due to some of the song lyrics, one track in particular. Two years after constructing my ‘her’ playlist for the daily drives, that one tune and the story within rings with more truth now than it did at the time. I am sadder than ever and the missing parts of me feel as if they will remain lost for all time. 0743, Friday morning after a very uncomfortable night. Dreams, a lack of sleep, and concern filling my head all summed to ruin my typically unremarkable sleep time. Splendid. The dream is still fairly fresh, too. It involved a representation of my freedom and comfort, that symbol being my car which is parked in the driveway at this very moment. The thought of something being terribly wrong with the car frightened me in the middle of the night and I am still a bit uncomfortable hours later. The car is fine, but in the dream? All fucked up after bad people tampered with the electronics, believe it or not. A lot of things went through my head yesterday while working in the garage, plus I watched some goofy television during dinner. Everything may have brought on such a strange dream (thanks Frank) after swirling within my subconscious, but I am no expert. I only suspect. I am overjoyed to have some quiet time this morning after such a night, plus I woke up a tad later than usual and had to hop to the morning business without much coffee. Not good. Heh. Anyway, Now that everything is finished, I have the remainder of the morning to analyze what took place while I slept. And six-foot Julie is on the screen since I went back to the third series for comfort. Yesterday I mentioned my defense mechanism as it typically results in anger. Well, it happened just as I decided to leave this alone and work in the garage. A few hours later? Doors on the laundry shelves, all leveled and square. I did a nice job on them. I don’t see anything like that taking place today, though, because I am in a much more contemplative mood. Relaxation and quiet are the most important aspects of the remainder of this day. I do need to drive over the hill to the big wine store, however. Hopefully, the trip will not have any problems. All that fucking daydreaming yesterday has me pretty fucked up. Sad, too. I don’t like this crap. This series of entries is fucking stupid. I have too much in my head right now to continue this entry. The symbolism in my recurring dream (driving a car), the way my weekdays seem to fall off the edge of the world once the morning routine is finished, and the prospect of breaking out of the norm to accomplish more are all eating at me right now. I didn’t even mention the girl, ‘her’, or any of those deep emotional issues. There is just too much this morning. I have to let this go for now."
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